Hoy fuí a comer con Juan, quien está viviendo en comunidad Tojolabal aprendiendo la lengua y su mundo. We spoke about the role of spirituality, and Liberation Theology in this part of the world, como después de Vaticano III, llegaron los curas aquí y fueron cambiados por los indios. It’s not like in other places, he said, aquí los indios les dicen a los curas como esta la cosa. Luego esta noche, me topo cybernéticamente con esto:
En 1992, mientras se celebraban los cinco siglos de algo así como la salvación de las Américas, un sacerdote católico llegó a una comunidad metida’en las hondonadas del sureste mexicano. Antes de la misa, fue la confesión. En lengua tojolobal, los indios contaron sus pecados. Carlos Lenkersdorf hizo lo que pudo traduciendo las confesiones, una tras otra, aunque él bien sabía que es imposible traducir esos misterios: –Dice que ha abandonado al maíz –tradujo Carlos–. Dice que muy triste está la milpa. Muchos días sin ir. –Dice que ha maltratado al fuego. Ha aporreado la lumbre, porque no ardía bien. –Dice que ha profanado el sendero, que lo anduvo macheteando sin razón. –Dice que ha lastimado al buey. –Dice que ha volteado un árbol y no le ha dicho por qué. El sacerdote no supo qué hacer con esos pecados, que no figuran en el catálogo de Moisés.
“It’s like Dante’s Inferno; they are bombing people in a cage.”
(Mads Gilbert, a Norwegian doctor currently working in Gaza).
These past two weeks I have felt much like Edvard Munch’s, silent Scream, which this poster from the Primer Festival Mundial de la Digna Rabia (First World Festival of Dignified Rage, organized by the Zapatistas), bears likeness to. The Gaza situation is horrific. We are organizing events here in Chiapas to raise consciousness and solidarity, as well as join in concrete actions (like the Boycott, Divest, Sanctions approach applied to apartheid South Africa) towards Israel. I attended much of La Digna Rabia, both in Mexico D.F. and here in Chiapas where Marcos gave a powerful condemnation speech among various other events in support (John Berger read a very moving letter by Ghassan Kanafani). The Municipal Palace was also fabulously graffiti bombed in the middle of the night with pro-Palestinian images and words saying ¡NO ESTAN SOLOS! and ¡TODOS SOMOS GAZA! amongst support for the repressions in Oaxaca, Atenco, and Oakland. In Oaxaca, there were 200 people arrested at a demonstration for Palestine at the U.S. consulate. So, in the midst of all this darkness, we are not staying silent, and I am actually feeling the ground shift, things are changing, but it is darkest before the dawn of course, and I think there is still much darkness to come.
Yet this land and people here in the red earth of Chiapas give me much hope and strength. Otro Mundo, Otro Camino. Y mucho corazón, abajo y a la izquierda.
Pasé el fín de semana en San Jerónimo Tulijá para asistir a una boda de los compas. A magnificent place, and I understood better Marcos’ descriptions of the Lacandon jungle. The wedding was beautiful and we swam in the crystalline river afterwards. My friend J also took us to an even more remote location where the river sprouts from the earth…we were not allowed to take photographs there, so it remains in my memory only. I can’t include names and faces of our hosts for security reasons, but here is a small glimpse of my time there.
I fell in love with the generous family who hosted us, and in particular with a little girl, five years old, Juanita, who made me think I might want to adopt such a girl some day in Chiapas. We ate beef broth three times a day, danced to Duranguillo music late into the night. Among my dance partners was B, a campesino fighter about my age who took me inside during a pounding rainstorm, where he shared with me several stories, poems, and dreams. Among them, the story of how he had been raised on a finca in slavery conditions, then brought by his father to this place, and how he dreamed of a resistance movement such as Zapatismo, and slowly, clandestinely, how he became part of it. He promised to write down and send me the poem he has written about these experiences…
My friend A took me to visit the Elisa Irina Sáenz Garza Murcia clinic, named after a woman guerrilla fighter (of the FLN-the Armed Forces of national Liberation, a precursor to the EZLN), with my same last name, also from the north, who was assassinated by the army in the 70’s. A victim of “la guerra sucia” she disappeared in 1974 from the surrounding mountains and it is said that her decapitated head was taken to a nearby military museum. The clinic includes a section for herbal medicine and has a beautiful mural outside that shows the different local plants that can be used for healing.
