The Zapatistas Welcome the Birth of the Sixth Sun

This post will be brief. Our time with the Zapatistas was unexpectedly cut short, with no explanation. The Junta del Buen Gobierno granted most of our requests, but said that we would not be able to visit the Caracol after noon on the 19th. We were able to meet with the formadores and promotores del educación, and they were wonderfully warm and informative. We got to see the new secondary school being built. But,, needless to say, we were disappointed that we had so little time with the Junta, and no time at all with the Health promoters. We figured that sooner or later we'd find out the reason why our tme with them was curtailed. We found out yesterday.

Yesterday, on the day of the Birth of the Sixth Sun, the Zapatistas welcomed the new era in wonderful Zapatista style. 40,000 of them marched in the larger cities of Chiapas. 8,000 were in Palenque's city centre. I wish I had been in the city instead of staying huddled under a palapa at Maya Bell, trying to stay dry in a torrential "dry season" downpour and wishing that all the silly hippies of the Rainbow family would get raptured, or whatever it is they were expecting to do.

I'll write a more detailed account soon. For now, I have a bus to catch to Oaxaca. Happy New Era, everyone.

Waiting for the Birth of the Sixth Sun

This post will be brief, owing to the fact that there is no internet connection at Maya Bell, where I’m staying. Our time with the Zapatistas was shorter than expected, but incredibly rich and informative. It will take a few days to construct an account that will do justice to our meeting with the Junta and with the formadores and promotores de educación.  The Zapatistas are extremely aware of the environment, both natural and sociopolitical, in which they are living. Everything they do, every decision they make, is done with great deliberation and care. To even begin to approach the task of trying to share an account of our time with them must be done with a deliberation and care that comes as close as possible to theirs. These are dangerous times for them, as they are for the rest of the world. They understand this better than most people.

Maya Bell has been inundated with Rainbow people. Compared to the wisdom of the Zapatistas, who are extremely careful about whom they share any information with, the so-called “Mayan healers” who work with the Rainbow people (for a fee) are apparently indiscriminate about the people with whom they share their drugs and “sacred knowledge.” Despite the supposed "War on Drugs" that is causing so much pain for the people of Mexico, there are no police checking these young international folks for drugs. But then, the Mexican government feels no threat from a bunch of hippies ... and these prideful, mostly young, people feel they are above politics. Apparently, they feel the world will improve (in some undefinable way) if they can just have a good trip. Most of those with whom I've spoken haven't even heard of the Zapatistas. But then, as the Zapatistas say, they want "a world in which many worlds fit." I guess that includes the Rainbow kids, too.

The next time I may be able to write will be December 22. I fully expect at that time to be able to confirm that the world did not end. Happy New Era, everyone.

On the Road Again

This trip began when I left home at 5:05, Wednesday December 12. I took the first #105 bus of the day to Vendome Metro Station and the #747 from Lionel Groulx station and arrived at the airport shortly after 6:00. I had stayed up all night finding last-minute things to do, knowing I would be able to nap on the 6-hour flight and would probably want to be very tired that night.

The AeroMexico counter was already busy when I arrived. I was among the first ten people in line and found myself surrounded by a large group of Mexicans and (I later learned) Guatemalans, mostly men.  A woman, whose first language did not seem to be Spanish, stopped at several points along the line and distributed tags to them. When I got to the check-in counter, I asked if I had missed something, as I did not have one of these tags. The clerk said that the woman probably assumed that I was not a seasonal agricultural worker, and smiled. He said that those who received the tags were all part of one group. I’m curious about how this work is organized. Is there a broker who acts as a liaison with the government, who finds the workers and does the paperwork, obtains the visas and does whatever else is required? Was the woman working for the government or, possibly, for the broker?  I wondered if the men were happy to be going home to be with their families and friends for the holidays. With Quebec now in winter’s deep-freeze, are these workers looking forward to the spring planting season, the summer growing season and the fall harvest season?  Or are they just glad to get away? Do they curse capitalism, as I do, for its use of people as if they are mere machines, in the case of these workers, just rentals, to be used when needed and then returned to the pool of surplus labour when the job is done? Or are they just happy to have work, hoping that their health holds out for a few more years.

