Josue, the Canadian visitor who woke us up the first night back, was a bit over the top in his vigilance. As it turns out, they had been discussing what to do in a meeting for 2 or 3 hours before sending him to wake us up. Some wanted to stay and defend the house with homemade incendiary devices, some wanted to leave, but electrify the door as a welcome for the cops. I knew nothing of any of this. I was not even informed that a meeting was taking place, or that the cause of the alert was because a bishop had visited that day to bless the house. It was the same bishop that works with the Zapatistas, and so the government had taken the opportunity to imply to the press that the ocassion was a meeting to plan violent actions. CIPO had heard reports on the radio that they were involved in some sort of action already, and presumed that this was pre-publicity to turn public sentiment against them, and justify a crackdown. Knowing that police always raid at 3 or 4 in the morning, they presumed it would happen that night.
When I woke up to go to the bathroom at 3, the meeting was happening, but it was all men and perhaps one woman from CIPO. The question seemed to be, what to do about the women and the international visitors. Frida, a friend from Tucson, had arrived that morning, and gone to the Planton. When she returned and found the meeting in full swing, she went upstairs and got the baby that had come with us from Cotzocon that day. She walked into the meeting and started laying into them about their attitude, and total disregard for the interests of the mother and baby in the house. This is probably why they decided to flee, rather than stay and rain gasoline on the police. 'Estamos en guerra' they kept saying... 'we are at war'... (there's more, but this one is really long, so click on the title to read the complete entry)
When woken, I had asked what I should take. Josue replied, 'only valuables, and documents like your passport', but when time rolled on, and it seemed like we were taking everything, I asked Frida. 'Bring everything, we are not coming back.' As the time neared 4am, Lila asked if we shouldn't hurry up a bit. The answer came back that the police were probably not coming immediately.
The next day, we returned to the house, and met briefly to discuss the plans for the Consejo... the meeting of councils from all the member regions. Not many people had come, and so it was decided that we would wait another day. I stayed in the house and wrote my last blog, while Lila and Frida went to the Zocalo. They returned in the evening, and we all were getting cold as the sun set, and we still did not have a key to get back to Fran's place where all our gear was. Nobody knew where a key was, or if anyone was there. Eventually we decided to walk back and take our chances.
Fran was there, with Gaby and another woman who lived there, watching movies. Lila, Frida and I discussed the events of the last day, and decided that we were being excluded from the decision making, and that this was probably a result of sexism.
We thought we would be sleeping at Fran's for the rest of the time there, so I went to ask Fran if we could have one key to share between us, so we could have access to our stuff. 'You won't be staying here tonight, the emergency is over.' This struck me as a bit odd. Suddenly there was no danger? Gaby said that they had talked to their lawyers, and the lawyers had checked to see if the police had filed for a search warrant. They had not. So we packed up our stuff and headed back to the house.
We had a meeting where Cesar explained that there was still a risk of a police raid. In his opinion it was safe, but everyone had to decide for themselves what to do. We went round the circle and everyone spoke about their feelings about the situation. My Spanish is not the greatest, and it was put to the test, trying to convey a sense of anger about being left out of the loop, without causing offense. 'Yo sabia nada de que pasa ayer. Quisiera saber lo mas que possible para que hacer un decision informado. Por eso, esta bueno que hacemos este junta. Parece muy peligroso, pero solo puedo tomar tu palabra que es seguro dejar aca esta noche. Por favor decirnos lo mas informacion que posible.'
'I knew nothing about what happened yesterday. I would like to know as much as possible in order to make an informed decision. So, it's good that we are having this meeting. It seems very dangerous, but I can only take your word that it is safe to stay here tonight. Please tell us as much information as possible.'
We decided to take guard shifts throughout the night, as well as have people drive around the neighborhood every two hours to look for police preparing to raid. Cesar said they always form groups outside the area before raiding.
Josue and Veronica had the first shift from 12 - 2am. At 12:30, he woke everyone up. They had been out walking the neighborhood, and found three truckloads of police. Cesar took the truck to go take another look. He returned and said that it was nothing. It turned out that there was a police station a couple of blocks away, so it was not a surprise to see trucks of police.
