Colonial Oaxaca, Mexico, still a fascinating visit
by JB Smith
OAXACA, Mexico
The Texan lines up the shot on his tiny digital camera: A vandalized Volkwagen Beetle police car, stolen and dumped in the central plaza of this colonial city, as if part of a fraternity prank. He smiles at the sight of the little cruiser, about as fearsome as a cop on skates.
A cheerful man with a mustache approaches to chat. He introduces himself as Abram and answers questions about the teachers’ strike that has paralyzed Oaxaca this summer. Hundreds of teachers and their sympathizers have barricaded themselves into a tent city they have erected in the plaza, or zocalo.
They have seized police cars and buses, taken over state offices and television stations and scrawled graffiti around the city demanding the resignation of Oaxaca Gov. Ulises Ruiz.
After a while, Abram acknowledges he is one of those striking teachers, from an outlying village.
“And you have no fear in being here?” he asks in Spanish.
“No,” the Texan says, pocketing his camera. “Should I be?”
Abram only chuckles. Apparently, there’s no definitive answer to that question.
Oaxaca, known around the world as a Mexican capital of art, food and culture, is on the verge of something — perhaps peaceful change, perhaps revolution, government repression or just anarchy. Since June, when the governor’s police tried to clear out the protesters with rubber bullets and tear gas, a simple strike over teacher pay has escalated into a broad popular movement, mixed in with demands for sweeping social reform and anger over the disputed federal presidential election.
The protesters even shut down Oaxaca’s biggest summer event — a dance festival called the Guelaguetza — complaining that it was too expensive for anyone but tourists and local elites.
“Uprising in Oaxaca,” proclaims one spray-painted slogan on a historic stone building. “The revolution of Century XXI.”
In the meantime, the stream of tourists still flows through Oaxaca, though diminished. On this particular evening, Aug. 7, Oaxaca was struggling to put on its best face, preparing for a semblance of its usual nightlife.
...
I asked him if the drop-off in tourism had harmed his livelihood. Yes, he said, it was very difficult. So was he in support of the demonstrations?
“Yes,” he said, with a defiant smile, stomping on the sidewalk. “The government tramples us.”
I found the same reaction from several taxi drivers: They were willing to suffer the blockades and the loss of business in hopes that the protests would bring social and political change. Talking to local university students at a coffeehouse near Santo Domingo, I heard a range of opinions about the protesters, but they agreed the atmosphere of anarchy was part of a deliberate strategy. The protesters, the students said, were trying to prove that the governor had lost his ability to govern, which is grounds for impeachment by the state legislature.
Luis, my Oaxacan-Wacoan friend who was observing the events closely, agreed.
A native of Oaxaca who grew up shining shoes on the streets, he now teaches Spanish at Baylor University and is finishing a doctoral dissertation on the economics of social revolution in southern Mexico.
Although Ruiz has said he will not step down, Luis believes the state of Oaxaca is at a political tipping point, with a growing number of people demanding reform in one of Mexico’s poorest states.
“It’s a social crisis,” he said. “It has to do with inequality. In the last five years, Oaxaca hasn’t shown any promise in any indicators of human development. ... Even if the teachers want to quit, the movement will continue.”
He said he is excited to see demands for change in his hometown, though he wishes both sides would avoid violence.
“It’s sad that in Oaxaca, the protection of the rights of the people never comes peacefully,” he said.
...
OAXACA, Mexico
The Texan lines up the shot on his tiny digital camera: A vandalized Volkwagen Beetle police car, stolen and dumped in the central plaza of this colonial city, as if part of a fraternity prank. He smiles at the sight of the little cruiser, about as fearsome as a cop on skates.
A cheerful man with a mustache approaches to chat. He introduces himself as Abram and answers questions about the teachers’ strike that has paralyzed Oaxaca this summer. Hundreds of teachers and their sympathizers have barricaded themselves into a tent city they have erected in the plaza, or zocalo.
They have seized police cars and buses, taken over state offices and television stations and scrawled graffiti around the city demanding the resignation of Oaxaca Gov. Ulises Ruiz.
After a while, Abram acknowledges he is one of those striking teachers, from an outlying village.
“And you have no fear in being here?” he asks in Spanish.
“No,” the Texan says, pocketing his camera. “Should I be?”
Abram only chuckles. Apparently, there’s no definitive answer to that question.
Oaxaca, known around the world as a Mexican capital of art, food and culture, is on the verge of something — perhaps peaceful change, perhaps revolution, government repression or just anarchy. Since June, when the governor’s police tried to clear out the protesters with rubber bullets and tear gas, a simple strike over teacher pay has escalated into a broad popular movement, mixed in with demands for sweeping social reform and anger over the disputed federal presidential election.
The protesters even shut down Oaxaca’s biggest summer event — a dance festival called the Guelaguetza — complaining that it was too expensive for anyone but tourists and local elites.
“Uprising in Oaxaca,” proclaims one spray-painted slogan on a historic stone building. “The revolution of Century XXI.”
In the meantime, the stream of tourists still flows through Oaxaca, though diminished. On this particular evening, Aug. 7, Oaxaca was struggling to put on its best face, preparing for a semblance of its usual nightlife.
...
I asked him if the drop-off in tourism had harmed his livelihood. Yes, he said, it was very difficult. So was he in support of the demonstrations?
“Yes,” he said, with a defiant smile, stomping on the sidewalk. “The government tramples us.”
I found the same reaction from several taxi drivers: They were willing to suffer the blockades and the loss of business in hopes that the protests would bring social and political change. Talking to local university students at a coffeehouse near Santo Domingo, I heard a range of opinions about the protesters, but they agreed the atmosphere of anarchy was part of a deliberate strategy. The protesters, the students said, were trying to prove that the governor had lost his ability to govern, which is grounds for impeachment by the state legislature.
Luis, my Oaxacan-Wacoan friend who was observing the events closely, agreed.
A native of Oaxaca who grew up shining shoes on the streets, he now teaches Spanish at Baylor University and is finishing a doctoral dissertation on the economics of social revolution in southern Mexico.
Although Ruiz has said he will not step down, Luis believes the state of Oaxaca is at a political tipping point, with a growing number of people demanding reform in one of Mexico’s poorest states.
“It’s a social crisis,” he said. “It has to do with inequality. In the last five years, Oaxaca hasn’t shown any promise in any indicators of human development. ... Even if the teachers want to quit, the movement will continue.”
He said he is excited to see demands for change in his hometown, though he wishes both sides would avoid violence.
“It’s sad that in Oaxaca, the protection of the rights of the people never comes peacefully,” he said.
...
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