The flight was wonderful. Of all the airlines I've flown on, AeroMexico is far and away the best. I had a window seat, 8F, just ahead of the wing. I've flown from Fort Lauderdale to Houston, and so have seen the northern slice of the Gulf of Mexico; but this is the first time I've flown over the expanse of it. It is incredibly beautiful from the air. In fact, it is being destroyed, along with the livelihoods and the way of life of those who fish in it. Profit before people and the living environment.

The hot meal offered by AeroMexico was, well, superb compared to other airline food I've had, which was mostly stuff I ate because I was really hungry, or simply because I had paid for it in the price of the ticket. The choice was chicken or pasta. I asked for the chicken, as did everyone else in row 8, across the plane, so I didn't get a chance to see what the pasta looked like.  The chicken was delicious, and came with a fresh salad, a roll and butter, steamed veggies, coffee, a small glass of white wine and, for dessert, a brownie.

There were two movies.  The first one was a strange one, “The Odd Life of Timothy Green,” about a little boy with leaves growing from his legs who turns up at the home of a childless couple.  I took my opportunity to nap during that one. The second was “The Amazing Spiderman.” During that one, as I walked to the back of the plane, where the washrooms are located, I was wishing my eyes could film what they see. In row after row, faces were upturned toward the movie screens, their eyes rapt. If I hadn't known they were engrossed in a Spiderman movie, I might have thought they were witnessing the second coming of Christ.

The Benito Juarez airport at Mexico City is huge and efficient. Arriving at Terminal 2, I had time for a salad and a beer and some internet time at Wings before boarding another, smaller AeroMexico plane for the flight to Villahermosa. The plane appeared to be only half full. The single passenger on the other side of the aisle from me, a well-dressed, middle-aged business type, made the sign of the cross and kissed his thumbnail, and we were off.

The Villahermosa Airport is small. Still, there seemed to be no reason why it wouldn't have an ATM machine, which seemed to be the problem one young man was ranting about to the clerk at the taxi office. I’m glad that I changed Canadian dollars to Mexican pesos, enough for a few days, before I left Montreal. It was one less thing that could have turned into a major glitch. The taxi ride from the airport into town to the Best Western Maya Tabasco cost 200 pesos.

From the outside, the Best Western Maya Tabasco  looks deceptively nice. My room-for-the-night smelled strongly of mildew. The WiFi connection was spotty. The restaurant vastly overcharged for their buffet breakfast and a waiter who seemed over-solicitously attentive to the table of businessmen beside me, while I had to ask for a coffee and a refill. All of that unpleasantness for a $60 per night room! Glad it was only one night.

I got the noon bus to Palenque and arrived at Hostel Yaxkin at 2:30 yesterday. I already love this place. Of course, it has its good and bad points ... after all, it's a hostel. The decor is Mayan-inspired, and the atmosphere is laid back. About 80% of the people here are young Rainbow people celebrating the Solstice in their own way. It can get a little noisy in the reception area. A couple of times the WiFi has failed. The eight-bed women's dormitorio where I'm staying is clean and quiet, and I slept better last night than I have in a long time. Two more nights of good rest will help to prepare me for the next steps on my journey.

I'm looking forward to meeting up with the Schools for Chiapas group on Sunday for "Zapatista Visions II: The Sixth Sun ~ Birthing a New and Better World." These are hopeful times.

To and Fro

Going back to Managua from León was like going back to the "real world." Managua (in the Metro Centro district -- which I've heard described as "the Beverly Hills of Managua") might as well be Miami -- a city with which it is "twinned." A couple of days at the Managua Backpackers Inn (while I searched in vain for my ticket to Costa Rica) was more than enough. Managua Backpackers is the only place n Nicaragua I'm always glad to leave; but it's a good place to store my stuff so that I can travel light to other places. After getting my situation cleared up with Immigration -- paying $17 ($1 per day for over-staying my tourist permit by five days, and $12 to extend my permit for 25 days) -- I decided to return to León for a few days. My stay here has turned into three weeks, más o menos. I'll be going back to Managua tomorrow. Below is the Metrocentro Mall.