We all went back to bed, and at 2, Josue woke up Lila and myself for the next shift. He insisted that our job was to walk around the area. Lila said the she thought the guard duty was to be awake on the property, and that the 'rondin' in the truck was for the purpose of scouting the neighborhood. We argued for a good 20 minutes over this. He wanted us to wake Cesar and ask him. I said that I did not feel comfortable walking around the area at night. He replied that it was not an issue of 'your comfort', but rather the safety of the people at the house. And what were we to do if we did see cops... run back to the house and try to beat them here? No, he said... walk normally back to the house and wake everyone. But if they were coming here, there would be no one to wake everyone. I said that we were going to stay in the house, and if he wanted to wake Cesar to ask for clarification, that was up to him. Josue went to bed in a huff.
About an hour later, Juan, a visitor from Spain, woke up from where he was sleeping in a hammock near the kitchen because it was too cold outside. As he was going into the sleeping area upstairs, Josue was coming out to go to the toilet. He asked Juan what he thought the duty of the guards was. Juan said it was to stay in the house. Josue apologised profusely. Apparently a man's opinion was required to verify that of two women.
The next day we met to convene the Consejo, but there were still only 4 communities represented. We decided to wait longer. Tired of waiting in the house, Frida, Juan and I went to the Zocalo. Juan wanted to go shopping. We walked around and did the tourist thing. I bought two pairs of earrings with pictures of Frida Kahlo painted onto flattened beer bottle tops, and two pairs of woven chains for glasses. There was supposed to be a parade in advance of the Guelaguetze, so we waited by the road, eating cactus fruit flavoured icecream. The parade didn't come, but as we wandered further, we found a small sample of the Guelaguetze in a shopping plaza. It is meant to be traditional dances from all the different regions of Oaxaca, but it has become a purely commercial spectacle for tourists.
We ended up going to the Mezcal bar and drinking beers and Mezcal... complete with the worm. We got back around midnight and went to bed. Waking up for the guard shift was painful, but luckily it was only for an hour this time.
In the morning, the Consejo was continuing from the night before. They had decided to begin, even though all the communities were not represented. This was the first time in their history that this had happened. They presumed it was because of the increased repression against the communities. The government had been using all sorts of tactics against CIPO members, ranging from paying people to drop out, to sending in the military with guns and clubs.
The communities that were present were asked to present their problems and suggestions for solutions. The Cotzocon contingent was represented by Sylvano, who had showed up the previous day. To his credit, he did well, and probably better than the women who had come down with us. The one who spoke spanish was very soft spoken, shy, and unsure of herself. The other one did not appear to speak Spanish at all, only Mixe. They said their problems were getting cheap thread for weaving, and having to outsource any machine sewing that needed to be done. They wanted a loan from CIPO to buy a sewing maching and a truck for bringing the goods to Oaxaca City to sell in the Zocalo. Lila confronted Dolores about the issue of how much money CIPO took out of the sales price. She did not get a straight answer, rather a long explanation about all the expenses that CIPO incurred.
I said that part of fair trade was that everything is transparent, and that as far as the weaving cooperative was concerned, CIPO was no different than the coyotes who buy their clothes to sell in the Zocalo. Dolores explained that CIPO was different than the coyotes because they not only were supporting the traditional weaving practices, but they paid twice what the coyotes pay for the clothes. This confused me, because the women had told us that they were angry at CIPO because they had bought a box of clothing and paid them half the money, but not the other half. I thought this meant that CIPO had paid half the asking price, or half what the coyotes paid. Apparently what it meant was that they had paid the asking price, but had promised to pay them the same again after they sold the clothes. I felt like the women had mislead us, but Lila said she understood what they meant. I felt a bit embarassed at having challenged CIPO on the subject, but then I realised that the process of discussing it would have clarified to the women that they were getting a good deal, and had nothing to complain about.
The meeting dragged on into the afternoon, and Lila had to interrupt to inquire about a lunch break. Apparently their meetings do not include such things, and people normally just drift off to feed themselves. Frida went shopping and made a big pot of rice and beans for all. The atmosphere was much more relaxed and friendly around the table.
In the evening, Lila, Frida and I went to the Zocalo to change some money. The plan was that Lila, Varo and I would leave the next day for Guadalajara. We were going to buy $500 worth of clothes from the women from Cotzocon, and needed to get the cash. We ended up doing more touristy things though, and I got a red braid in my hair, and satisfied my cravings for sweet things.