Acteal “Las Abejas”, site of the 1997 massacre of 16 children, 20 women (7 of which were pregnant), and 9 men who were praying when they were brutally attacked. I still have few words for what it was like to be there, but I learned a lot about the importance of ritual and community in the process of mourning and healing. In their memory, here are names, ages, and manner killed of the 45 victims.
Nombre
Edad
Comunidad
Tipo de herida
1
Maria Pérez Oyalte
45
Acteal
Arma de fuego
2
Juana Pérez Luna
8
Arma de fuego
3
Rosa Vázquez Luna
21
Acteal
Arma de fuego
4
Juana Gómez Pérez
60
Acteal
Arma cortocontundente
5
Marcela Pucuj Luna
68
Acteal
Arma de fuego
6
Maria Pérez Ruiz Capote
18
Arma de fuego
7
Catalina Luna Pérez
24
Acteal
Arma cortocontundente, cráneo
8
Instrumento contuso cortante, cráneo
9
Alonso Vázquez Pérez
35
Acteal ?
Arma de fuego
10
Arma de fuego (pulmón)
11
Marcela Luna Ruiz
35
Acteal
Arma de fuego, abdomen
12
Arma de fuego
13
Arma cortocuntundente, cráneo
14
Daniel Gómez Pérez
23
Acteal
Cortocontundente, cráneo
15
Sebastián Gómez Pérez
11
Cortocontundente, cráneo
16
Florinda Pérez Pérez
37
Acteal
Arma de fuego y cortocontundente, abdomen
17
Maria Gómez Ruiz
23
Chimix
Arma de fuego
18
Alonso Vázquez Gómez o Victorio Vázquez Gómez
?-18
Acteal
Arma de fuego
19
Arma de fuego
20
Paulina Hernández Vázquez
20
Acteal
Arma de fuego
21
Arma de fuego
22
Roselia Gómez Hernández
6
Acteal
Contusocortante, cuello, mutilación de muslo
23
Traumatismo craneoencefalico
24
Arma de fuego
25
Ignacio Pucuj
65
Acteal
Arma de fuego
26
Arma de fuego
27
Susana Jiménez Luna
17
Arma de fuego
28
Marcela Vázquez Pérez
35
Acteal
Arma de fuego, mutilación seno izquierdo
29
Arma de fuego
30
Maria Luna Mendez
?
Acteañ
Contusocortante y arma de fuego, mutilación muslo pierna derecha
Although it was over a week ago, I wanted to mention this party we as La Otra Campaña organized to raise funds for the political prisoners of Atenco. It was a powerful and very successful event at TierrAdentro: I made Molasses cookies to sell, Xmal read my Corredores poem, Tacumba played–a great band of son jarocho, some impromptu chansón français musicians brought down the house at the end, and the magnificent Zapayasos–which gave an extraordinary Forum Theatre presentation on the ravages of development and militarization in indigenous communities–addressing the the role of mass media and even that of the complicity of community members when they are seduced by money and power. Here are some photos and the flyer from the event.
Pues, me he visto lenta con ponerle cosas de muertos a mi altar, pero tan siquiera aquí está la de los vecinos y un poema de mi amigo, que ofrezco a mis muertos: mi nena chiquitita, Cassandra, Efrén, Rebecca, Knud, Linda, Alejandro, Leonardo… así cómo los nuevos muertos de este año: Studs Terkel, y todos los que murieron en guerras, de enfermedad, de tristeza, y pues de vida también…que todavía nos acompañan en espiritu. Están presentes.
Que la Tierra los tenga en descanso.
Si monumento hiciéramos
digno de sus muertes
en honor y memoria de ellos
comprometámonos
a la libertad,
a la justicia verdadera,
a la paz mundial.
Que si la muerte no es justa,
justas sean nuestras vidas.
Los últimos dias me la pasé con los Corredores de Paz y Dignidad (http://peaceanddignityjourneys.com/). A group of approximately 25 people have been running for five months from Alaska, through the U.S. and Mexico, on their way to meet their counterparts who departed from La Patagonia, Argentina. Runners from the north (eagle) and south (condor) will meet in Panama in mid-November. This is in fulfillment of the prophecy of the eagle and the condor and is a prayer for peace and unification of indigenous peoples of the Americas. Los recibimos en el CIDECI el 1ero de octubre y después los llevamos a los varios caracoles Zapatistas: Oventic y Morelia. They also went to the community of Las Abejas, Acteal, site of the 1998 massacre of 21 women, 9 men, and 15 children.
