Novel Times, Novel Measures

San Cristobol has reinvigorated me. Easily my favorite city in Mexico so far, the past few days here have been relaxing and easy compared to my prior travails. The town is bright and cheery, full of adorable children and hardworking vendors, native custom and what seems to be a strong youth subculture, not to mention some great live music. Resplendant with multi-colored churches that border on gaudy and multi-colored fabrics worn by the local women that surpass beautiful, a walk across town always entertains. Using SC as a base, I have had the chance to explore much more of the state of Chiapas than on my previous visit here a few years ago. From mayan ruins to rows of corn to volcanic chain lakes, I have enjoyed every minute.

I arrived here last Thursday with my current traveling companion, Spence Casey. Our friendship is new and fast, owing to similar ideologies and idiosyncracies. Our connection, which began in a pool hall in Oaxaca, was cemented shortly after our arrival here through the exchange of eerily similar books – American Tabloid (James Ellroy), a total gem I picked up at a hostel book swap in Mexico City, for Charlie Wilson’s War (George Crile), which Spence had been lugging around. While the former is historical fiction and the latter a supposedly true account, both deal with the underworld of U.S. covert operations and the murky international waters they cross, replete with gentleman spies, beautiful women, mafia and mujahideen ties and ludicrous, yet all-to-believable tales of intrigue, arms and murder. Fun stuff, if not somewhat disturbing. Consequently, there has been much common ground for our exposure to the plight of the indigena here in Chiapas. In addition, after a few weeks alone on the road, travelling with a friend has been a welcome change, and the good fortune of salient, intelligent dialogue has truly been a blessing. Well, come to think of it, the conversation has not always been intelligent or even salient, but always entertaining. I digress.

The state of Chiapas, the poorest Mexican state, is home to the Zapatista revolution began on January 1st, 1994 by a shadowy force of locals striving for land reform in the face of government oppression. On that day, an army of men shrouded in black masks, mostly peasant farmers, walked out of the rugged hills and comandeered the capital of Chiapas, San Cristobal, as well as many smaller towns, in an attempt to draw attention to the disenfranchised people of Chiapas and the rest of Mexico. In their words:

“We have nothing to lose, absolutely nothing, no decent roof over our heads, no land, no work, poor health, no food, no education, no right to freely and democratically choose our leaders, no independence from foreign interests, and no justice for ourselves or our children. But we say enough is enough!“

What followed were long months of skirmish between the EZLN (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional or Zapatista Army of National Liberation), led by enigmatic subcommander Marcos, and government armed forces unprepared for the stealth and courage of a people thought to have been marginalized. Much has transpired as those months have turned into years – hundreds of deaths, kidnappings, torture, escalation – but the fact still remains that indigenous culture in Chiapas has not been recognized, respected or embraced by modern Mexico. This I have seen with my own eyes.

The poverty and struggle are readily apparent here, but despite those signs, the general air seems to be one of amused acceptance of outsiders. Unlike Mexico City, or even Oaxaca to a certain extent, here I do not feel like the object of protracted, and, at times, injurous stares. Of course, this acceptance often does not go much further than the tourist pesos flowing through the streets – any attempts to strike further into the heart of the indigenous community here are met with stiff resistance. While the many gringos that breeze through the area have undoubtedly helped to bring international attention to the Zapatista struggle, I still feel a little uncertain that those directly involved actually want the help of outsiders. This is their fight, and for my own part, right now, I only wish to learn more about the issues and glean whatever I can from those involved or in the know.

Thankfully I have had the opportunity to get out into the country quite a bit over the past week. Traversing the countryside has not only heightened my awareness and interest in the ingigenous struggles here – I’ve also climbed Mayan temples, swam in blue waters reminiscent of the Carribean and been awed by the strong beauty of the terrain here. Spence, another new friend, Jessica, and I rented a car this past weekend to travel north to the stunning ruins at Palenque and the multitude of pools and cascades of Aqua Azul. And today, Spence and I just got back from another jaunt, this time to the east and some partially restored ruins and gorgeous lakes of Parque Nacional Montebello. The car rides, while tedious at times, wound through mountains and bounced through small towns with plentiful speedbumbs, offering an unhindered view of a very diverse state. The most stunning feature of the topography of Chiapas also harbors very distinct scars of the the poverty here. Ridges and peaks ripple across the landscape in an impressive display of tectonics and ancient volcanic activity, but the forest atop has been slashed, burnt and harvested into a ragged patchwork of clearcuts, new growth and maize crops. In certain places it appears that nearly 40% of the forest has been severly impacted, by whom or for what I am not entirely sure. While my immediate assumption is timber intersts, the suspicious lack of trucks or equipment on the highways leads to another possibility. It seems very likely that, in order to eek an existence out of their only resource, the indigenous people here are sacrificing a vibrant ecosystem and true natural beauty for firewood and cornfields. Unfortunately, there appears to be little other choice for them.

I’ll be leaving this wonderful place tomorrow morning. The border crossing into Guatemala at Ciudad Cuauhtemoc should be interesting. I’m looking forward to being back in Guatemala, both to experience it for its own merits and as well to contrast the life and land there with what I have experienced in Mexico. And, after quite a long diversion, I am also ready to jump back into my Spanish studies. Another exciting month awaits!

Filed under: Mexico