Whose Land Is It?

Collapsing at the edge of the brown waters, we had a moment to breathe and reflect on the day's journey as we waited for the small canoe which would take us across the river to our final destination.  Our guides gave the signal, a shrill whistle, while we breathed a great sigh of relief at finally approaching the end of our strenuous 3 ½ hour hike, much of which had been through knee-deep mud.

A whirlwind of images flashed through my mind.  I thought of the Lancondonese tribesman who stood in the shadow of the great cathedral, vending his necklaces of red and black seeds to wealthy tourists.  He walked between worlds, leaving the jungle for the city in order to buy the most basic goods for his family.  Now we had left our comfort zone and were visiting the jungle that he must know so well.  Just that morning we had walked the neat and orderly streets of San Christobal, passing the Spanish square, expensive restaurants, internet cafes, and tourist information centers.  San Christobal is home to many wealthy Mexicans whose lives are not so different from those of people in the first world.  Mexico has many faces and realities.  We were about to leave the glitz of the first world to encounter the other face and rugged reality of third world Mexico.           

Taking camionetas- small passenger vans- we had watched the scenery slowly become greener and more dense.  Breathtaking views of green forested hills and gorges had signified that we were approaching the Lancandon jungle.  The stretches of pure rain forest were interrupted by large patches of cleared land with grazing cattle and sometimes sections of blackened earth recently burned to make room for more pastures.

We finally arrived at a small, dusty town, completely devoid of trees in an area where the land so obviously desires to grow large majestic forests.  There we met three men from the small community we were about to visit who led us on a grueling hike which wound through pure jungle paths, abruptly punctuated by cleared pastures, back into the jungle, and finally to the edge of the great Lancandon river.

Muscles rippled on the lean body of a man who stood while he paddled the small wooden canoe over to meet us.  Walking up the hill on the other shore, we were met by a group of very short women, all carrying babies or showing signs of pregnancy, and rather dirty but radiant children.  We were led to a small wooden hut made of boards loosely tied together by vines, and a banana leaf roof, which would be our home while we lived in this small Zapatista community.

Our job as human rights observers in this community was to provide an international presence to show the military, who would inevitably come down the river in motor-boats, that the world had not forgotten about, and would not tolerate a massacre of these Mayan Indians.  The "village" (if this word can be used to describe the sixteen huts spread throughout a semi-cleared area of jungle) was inhabited by some of the poorest of Mexico's poor.  There are no schools and many in the community do not speak any Spanish, using only their mother tongue, Chol.  Yet many of them know more about the World Trade Organization and the impacts of neoliberalism than the average American.  This is because, unlike so many of the indigenous oppressed around the world, these people are revolutionaries.  They are Zapatistas, a part of a tradition that has said "ya basta!" enough is enough.

The Zapatistas came to the forefront of international attention on New Year's Day 1994, the same day that NAFTA became effective.  The Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN) responded to what they considered to be a "death sentence" for the Indians by staging an armed uprising and taking over six large towns and hundreds of ranches.  At the basis of the revolution was a call for land reform.  They take their name from their hero, Emiliano Zapata, whose land reform revolution of 1910-1919 and the subsequent gains were obliterated by NAFTA.  The Mexican constitution protected Indian communal land holdings from sale or privatization in Article 27, a huge win for Zapata and paid for with the blood of many men.  In 1993, the government cancelled the famous article, declaring it a barrier to investment under NAFTA.  The Indian farmers were threatened with the loss of their remaining land and, at the same time, would be facing competition from a flood of cheap imports from the US.  They revolted, calling for an "end to history," the history of neoliberalism, conquest, and "progress" for the few at great cost to the many.

Led by a masked icon, a university-educated intellectual of Spanish descent, who calls himself Subcommandante Marcos, the Zapatistas ask the "modern" world to re-envision itself.  They are fighting against assimilation and demanding a world where indigenous people are allowed to exist.  They are fighting against a world view which tells the indigenous to get with it and join the capitalist market.  They speak not only for themselves, their ranks being make of predominantly Mayan Indians, but they speak for the indigenous people the world over.

An official cease fire was declared twelve days after the initial uprising of 1994.  Since then Presidents Salinas, Zedillo, and Fox have all claimed that there are no problems in Chiappas.  Meanwhile a secret war has been going on ever since.  Some 60,000 troops are located in the state of Chiappas and there have been hundreds of civilian assassinations and kidnappings by the military and paramilitary groups.  The federal government continues to place pressure on the EZLN by stationing military bases near indigenous communities.