As the local organizers were called away to the Americas Social Forum and the Forum on Militarization in Guatemala and Honduras respectively, I was entrusted by them to take over and support the runners during their stay in Chiapas, accompanying them in ceremony and travel. Also, I had the honor of running my bit, holding a staff on a dirt road that wound its way through the lush green hills outside Altamirano en route to the Zapatista Caracol de Morelia. It was a very moving and profound experience to be a part of their prayer runs, their daily ceremonies of song, dance, and ritual—watching how at the dawn of a day’s run, each runner listens carefully to the call of one amongst hundreds of staffs they are collectively carrying (each staff represents a different community), warmly wrapped in colorful blankets. After a day of running, upon arriving at a new place, they again form circle and close the obligations of the day with new ceremony, lovingly laying the staffs down to rest for the night. During these days, we also held two Temazcalli (sweat lodge ceremonies) to which other people from the area were invited. In gratitude, we made an offering which they now carry with them: wrapped in a Palestinian keffiyeh, a long glass bottle half-full of red earth I’d brought from Lebanon after the war in 2006, the remaining space to be filled up with red earth of Chiapas. The video below shows the runners arriving at the Zapatista Caracol of Oventic.
Los Corredores: a todas mis relaciones.
Cada bastón, un rezo
para nosotros y el mundo
cada comunidad, una pluma
vuelan águila y cóndor.
Craneos de búfalo con salvia
abren puerta al circulo,
humo de copal nos limpia
salpica pluma de águila.
Tres caracoles, cuatro direcciones
cielo y tierra envueltos en espíritu;
los ancestros mandan sabiduría
que yace en cada corazón.
Circulan cantos más alto
que los vuelos de aves,
sana la tierra el cantar
venadito azul, tu eres medicina.
Bastones de esperanza:
uno pa’ las mujeres de Juarez,
dos purepechas y cruz de Acteal,
frasco con tierra roja del Libano.
Toman vuelo los pies de mayores
de regreso al creador, mientras
corazones jóvenes y fuertes,
bailan y giran, pisando tierra.
Tonantzin, cuida la familia
aquí, allá donde quiera que estén.
Acuesta a l@s niñ@s esta noche
en el ombligo de Madre Tierra
para alzarlos en la mañana,
despertando las aguas.
Toda mi vida te he buscado
y en este fuego yo te encontrado.
****
The Runners: to all my relations.
Each staff, a prayer
for us and the world;
each community, a feather
fly eagle and condor.
Buffalo skulls filled with sage
open doorway into circle,
copal smoke cleanses
eagle feather sprinkles water.
three conch shells, four directions
sky and earth wrapped in spirit
the ancestors send wisdom
to reside in each heart.
songs circle higher
than flight of birds
singing heals the earth
little blue deer, you are medicine.
Staffs of hope, hundreds
one for the women of Juarez
two Purepechas, a cross from Acteal,
bottle of red earth from Lebanon.
Elder’s feet take flight
back to the creator, while
hearts young and strong
dance and pound the earth.
Tonantzin, care for the family
here, there, wherever they are
Lay down our children for the night
in the bellybutton of Mother Earth
to take up again in the morning,
awakening the water.
All my life I’ve been seeking
and in this fire, I’ve found you.
Near the corner of Reforma with Insurgentes, we heard the beating of drums and chanting of dozens, if not hundreds, of naked indigenous people from Veracruz encircled by riot police and city traffic. They walked for 17 days to the capital and have now been manifesting in this way for over 5 months, for the return of their lands, which they were forced off of in 1992, their homes, crops, schools, and churches having been set ablaze by orders of then governor Dante.
We spent several hours with them, learning about their story and their struggle, seeing how they organize themselves at this urban encampment at el Monumento a la Madre. Here is an article in Spanish I found on the internet about them. http://enkidumagazine.com/art/2007/101207/e_1012_016.htm
We spoke at length to Alfonsina, who explained how difficult it was to stand there naked, for hours a day, every day for 5 months, but that they had no choice: having been stripped of their land, home, and means to make a living… it was a fitting metaphor to strip of their clothes to show how they have nothing left. Alfonsina was there with her children, as were many families, living together in makeshift shelters, collecting water for washing and the toilet, eating refuse from the Merced market; we joined a group of women who were doing their best to clean rotting tomatos for consumption.
