Week 12: Participatory Democracy, Collective Consciousness and the Call to Action

¡Sí, se puede!- Members of our host families and residents of San Salvador Atenco

By Dan Staples

For me, the highlight of this week was our trip to San Salvador Atenco, located in the eastern part of Mexico state. Atenco is a town that has been in a 7-year struggle against the federal government over their plans to construct an international airport over the community's vast ejido (communal) farmlands. We traveled to Atenco to meet with a group of organizers and hear their story of resistance.

Atenco ejido territory

As an agricultural community, the people have a very intimate connection with the land. The earth not only serves as means of subsistence and trade, but very much constitutes a historical and collective identity. Called tierra madre, or “mother earth”, land is the source of life to the campesinos: the life of their children and the legacy of their grandparents.

The expropriation of this land would mean the destruction of a lifestyle, identity, and history of an entire community. The people of Atenco brought us to the top of a hill overlooking the expansive ejido territory to teach us the history of their continuing struggle. To see this beautiful, undeveloped farmland from horizon to horizon, in contrast to the urban sprawl I'm used to, really added an emotional impact to their story.
As you might expect, the federal government met organized resistance from the people of Atenco, who fought in self-defense of their basic human rights to land and self-determination. After a long and violently repressed campaign which started in late 2001, the town celebrated victory as the plans for a new airport were officially called off. However, this victory was not long lived. On May 3, 2006, a small quarrel between local flower vendors and the police over vending permits escalated into a two day terror campaign of unprecedented violence and human rights abuse perpetrated by federal troops.

We learn the history of the struggle

Dozens were arrested and severely beaten, and many women, including the flower vendors, were raped and sexually abused in transport to prison. They were denied health treatment in jail, resulting in the death of one community member. Today, more than 20 compañeros remain in jail without access to a fair legal process, 3 of whom are serving near-life sentences in a maximum security prison. Still the people of Atenco, with the support of neighboring communities and international solidarity, remain strong and united in the face of brutal repression.

One thing that stuck out to me during the talk was the way various community members described how Atenco organized “naturally” and spontaneously in response to the government repression. Having read firsthand accounts and studies of various historic revolutions, the same spontaneous nature is always mentioned; revolutions are never planned, but are the result of collective consciousness provoked into action. However, this always arises from an active, informed citizenry invested in their collective interests and identity, not an apathetic or pacified public. In addition, the speakers we heard described the non-hierarchical, consensus-based organization in Atenco: from each according to their ability. This is part of the concept of participatory democracy we have been studying in class.

Glorieta [name changed for privacy], wife of one of the imprisoned compañeros, said, “We are fighting against the government, because the government is the enemy of the people. The government is ours.” I would add that the government is not just theirs, it is them. Autonomy, self-determination, egalitarianism, solidarity, and an active, informed citizenship: to me, Atenco represents what a true, participatory democracy can be. One that isn't based on institutions, political parties, and government “representatives”, but rather derives its power from below, in the people themselves.

Students, host families, and Atenco organizers ascending the hill of the ejido land

By Megan Vees

Sociologist Alberto Arroyo speaks to the class on the subject of democracy in Mexico.

This past week, our group received a talk from sociologist Alberto Arroyo[1] about democracy in Mexico and the presidential elections of 2006. He explained a great deal about the nature of fraud within the Mexican political process, emphasizing the point that fraud is not just something that happens with numbers and figures on election day. He gave various examples of illegal practices (like the current president supporting a particular candidate) that were neither subject to penalty nor used as grounds to annul the elections as well as practices that were legal but illegitimate in his eyes (like procedures for selecting members of the boards that oversee elections). He discussed the use of a “politics of fear” in the slander attacks against the PRD candidate Lopez Obrador. This brought to mind something we heard the first week of the program, when the human resources director of a maquiladora in Ciudad Juarez described Lopez Obrador as a “Fidel Castro type”[2]. Though Arroyo clearly supported Lopez Obrador over the PAN candidate, Calderón, who “won” the election, he acknowledged that Lopez Obrador was not perfect and was perhaps at best the lesser of the evils from which the Mexican population had to choose. In relation to this, he noted a common saying in Mexico: “We have power for a day to vote for somebody who is going to oppress us.” Though this is often said in jest, he acknowledged that there is truth in it in that there are no means within the legal system to hold politicians to their promises.

Human Rights Activist Juliana García discusses the effects of militarization on social movements.

This brings me to our next talk of the week with Juliana García of the Comisión Independiente de Derechos Humanos[3] (the Independent Human Rights Comision). She spoke of the means used outside of the legal process, specifically social movements, to get politicians to respond to the needs of the people. In addition, she discussed the role of the government and military in the cycles of weakening and strengthening of social movements. Poverty and impunity, she explained, are the main obstacles to a democratic society. She elaborated on this by addressing poverty as a human rights violation and by describing how the government’s increasing (and unconstitutional) use of military forces to suppress social movements has been accepted by a large portion of the population as inevitable and even necessary.