The itinerary I had planned before I left Canada changed completely when I reached Nicaragua and fell in love with this country and its people. The original plan was (sort of) to travel from Nicaragua to Costa Rica, and then to Panama. From Panama I would have taken a boat to Colombia (with a three-day stop-over in the San Blas Islands), and then traveled to Peru. I had gotten some conflicting advice from travelers who suggested crossing into Bolivia either from Peru or from Chile. In the end, it didn't matter because Nicaragua captured my heart and wouldn't let me go.

Despite the intense heat, León is my favourite city. As I've read, Granada may have the style, but León has the substance. Still, it's a world apart from the one in which I usually live -- which is a world into which I do not fit comfortably. I am already beginning to feel a kind of sadness, knowing that my time here is coming to a close. Only two weeks and two days remain for me in Nicaragua. Between now and the time I leave there will be many interesting things to see and do, but strangely, I'm starting to feel like a tourist -- someone with a brief period of time to fill with interesting sights and activities before returning to my "normal" life -- a life which will never be normal for me again.

What to do? Just get on with it, I guess.

In Love With León

Today I will be returning to Managua. I'll stay there for a couple of days before going to Costa Rica. I have to leave Nicaragua because my visa is about to expire; but I'll be back. To ensure my return, I'm leaving my heart in León.

I hardly know where to begin to describe my experience in León. Other than the first night, when I stayed at Hostal Don Raúl (which was cheap and friendly, but lacked internet), both times I've been in León I've stayed at Hostal Tortuga Booluda. I had gone out in search of an internet cafe. Seeing several young people with backpacks (who turned out to be from Sweden), I asked them if they knew where I could find one. They said they were on their way to Hostal Tortuga Booluda, which has wifi. Although there were no dorm beds available that night, Santos, who was working at the reception desk, told me I could use my laptop there. In the common area I saw photos of Che Guevara on the walls, and heard some wonderful reggae and Cuban music -- and I knew this was the place where I wanted to stay.

The following day I arrived early and got a dorm bed. Only three and a half blocks from the Central Park, La Tortuga Booluda has been the perfect place for me. (This video, taken by a traveler, will give you an idea of what the place is like.) Of course, much of the ambiance of a hostel is created by the people who stay there. I've been very lucky to have met some amazing people here. They come from all over the world and have enriched my experience with their stories of their lives and travels. We've had some great conversations about the politics of Nicaragua -- a fascinating topic. Some of these people are now FaceBook friends, and I follow their travels as they post photos and commentaries.

I would have to say, though, that my most interesting experience has been getting to know Maria. As I was looking at a large mural, full of historical and revolutionary symbolism, covering the walls of two buildings on the north and east sides of the plaza across the street from the cathedral, Maria approached me, notebook in hand, and offered to show me some of the important sites connected with the Sandinista revolution. We spent the next couple of hours wandering the streets of León. We toured a jail where Anastasio Somoza's army tortured prisoners. Maria showed me buildings damaged in the war, like the building with rectangular openings, used by the army to shoot from (turned into a school, Escuela Taller de León Pepe Escudero, after the Sandinistas took over) and a church blasted to smithereens by Somoza's forces.

Escuela Taller de León Pepe Escudero (left)Bombed church (right)

















Maria explained what it was like during the war so that I could almost feel what it must have been like to live through those years. She speaks no English, and my Spanish is very basic; but she was so perceptive, catching every look of confusion that crossed my face when I didn't understand what she was saying, and re-phrasing her explanation until I got it.

Over coffee at Cafe Rosita, I learned about Maria's life (which will be the subject of another post), and began to think about how I could help her. That was the beginning of what I call el proyecto 'coche de hot dogs' -- Maria's hot dog stand. I could have donated the equivalent amount of money to one of the foreign-based organizations engaged in charitable works here (and I don't deny the need for these -- in fact, there should be more); but it has been an immensely satisfying experience to have been personally involved in providing Maria with a means of making a decent living. This little project has created a bond between us that will last throughout the years, sustained by our weekly emails and, I hope, my occasional visits.

To be continued ...

