By Tovah
Three months into my trip throughout Chiapas, I am starting to feel more at home; increasingly relaxed and involved as I get to know my collective partners and the women and youth we work with at Kínal. The time spent at CASA has been incredibly fulfilling and rich, in that much of my time is spent reading and journaling, mostly about politics, global resistance, and a bit about economic theory.
It has also raised questions I am hesitant to answer, as to why I waited for so long to really take part in what seems to be an ongoing political discussion about neoliberalism and corporate globalization. The phrase 'political analysis' is brought up repeatedly, which I understand as one own's personal examination and beliefs about politics.
I have never really found myself to be a distinctly 'political' person, while I strongly oppose the current US government, I haven't found myself actively protesting within the recent years, or taking the time to realize how little, seemingly insignificant decisions I have made, have, in some obscure way, supported the government. But here, it is as if everything and everyone are politics. It reminds me of the quote from The Imposter that we read two quarters ago, which I will vaguely try to rephrase: "...in Mexico, politics is in the air, it is what we breathe, live, etc."
In a country as diverse and vast as this, I feel like I am being integrated into a world here in San Cristobal, where, perhaps with my status as an extranjera, I am not allowed to participate, but to listen, observe, and learn. I think it's helpful to think of myself as a sponge; I will absorb everything my pores will allow, and be wrung out upon my return to Olympia.
Before arriving in Chiapas, I had a set idea of what Zapatismo was, and how I would come to support it. This has changed drastically during the time spent down here. I have been to two of the five caracoles (Zapatista community centers) and have spent time in a split Zapatista/PRI/paramilitary community. I have seen or heard the problems Zapatismo is currently facing and have engaged in discussions about what is 'wrong' with some of their past decisions.
I have also come to a fuller understanding of how you can support a cause and criticize it at the same time. I’m working at an organization that is distinctly not Zapatista. It is a women's weaving cooperative that politically aligns themselves with the FNLS, Frente Nacional por la Lucha Socialismo, or in English, the National Front for the Socialist Struggle.
The FNLS and the EZLN had an ideological split in the 1990s. Kínal has had several bad experiences with the Zapatistas in the 90s as well, which some of the women at Kínal have told us, and so for that, they went with the Frente. I have not found this to be difficult: this living in a very pro-Zapatista household and working with an organization that is not. I have found it to be challenging and helpful in my own understanding of why organizations fighting for most of the same ideals end up fighting separately.
About two weeks ago, the Zapatista comandancia, Marcos included, rolled into town to give speeches at TierrAdentro, a pro-Zapatista cultural center in San Cristobal. Even with all of the criticism I had recently heard and my own criticisms about Marcos' role in the movement, I jumped at the chance to hear them in person, bringing my camera along with me. Officially, it was their start of the second wave of la Otra Campana, or the Other Campaign, which started last year as a movement of Zapatistas and their supporters across all of Mexico, to get to know people of all classes and political affiliations and to share experiences.
The Zapatista hymn was sung, emotionally-charged speeches were given, cameras flashed everywhere and the whir of video cameras recorded everything. The overall theme was the fight against neoliberalism and standing up to the countries that propel it; I was pleased to hear that they included many European countries in their critiques as well as the United States.
With so much of the international community here
being European, I have met many people who are quick to judge me for being American, because the United States, to many, is the big evil in the world. I resent feeling forced into one of two categories; I am either the idiotic American who loves my president and supports my country, or I am the ex-patriot who denounces and mocks all things United States. It's as if they have forgotten their own countries’ bloody histories of conquest and colonization, being especially ironic from the Spanish, who were the ones who conquered this country to begin with!
However, I should not dwell on the dynamics between foreigners here, as they have no relation to the reason we all were gathered together on that Sunday afternoon, which was to listen to the Zapatistas. And for many, getting a high-quality digital photo of Subcomandante Marcos to show the kids back home (which I will be the first to admit, I did).
The whole week prior to their coming, I had heard from a few different sources, "Marcos is coming, Marcos is coming!" We joked about it around the house, made light of his celebrity status, but I don't think we could deny the feeling in the air as we waited in a big, sprawling group outside of TierrAdentro. It was this feeling of anticipation, almost like waiting to see your favorite band play a stadium show, which doesn't really describe it properly, but close to that. I remember sitting in that big room, as full of people as it could get, waiting- this nervous, eager energy buzzing over my sunburned head.
When they finally arrived, everyone stood, myself included, and as Marcos walked past me, I caught the sweet smell of his famous pipe swirling by. Even in writing that last sentence, I am a bit embarrassed. The "sweet smell of his infamous pipe"? Why give this man, who has become the leader of a movement that isn't supposed to have a leader, so much romantic connotation? Am I as enraptured by him as everyone else seems to be? When they announced that he would deliver the next speech, I swear everyone sat up a little straighter in their seats. The way he spoke was pretty much as I expected it to be; he was charming, smart, at certain moments irreverent. When it was over, people applauded, but not more forcefully than they had for the other comandantes. After all, El Sup is just a man. An eternally masked, poetic, sweet-tobacco-smoking magical man.
To move away from an event that I feel as though I need a little distance from in efforts to better say what I mean, I'd like to go back to my thought on being a human sponge. With what feels like little time left here, I need to ask myself what is essential to bring back, and what can be left behind. I feel as the most important lesson I am learning here is that global resistance to neoliberalism and corporate globalization needs to happen on a small-scale. I want to make a connection with people in my own community, tell them about our experience here, start a discussion about what we can do to work against the corruption and the greed and the injustices of the 'free' market.
I know that Evergreen College is the perfect place for this, as there are countless groups and individuals that feel the same way. But doesn't it make sense to want to push outside of that, to talk to people who don't really know or care about the effects of NAFTA or the World Bank? How do I get the chance to talk to them, or am I even the best person to do so? I almost feel as though my own life has not been radical enough, that I haven't the authority to tell people about things that not too long ago, I wasn't aware of. Then again, maybe I am the right kind of person, because I am less 'radical,' or however you want to say it.
I think of one of my current roommates, named Pxl, who biked from Arizona all the way down to San Cristobal, his own personal revolution on two wheels. He began living purposefully under the poverty level when Bush's war began, as to not support it by paying taxes. It's inspiring to live with him, because he says things that push people, even if the things are foolish or too extreme, he makes us think.
So what will happen to me when I come back? Do I have the ability to make people think? Will I ever shop at the Gap, or buy a Coca-Cola, or eat Chiquita bananas, and if I do, do I give up the right to make people think? Where do you draw the line between political analysis and political activist, if it is there at all? It seems like a lot to soak up in the next two months, but I intend to figure out what I can, and hang onto the things that are left as questions.