Though both Arroyo and García see the impunity of the Mexican government as a major obstacle to a democratic political system and a society free of repression, both hold out hope for a more just and democratic future in Mexico. And though both also see how fear tactics have been used by the government and those in power to justify oppression or win political seats, both also express a belief that reform and education can help to diminish the use of such tactics and their effect on the public. After listening to these two speakers, I reflected on how the situation in the US compares to that here in Mexico when it comes to the liberty of social movements and the justice of the electoral process. Americans seem to have a lot more trust in their government and in the electoral process than do Mexicans, but I personally doubt that this trust is entirely warranted. In addition, I think Americans perceive a greater amount of liberty when it comes to participating in social movements in criticism of the government. While the US government may be less likely to violently suppress social movements, other forces – like the media – work to portray some movements as extremist or radical, damaging their credibility and allowing them to be easily dismissed by the American public. I believe that both the US and Mexico have progress to make when it comes to allowing for the voices of their people to be truly heard and represented.

[1] From a talk given on November 6th, 2007 at Casa Augsburg in Cuernavaca, Mexico.
[2] From a talk given on August 21st, 2007 by José Vidal, human resources director of ADC maquiladora in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico.
[3] From a talk given on November 9th, 2007 at Casa Augsburg in Cuernavaca, Mexico.

Week 11: El Dia de los Muertos-- Then and Now

By Amanda Sneed

This Friday, November 2 was El Dia de los Muertos. All of Mexico and CEMAL joined in the celebration and festivities. We students celebrated with our families by going to the Zocalo (at the center of the city), visiting ofrendas (alters to the dead) in the city of Ocotepec, and by helping to set up ofrendas in our homes with our host families. The following my reflection on putting up the ofrenda with my host family.

El Dia de Los Muertos—Then and Now

I celebrated my first Día de los Muertos in my freshman Spanish I class. I was fourteen and hadn’t yet developed a strong aversion to the gendered label of “freshmen”. I was too focused on geometry proofs to bother with considering the social construction of gender. My Spanish class, which was right after geometry, was a welcomed refuge from the world of right angles and protractors. My first taste of El Dia de los Muertos was especially exciting in my fourteen-year-old world because it meant one glorious day with no verbs, no conjugating, and no vocabulary. On this day, we put aside our notebooks and pencils and dutifully grabbed the markers, construction paper and glitter provided by Senora Brown (bell-to-bell as she was more fondly known). As instructed, we made skulls and paper cut-outs to hang from the ceiling. Working on our creative masterpieces and talking (but mostly talking), we ate candy from black and orange packages only half noticing the ofrenda (alter) Senora Brown was constructing at the front of the room. As she called for our attention, we hurriedly shoved the last bits of Kisses chocolates and Reese’s cups into our mouths and turned our attention to the ofrenda. Our teacher explained that the ofrendas are erected to celebrate and honor the dead. She told us that the food, flowers, and photographs (like those on our make-shift classroom ofrenda) offered the gift of remembrance. All I could think of at the time was how it was wasteful to put out on the ofrenda food that “would not be eaten”.

Fast-forward six years to the present day—to last Thursday night. I am putting my brother’s picture and a miniature candied plate of fish for my uncle on the ofrenda in my house here in Mexico. Lighting the candles, I think that I should also set out an angel for my grandmother and a pack of Marbol Lights for my grandpa. Flower petals cover the whole of our ofrenda and crepe paper decorations surround this place on our front porch where we have decided to honor our dead. In total, my family sets out fifteen candles which will invite our loved ones from different countries and cultures to be remembered together. Throughout the night, I find myself troubled by how the veladoras (candles) covered in paper bearing the image of Jesus will not stay lit. I wonder if there exists any significance in the fact that the Jesus candles refuse to hold their flames. And then I start to wonder about the dogs, especially Anel, who has made a habit of illegally sneaking into the house to demand our attention, petting and admiration. Anel, I thought, would surely eat the food, sweets, flowers and probably the Jesus candles too.

Amongst such worries, I had yet to see the ofrenda. I had, of course, looked at it while we were placing the flowers and hanging up the crepe paper, but I only saw with my eyes. Fortunately, my consumption of water afforded me the opportunity to awake from sleep to see the ofrenda with more than my eyes alone. On my way to the bathroom, I was drawn in by the dimming light of the two Jesus candles which had managed to survive. I relit the less successful Jesuses, then stood to see the display before me shadowed by the moonlight and candles (three of which had somehow already managed to self-extinguish). I saw my brother and the fish and faces of my family’s loved ones smiling at me. And I started to cry. Not tears of sadness or happiness—just tears. The eatable kind that slowly make the voyage from the corners of your eyes to the corners of your mouth where they become a salty treat. I saw the ofrenda. Our ofrenda. My ofrenda. It no longer represented an enticing alternative to verb conjugation. Instead, the ofrenda before me represented the beauty and frailty which is our human experience. And so I stayed there for a while looking into the shadows—just me, the Jesuses, and our visiting dearly departed.