We stopped by the planton, and found out that the Blokeautonomo (anarchist black block) was going to join a movement to blockade the Cerro... the stadium where the Guelaguetza was going to happen that night. I looked down and saw a crate full of coke bottles, half full of orange liquid and a rag hanging out of each one. They had also pried off the backs of the garbage bins in the Zocalo and made crude shields using bits of twine tied through holes in the middle for handles. 'Estamos en guerra'.
I pointed out the bottles to Lila, and suggested we get the fuck out of there. She agreed. We said our goodbyes and went back to the house. The house was in another meeting, this time to discuss how to participate in the blockade of the Cerro. They would take people who wanted to go in an unmarked truck. With the information I had, I knew I wasn't going, and satisfied that CIPO would not be linked to the activities, I decided to go to bed and rest up for the guard shift.
Maybe an hour later, Sylvano came in and turned on the light. He woke me up. Thinking it was too early for my guard shift, I asked what he wanted. Only my email address. I had already given it to him, so I asked if I could give it to him later, I wanted to sleep. He left, but perhaps two hours later, Pedro, Sylvano and Laura came in and turned on the light. They were discussing the clothing in the boxes when Lila came in and walked over to where I was sleeping. 'What's going on?' 'I don't know.' 'Fucking hell, I just want to sleep' I whined. 'Well, this isn't a hotel.' I could have killed her if I wasn't so groggy. 'I know. What's going on?' I just wanted to know if I had to get up or not. She just walked away.
Everyone else stayed up all night, writing emails and official reports about what was happening at the Cerro, so there were no usual guard shifts, and I was left to sleep for the rest of the night.
Varo had gone to the Cerro, so our plan of leaving in the morning was scuttled. Apparently all was calm at the Cerro. There were reports that the Federal Police had been called in, but nothing had happened. The blockade had just slept on the sidewalk. The end result was success, however... the Guelaguetze was postponed indefinitely.
Lila showed me a book that she found in the CIPO library called 'Days of War, Nights of Love' published by a group calling themselves 'CrimethInc'. It was full of essays about modern day rebellion against capitalism. My first thought was that a more realistic title should be, 'Nights of War, Days of Sleeping'. Although there were lots of demonstrations of virility and hypermasculinity, I didn't see much love happening, nor was I feeling particularly enamored of the display of machismo.
Lila and I went through the boxes of clothes and picked out a few dozen items that we thought we could sell back in Tucson. We packed them up and headed off in the afternoon. The bus for Mexico City didn't leave until 9:30, but we were told that there was another bus station where the tickets were cheaper, and the bus left earlier. We piled into a cab and sat in traffic for half an hour because the blockade was still effecting traffic. I read a sign for a restaurant: "Tacos de Res, Pollo, Cabeza, Camaron, Alhambre..." I thought 'alhambre' was barbed wire! I asked Varo what it meant. He replied by holding out his hand and rubbing his fingers together, 'you have to pay us for all the translation services'... 'and babysitting' Lila added, smiling. Hilarious. When we arrived at the station, I said I would pay the $35 peso fee if they would tell me what 'alhambre' meant. It was like a shishkabob, Varo said. I'm still not sure what prompted the sudden call for money.
The tickets at this station were actually more expensive, and left later than the other. Luckily we could just take a city bus back to the other station. When we got back, we bought tickets for the 11:00 bus because it had a toilet, and would get us into Mexico when the metro started running at 6am. Varo went to sleep in the corner of the waiting room, while Lila and I wandered around the markets in search of a chess game. We had been playing in Cotzocon, and thought it would be a good way to pass the time.