Peace

Down Time in Managua

Laid up n Managua with a sinus infection (a recurring problem), I’ve had some time to read and watch movies. I’ve been reading The Shock Doctrine, by Naomi Klein, one of the most important books I‘ve ever read. I had just read the chapter on the coup in Chile when, apropos of that, I watched the 1982 Costa Gavras film, Missing. The film is based on the true story of independent journalist, Charles Horman, a young US citizen who was killed during the US-sponsored coup against Chile’s democratically-elected President, Salvador Allende, in 1973. Also killed was Frank Teruggi, who worked with Horman at a small news magazine, FIN (Fuente Norteamericano de Información, or North American Information Source).

According to history professor, Steven Volk (who was also in Chile during the coup that put Augusto Pinochet in power, and was the person who identified the body of his friend, Frank Teruggi), FIN "was designed to keep interested Chileans informed about the activities of the U.S. government and corporations around the world, and to demonstrate solidarity with the Chilean left by calling attention to progressive movements in the United States." Association with FIN was enough to put Charles Horman and Frank Teruggi on the list of persons to be rounded up and killed in a coup supported (and to some extent organized) by their own government.

Charles Horman and Frank Teruggi were like a lot of us -- passionate about social justice, using every possible means to communicate the larger issues to anyone who's interested, and completely outspoken about we're seeing. We use Facebook to post links to articles and videos that tell the story better than we ever could. We blog. At the same time, we are mostly unaware of the lengths to which the powers that be will go to protect their interests. We may feel insignificant in the larger scheme of things, but if we have anything coherent to say about what is happening around us, it's sure that we've been noticed -- if not by those we want to reach, then by those who know that the ideas we try to disseminate are inimical to their interests. Charles Horman and Frank Teruggi didn't see themselves as very important. That was a mistake.

It's not that we should ever stop speaking the truth that we see to as many as will listen. But we need to be aware of the forces that are arrayed against us. We need to understand that the desire for social justice, for truth, is not on their agenda. Making a profit at any cost is their prime motivator. To them, we are "bleeding hearts," concerned about the survival of people who are irrelevant to their scheme of things, and striving to protect cherished human values that they have decreed passé. In Archbishop Oscar Romero and Reverend Martin Luther King (among many others, nameless, faceless, but still speaking their truth from beyond their unmarked graves) we have examples of the kind of integrity we know we will need in the face of an onslaught by those who desire to frighten us into doing their bidding.

These martyrs boldly spoke the truth they as they saw it, that they were living within an evil system that required the sacrifice, often the blood sacrifice, of those who spoke out against the injustices being perpetrated against the people they loved. They were willing to sacrifice themselves, not to prove the evil-doers right, but to show that you can kill people, but you can't kill an idea. The idea is justice, freedom and respect for all. The desire for these is inherent in human nature, and yet how often do we practice doing unto others as we would have them do unto us? I think that if we applied this principle generally, we could change the world. But we need to remember that the application of this principle has a cost.

More and more people are waking up to the reality that has been before our eyes all along. But the system that controls our possibilities and our perceptions also monitors our desires. It's time to think about these things. It's time to think about the personal cost of challenging a system established to further the greedy interests of a small number of those of our species who would sacrifice the rest of us for their goal of gaining total control of the world. Horman and Teruggi found out too late that there was not even a shred of humanity in the system they attempted to challenge. They were killed because they knew too much. And so, what is our alternative? Refusing to know anything? (Ignorance will not save us.) Pretending that things will get better on their own? (We know they will not.) There are no easy answers. Still, we need to ask ourselves the questions.

All I know is that the more I learn (and The Shock Doctrine has been a real eye-opener), the more I experience the need, the desire, to tend to my own integrity, which is challenged every time I speak out and get criticized for it; every time I have a choice to make between my desires and others' needs; every time I am tempted to give up on humanity. I don't know what the future holds in store for me. All I know is that integrity seems to be the worst mortal sin in the upside down world of today. It seems to mark people for martyrdom. And yet, without integrity, what am I? I might as well be dead.

These are serious thoughts on a beautiful morning in a beautiful country whose people have had to grapple with these issues before (and, judging from the signs, unfortunately probably will again). But at this moment I feel very alive and overwhelmed by the beauty around me. It's a good day to travel back to León to refresh my perspective.