The following poem was written for Dolores who was murdered in Ixtlilco on Friday, November 2. Dolores’ murder was a result of ignorance and homophobia. She was a friend of CEMAL and of my host family and is dearly missed by all. Please keep her friends, family, community and her partner of more than forty years in your thoughts. I write these words because I do not know what else to do besides tell the little bit I know of Dolores’ story in hopes that such acts of hatred and injustice are not repeated.

A Dolores

I saw you in pictures only
Collared shirt, jeans, boots, sombrero
I would have thought you were male
If not for your protruding chest
Definitely female in the way it filled
Your collared shirt
I heard the stories told by my sister
With affection and laughter
I heard them told by others later
After they lowered you into the earth
I hoped to meet you
To shake your hand and see the land
Your land, her land
Which you sowed and labored
I never knew you, Dolores
But I met you there in the church and cemetery
In the crying and wailing
I felt the love they have for you
The love she has for you
They cried for you, Dolores
We cried
So that someone would hear the injustice
Which echoed the streets of Ixtlilco
That Sunday night
They killed you, Dolores
Because you couldn´t fit into the box
Because you danced on the lines
Ignorance and fear guised as violence
For which we will never have the answers
She continues and will never have the answers
And so they buried you, Dolores
Without arrest, without investigation, without media
Only the cries and metallic soprano voices linger
In the petal-covered cobblestone streets
To tell your story
To seek out justice which will not come

-Amanda Sneed

Week 10: Homestays, Speakers and the exciting (and sometimes awkward) road of experiences

By Emily Papke-Larson

It’s been about two weeks living with our host families and from what I’ve experienced and heard from other students, all is well. It’s becomeincreasingly easier to communicate using words, not only hand gestures, Cuernavaca no longer has the most intimidating bus system in the world, and by now we’re all well acquainted with Mexican food.

The only bump on this otherwise exciting road of experiences is what I consider to be my continued level of unease with living in a language, culture, place,and family that are not my own... which is to say that things have gotteneasier, more fun, and a little more relaxing, but often I let my worries takecontrol spend far to much time planning things to say when I get off the bus andworrying about what I’m going to say during dinner, instead of spending my timesoaking up the experience of living in a different country.Through some friends, I recently discovered that there is not a word to describethe feeling “awkward” in the Spanish language. There are, however, several words in English that cover that uncomfortable, delicate, tricky, cumbersome, and dicey “awkward” feeling that we all get when wondering whether it’s actuallyalright for us to eat the leftover papaya in the kitchen or use the familytoothpaste in the bathroom once in awhile. It’s been an interesting journey,feeling my way through those moments where I would give anything to be swallowed by the floor on the spot, and instead learning to recognize culturaldifferences and, at the least, to laugh my way through them.

The theme for the section which we are studying dictates which speakers we will meet and talk with. We have begun to study Queer and Indiscent LiberationTheology in one of our classes and one of the most interesting ideas presentedthus far is a reinterpretation of Genesis 19:2, the Soddom and Gemmorah story,which has so plagued those who identify as GLBTQ. This interpretation finds the sin of those living in Soddom and Gemmorah to be a lack of hospitality for the angels who visit, not a sexual sin involving two men. What’s interesting about this interpretation though, is that it still leaves this text intact as a “Text of Terror” in which the daughter of the host is offered for sexual favors to themen of the city in the place of the two angels. As a result, this text has beendiscounted by many Feminist Liberation Theologians because of it’s violent andextremely oppressive attitude towards women. So, with thoughts ofreinterpretation and inclusion in our minds, we attended lectures and lessonstaught by a variety of people.

One of the most interesting activities this week was a monologue entitled“Transdaddy” written and performed by Giselle Stern-Hernandez, a former staff member at CEMAL. The monologue dealt with her experiences, reactions, and responses to her father’s physical, emotional, and mental transformation from male to female. It was well written and well performed, beginning with some of her mother’s experiences growing up in Mexico City and the relationship her parents shared after moving to the United States, along with the experiences of her younger brother and herself. This was understandably a difficult monologue to perform as it dealt with the private lives of real people and was complete with pictures from Giselle’s youth. It was well received by the CEMAL audience.

We also met with Rev. Alfonzo Leija of La Iglesia de la Comunidad Metropolitana which is a church focused on the inclusion of the GLBTQ community in the Catholic community. Alfonzo presented alternative interpretations of the Catholic doctrine, telling us of his beliefs that science and religion must unite so people can find themselves together with God. Alfonzo also talked with us about the HIV/AIDS crisis here in Cuernavaca and from 1987-2001, the existence of a shelter for people terminally ill with the disease. He said to us: “We didn’t have any money, but no one should die in the street.” In 1999, 30 people died in the shelter, the majority members of the church. Cuernavaca has the 3rd highest infection rate in Mexico and the church spends time focusing on giving free tests, talks and seminars in schools. The talk was ended with a reminder that information (and condoms) are the best resources for protection against HIV/AIDS.