We arrived in Mexico just in time to catch another bus to Guadalajara. The plan was to stay there until Sunday and then start driving back to Tucson. Lila went to the dentist to have some work done for a tenth of the cost in the US. I went to the Zocalo and bought some cheap watercolors, found a good view, and plonked myself down for 5 hours in front of a big church. When I got back, Varo told me that they had to stay another week to finish Lila's dental work. I decided that I'd rather just take the bus back, as I had bills to pay before the end of the month. We found a bus leaving at noon the next day, for only $1000 pesos ($100 dollars). Varo asked if I wouldn't like to go out dancing, since it would be my last night in Mexico. We asked around and found a Cuban salsa club. I wore a new dress that I had bought that day... a stretchy grey tube dress, with a red scarf from Oaxaca and a pair of the Frida Kahlo earrings. With my red braid, I felt sexy and oh-so latina. When we arrived, Lila said the music was making her head hurt. I said she could make earplugs by chewing up a piece of napkin. She did this, but used such a small piece that it got stuck in her ear. I tried to get it out, but just ended up pushing it farther in. So now she was deaf, with a headache, and angry with me, so she decided to go. I stayed for another hour, drank Mojitos, and watched the show. Varo picked me up and we went home.
I got the bus the next day, thinking it was a 24 hour trip to Nogales. I kept thinking to myself, one quarter done... one third... etc. I had two seats to myself for about 3 hours, but then a large Mexican man sat in the seat next to me. He would put his hands together on his bulbous belly, but when he would nod off, one would slip down, waking him up, and prompting him to replace it on his belly. This must have happened over 100 times before he finally fell asleep and let it stay on the armrest. In Mazatlan, lots of people got off, and he quickly moved to another seat by himself. In the middle of the night, we were all awoken by police. We all had to get off the bus and be ready to answer for our baggage. They only searched two bags, and inspected a propane container with suspicion. When I got back on, one cop was waiting by my seat. He wanted to know what my water bottle was. It is grey aluminum, and to be fair, looks for all the world like the gas canisters the military had used against the teachers in the Zocalo. Others had commented on this. "Es agua" I said, and took a drink. I offered it to him, and he shined his flashlight down the neck and took a sniff. He was satisfied and left the bus.
In the morning we arrived at another city, and the bus was filling up again. My seat companion was in the seat behind me when the driver came back to ask him to move to his seat. 'We can't move everybody around just for you.' I heard him say. There was more arguing that I didn't understand before he reluctantly got up and sat next to me. I was too tired to be offended, but I wondered what his problem was. I had been concerned that I might be pawed or molested... it was a bit of a shock to be treated as though I was diseased.
At exactly 24 hours after departure, we arrived at Hermosillo, still 4 or 5 hours from Nogales. Disappointed, I settled back in my seat, happy to find that my seatmate had found someone acceptable to sit with... another Mexican bloke. Three and a half hours later, we arrived at Santa Ana. I knew there would be trouble when other busses pulled in and departed and we were still there. I looked out the window, and the drivers, and some other men were talking and pointing at an open panel in the side of the bus. Eventually the driver came in and talked with one of the passengers up front. The word spread down the bus and there was talk of taking another bus. We all got off, and I went inside to eat. An hour later, they had fixed the bus and we all piled back on. After three or four failed attempts to back out, the driver asked for the men on the bus to help. They got out and the bus started to move backwards. I asked a woman what had happened. She was smiling gleefully as she told me that the men had to push the bus. "La fuerza Mexicano!" she beamed proudly... "Mexican strength". "Que bueno" I replied, but thought to myself that this was symbolic of the country... what it lacks in education and technology, it takes out of the flesh and blood of its people.
31 hours from departure, we finally arrived in Nogales. I took a cab to the border, and got in the line to walk across. A fence streched up the hillside, with only reinforcements on the US side, and houses on the Mexican side. Cars sailed through from the US, and backed up for blocks on the Mexican side.
I was briefly interrogated by the border agent. What were you doing in Mexico? Did you go alone? Where are your friends? No concern whatsoever for any plant or animal materials I might be bringing over, contrary to the signs posted everywhere.
Shuttle operators competed for my attention "Tucson? Phoenix?" I chose one, and told him I needed to go to the bank first. "On the corner" he pointed. "Leave your bags with us" he said. I went over to the van and had a vague second thought before giving him my bags. Before this trip, I don't think I would have done that, but I realized that he is running a shuttle business, not a theft ring. I'm sure it is worth more money to him to be trustworthy than to get a few trinkets from trusting tourists' bags. Indeed, all was well when I returned. We set off for Tucson. Within half an hour, we reached a checkpoint. The van was pulled off the road. A border patrol agent opened the side and asked everyone for identification. He checked mine last. I pulled out my drivers licence and offered it to him. He asked if I was a citizen. I answered yes, and he shut the door without even looking at my ID.