Peace

The 30th Anniversary of the Assassination of Archbishop Romero

Today marked the 30th anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero. While I was in El Salvador, I was considering going back for the commemoration. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it would probably be a big disappointment. Even worse, it would probably have left me frustrated and angry. The lessons I am learning from my travels are all about remaining "at peace" in an increasingly troubled world. I would have been disturbed by the commemorations that have turned the remembrance of this great man's assassination into a "reality" show.

Other than a couple of articles online, including a comprehensive piece in ConsortiumNews.org, I have seen no mention of the School of the Americas in Fort Benning, Georgia (renamed the Institute for Hemispheric Security Cooperation -- although its murderous mission is unchanged). Also called The School of the Assassins, in Latin America, it is called La Escuela de Golpes (the Coup School). It is there that Major Roberto D’Aubuisson, responsible for ordering the execution of Archbishop Romero, was trained.

There have been commemorative gatherings in churches of many denominations all over the world, but the main event in San Salvador is a very Roman Catholic one. The message of the Catholic Church hierarchy to the poor, who were so loved by Romero, is, as always, one of individualistic holiness and self-sacrifice in the hope of a heavenly reward. For themselves, and the powers that they support, the Church's message is one of continuing impunity.

At the time of Romero’s assassination, El Salvador was ruled by a US-backed authoritarian regime that secured the interests of rich landowners. The Catholic Church hierarchy gave its support (as it has throughout the history of El Salvador and, indeed, all of Latin America) to the government of wealthy landowners and the military, and "worked hand-in-glove with the CIA in anti-communist counterinsurgencies." However, there were certain Catholic priests who understood the message of the Gospels differently. Father Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit and close friend of Romero's, was one of those who embraced "Liberation Theology," combining the teachings of Christ with elements of Marxist theory, and seeing the mission of the Church in the world as one of uplifting the oppressed and supporting them in their efforts to achieve justice and dignity, even through armed struggle. On March 12, 1977, Rutilio Grande was assassinated.

This event was the turning point for Romero, who had recently been selected for the position of Archbishop because of his conservatism and because it was expected that he would maintain the status quo in an increasingly turbulent time. However, with the assassination of Father Grande, he was transformed virtually overnight into a passionate defender of the rights of the poor, challenging the government, the military and even the Catholic Church hierarchy that gave its blessing to the oppressive regime. With this change, his fate was sealed. Three years later, on March 24, 1980, he was assassinated while saying Mass in the Chapel of the Hospital La Divina Providencia, where he lived.

His assassination fueled the war between leftist guerrillas and the US-backed government. As thousands of mourners gathered for his funeral, snipers from the National Army opened fire on them, killing at least 50 people. By the time the war officially ended with the signing of peace accords in 1992, at least 79,000 people had been killed. At the end of the war, the FMLN (Frente Faribundo Martí para la Liberación Nacional) political party was formed by a coalition of guerrilla groups that had opposed the government. Even so, the fascist Nationalist Republican Alliance (ARENA) party continued to rule for 20 years, "elected" through massive fraud, and the United States continued to exercise its power over the Salvadoran people through the government's neoliberal policies. One thing is for sure: "...U.S. policy has been motivated by its refusal to tolerate any major redistribution of economic resources in Latin America" (in "The Latin American Revolution II," by Asad Ismi, Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives). With social unrest growing due to the increasing poverty resulting from the ARENA government's policies, the FMLN finally produced its first president, Mauricio Funes, in 2009. Funes, a “moderate” former television interview program host and former correspondent for CNN en Español, has inherited the responsibility for leading a country wracked by extreme poverty, corruption and gang violence -- a situation that can (and I believe will) easily be exploited by the US through economic means and the CIA's usual covert destabilization activities.

Although the victory of the FMLN government was greeted by jubilation among the majority of Salvadorans, the hegemonic machinations of US geopolitics do not bode well for the new government, which has already begun bending over for the US. This posture is clearly shown by Omar Montilla, in a prescient article in Machetera, "What is going on with Mauricio Funes?" This article is a "must read" for anyone interested in being able to predict El Salvador's future.

It is not the future for which Archbishop Romero gave his life.

Peace