The story of our Zapatista village is representative of the covert war which is still ravaging Chiappas.  For the members of this community life is a battle.  They live off the land, subsisting mainly on corn tortillas and corn, and living in the simplest of wooden huts with dirt floors.

Maria's story is not unique.  A woman in her thirties, she has had eight children.  She now has four, having lost the other four to diseases which she could not afford to treat.  The youngest is only one and a half years old.  She herself is weak and has been suffering from fatigue, but she is quick to smile and laugh.  She considers herself lucky to have a strong husband.  Her sister has been raising five children alone since the government kidnapped her husband four years ago.  The only time I ever saw Maria upset was when a red and black coral snake, so deadly that one bite will kill a person, fell from the thatched ceiling directly onto her (luckily not having time to bite).  Maria's daily life consists of grinding corn, making tortillas, cleaning her home, and listening fo rthe cry of "launcha" which signifies the approach of military boats.

The entire village lives in constant fear of the military.  Their lives, dependent on the day-to-day sweat of their brow in order to ear, and the little savings they have, are precariously positioned on land which is not theirs.  Chol Indians are among the oldest inhabitants of the land, and are opposed on principal to the concept of land ownership.  They are legally entitled to nothing.   Yet when the government officials came in April 2003 and told them that they needed to leave, the community of staunch Zapatistas refused to go.  Since then, the people have been living in constant fear that their land and their lives will be taken away from them.

In the middle of a nature preserve, the land that this Chol community inhabits is rich in natural resources.  The government wants to exploit the forests and harvest trees for wood, paper, and medicine.  In Mexico the concept of "nature preserve" is something of a joke.  The reality is that money talks and when transnational corporations offer money, barriers meant to protect the land or people crumble.  "There are regulations, but they do not work," Juan, one man from the community told me, "The government wants to destroy everything.  They want to cut down the forest and plant rows of palma de aceite and eucalyptus" (as cash crops).  He went on to tell me that his community consider themselves protectors of the land.  Despite the fact that they themselves have cut down many trees to clear land for their houses and planting corn, the impact on the environment they have is much less than that which the government would have.  They are proud that they do not use any chemicals on the land but only employ natural methods of cultivation.  Living among the Chol community, I fully realized that the impact these people have on the earth is so small compared to that of people living in the United States.

Soldiers in motor-boats come down the river every couple of days.  "They come to scare us," a young man told me.  The Fray Bartolome Human Rights Center tries to make sure that there is a constant flow of international volunteers placed in the community.  Marcos speaks about how "our word is our weapon."  Their weapons have been successful because, unlike many battles against indigenous peoples the world over, outsiders are aware of the situation, as our presence testifies.  The military will not attack under the watchful eye of international observers.  The motorboats come, but when they see our white faces, they take pictures, they roar their engines, but usually they do not come on land.  Still, they have come onto the land, harassed the people, told them they must leave, and now it is only a matter of waiting to see when they come back with more force.  The fate of the community is dependent on how valuable the land right around the community is seen to be or how much money an international investor will offer.

Unschooled, but self-taught in Zapatista history and doctrine, Roberto, a father of three quoted article 16 of the constitution.  He vehemently explained to me that the government is violating the community's rights to be free of molestation in one's person, home, and family.  As we stood by the river waiting for the military boats to approach, he told me that the resistance of his community is meant to be an example to Mexico and to the world: "We inform people of their rights.  We know what our rights are." 

Another man asked me to take a message back to by country and my people.  He explained that he knew a lot of the problem was caused by people in the United States who support the oppression in Chiappas, both because our government sends money to Mexico's military and trains officials in the School of the Americas and because they buy products from corporations who cause destruction of Mexico's land.  "Fox says that we don't have problems, that we all have land, drinkable water, schools, and electricity.  Invite the people of the world to come see for themselves.  We have none of these things and they want the land we live on.  Tell them to come see for themselves."

I have been to see for myself.  The Zapatista community I lived with have none of these things.  They live simply, but with dignity, and even the little they have is in danger of being taken from them.  What amazes me most about these people who do not have electricity, clinics, or schools, these Indians who are the poorest of Mexico's poor, is that they have a vision of a bigger picture.  They are aware that they are oppressed and they are aware of who their oppressors are- transnational corporations, neoliberalism, and globalization.  They quote the Mexican Constitution and they quote Subcommandante Marcos.  They ask us to re-envision our ideas of progress and they ask us to build a world that allows for indigenous rights and a multiplicity of world views.