Outside one of the tents was a row of potted flowers, and on the corner, a recently planted maize, which had started to sprout an ear of corn. People of corn, in makeshift tents, sleeping on asphalt in front of the Monument to the Mother, living off coins given by motorists and passing city folk, collected by people wearing masks of the oppressor, Dante, former governor of Veracruz and now senator of a republic indifferent to the expulsion of its own people from their lands, lands being converted into energy sources primarily for the consumption of the global north, a north of transnational capital bent on ridding the global south of indigenous people in order to use their lands for mineral and oil extraction, together with industrialized farming for massive plantations of transgenic crops and African palm.
I had heard some of these stories already in Chiapas, of the mass exodus of men from the villages to the U.S., now similar to what has been occuring for decades in the northern regions of the country, but that had not been so much the case in Chiapas. In the villages are left only women, children, and old folk. In just a few days in D.F., we encountered many groups who had come to protest their situation: health workers from Chiapas, teachers from Morelos and Oaxaca. There are protests every day, I’ve seen them all my life, but this time I approached, entered, and listened. As Don Durito says, dared to listen. Hopefully others will listen too. My visitor commented, “the country is boiling.” As is the world, I answered.
Last Friday I went to an event organized by Luna Maya, a local midwives collective. The question posed around birth stories led to men and women sharing their traditions around birth, death, and pregnancy. I was surprised at the presence of so many men and the knowledge and passion they had on the subject. They spoke of the role of the midwife (partera), who in some communities could be a man, as one of honor, whose services were traditionally not paid, but rather part of a system of reciprocity and exchange.
Several people spoke about how a pregnancy is not just the concern of the couple, but rather of the whole community, an important event for both family and society. Members of the community visit every 3 days to make sure proper care is being followed, including the right food and herbs to avoid miscarriage, and to help with workload and lifting of heavy things as pregnancy advances. The pregnant couple begin to see who they will chose for the honor of assisting at the birth. The selected midwife must accompany process from the beginning of pregnancy to beyond the birth. Many spoke of the abstinence and care that both men and women should follow around pregnancy. These included not being around the slaughter of animals, and to be aware that the pregnant couple carried with them powerful energy that could be both used for benefit or harm. Conception marks the beginning of life for the baby (age is measured from this point). Births happen in the home, and in some traditions and communities, the mother gives birth alone or only with her partner. Zinacantán birth rituals include gentle slaps and cross markings with pox or posh (homemade alcohol made from piloncillo sugar) on the baby’s back and forehead. Placentas are buried nearby, close to the hearth/fire, so that the young spirit always knows how to come home. After delivering, the mother must rest for 9 days, during which the midwife stays to assist her in whatever is necessary.
There was much talk about finding better language to describe some of the actions and roles around birth. For examle, the word “parteras” (from “partir”) was contrasted to how in the Tzotzil community these are know instead as “women who receive.” Giving birth in Spanish is sometimes referred to as “aliviandose,” which implies that the woman was sick and got well by delivering. “Dar a luz” was much prefered (giving light) to describe this action of great joy. A 25 year-old man spoke of how he gave birth to his own child and called upon the group to regain and reconnect to our own knowledge and humanity in giving birth without strange hands or surgical intervention. Not all the responsibility should be handed over to the midwife, he said, rather father and mother need to share their own knowledge, in this way producing better human beings.
En 1992, mientras se celebraban los cinco siglos de algo así como la salvación de las Américas, un sacerdote católico llegó a una comunidad metida’en las hondonadas del sureste mexicano. Antes de la misa, fue la confesión. En lengua tojolobal, los indios contaron sus pecados. Carlos Lenkersdorf hizo lo que pudo traduciendo las confesiones, una tras otra, aunque él bien sabía que es imposible traducir esos misterios: –Dice que ha abandonado al maíz –tradujo Carlos–. Dice que muy triste está la milpa. Muchos días sin ir. –Dice que ha maltratado al fuego. Ha aporreado la lumbre, porque no ardía bien. –Dice que ha profanado el sendero, que lo anduvo macheteando sin razón. –Dice que ha lastimado al buey. –Dice que ha volteado un árbol y no le ha dicho por qué. El sacerdote no supo qué hacer con esos pecados, que no figuran en el catálogo de Moisés.
