Left-Wing and the 'Other' History: The Zapatistas

*Part of this post has been adapted from an essay written by myself for the University of Edinburgh

On January 1 1994 in the forests of Chiapas, southern Mexico an uprising took place. An armed libertarian socialist group calling themselves the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, (the Zapatista National Liberation Army), better known as the EZLN, or the Zapatistas. Originating as a white or mestizo guerrilla movement in 1983 they quickly evolved into a movement specifically fighting for indigenous and women's rights - they believed, and still do, that the liberation of oppressed groups can be done through socialism. Today we will be taking a quick look at the EZLN's history, and what they believe.

Origins 

Chiapas is one of the most southernmost states in Mexico, bordering Guatemala, and was deeply divided. Despite being rich in natural resources with good farmland most of the population were landless and in poverty. This was heavily racialised as well. Despite most of the population being indigenous and having a long history of resistance to exclusion, quoting Philip Russell, ‘for centuries, Indians and non-Indians have occupied separate domains’.  The distance between neighbouring communities lends itself to othering – a lack of understanding leads to the reinforcement of stereotypes – but what reinforced the subalternity of Chiapas’ indigenous population was exclusion from hegemonic society through poverty and racism. In 1990 30% of the adult population was illiterate, 34.9% had no access to electricity, 41.1% of workers relied on more than one minimum wage, and in the town of La Realidad a fifth of children died of curable diseases.  As these figures disproportionally affected indigenous communities this led to them becoming subalterns. Illiteracy prevents communities from engaging in wider civic society while low paid jobs and a lack of access to basic needs solidifies this exclusion. Indigenous communities cannot break their subalternity when basic rights to education, employment, and health care have already been denied to them, so access to these rights become the greater concern. These issues become accentuated by racism. A member of the Regional Union of Craftswomen of Chiapas, formed after the Zapatista Uprising, stated that ‘they [white and mestizo Mexicans] make fun of indígenas who come to school in their traditional clothes’.  The disparaging of indigenous clothing, and by extension culture, was due to their exclusion from accepted cultural hegemony – even if they could attend school they were still objectified as an ‘outsider’. 

Chiapas, however, had a long history of indigenous resistance dating as far back as to 1712 when indigenous peoples constantly tried to fight Spanish colonialism. The Zapatistas emerged as part of this long history of resistance, and can be firmly seen in their own name - 'Zapatista' was the name of the Mexican Revolution's radical revolutionary Emiliano Zapata. According to the Zapatistas, the practice something called 'neozapatismo' - a political philosophy emphasising liberation, collectivisation, radical democracy, feminism, and indigenous liberation. Originally, the EZLN were not a movement for specifically women and indigenous rights, instead they emerged in Mexico City as a leftist guerrilla movement. Mainly white and mestizo students went to Chiapas, seeing it as Mexico's poorest region, with the intention of organising the local people. However, the reality on the ground changed drastically what they aims were. Poverty and oppression were intrinsically linked to gender and race, and the actions of indigenous activists helped shape the early EZLN. For example, in 1973 the First Indian Congress of Chiapas was formed. This aimed to bring activists together in order to implement education in indigenous languages; prevent the increasing commercialisation of Chiapas's main crop, coffee; and land redistribution for the primarily indigenous tenant farmers. A shift therefore happened. The guerrilla movement started moving towards indigenous liberation. Although the EZLN's most famous spokesperson is a white, or mestizo, figure with subcomandante Marcos, now called subcomandante Galeano, indigenous people started coming to the forefront. Marcos himself said that their most important weapon was the Tzotzil-speaking woman Comandante Ramona. Even the name EZLN came from this shift of perspective.

The Uprising

subcomandante Marcos

Through the 1980s neoliberalism started becoming the accepted economic policy across the world, and in North America this led to the creation of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). This aimed to increasingly integrate the economies of the US, Canada, and Mexico by removing tariffs, eliminating barriers to trade, and making investment easier. However, this would have a devastating consequence on the poorest in society, especially in Mexico - labour laws were repealed and austerity measures were implemented as they were seen as inhibiting investment. This particularly affected the indigenous peoples of Chiapas as it meant the removal of Article 27 of the Constitution. Article 27 kept land reform and prevented foreign capitalists from owning Mexican resources - this revocation allowed foreign investors to take Chiapas's land further disenfranchising the landless. As a result, the EZLN began to act. In 1993 they issued the Lacandon Declaration, the first of several, declaring the illigetimacy of the government, and governmental reforms inspired by Emiliano Zapata's Plan of Ayala (1911). The day that NAFTA came into being, January 1 1994, the Zapatistas rose up. Coming from the Lacandon forest the Zapatistas captured the towns of Ocosingo, Las Margaritas, Altamirano, and San Cristobal de las Casas. The surprise uprising took the world by storm. Commentators said that the Mexican president 'went to sleep in a First World country' on New Years Eve and 'woke up in a Third World country' on New Years Day. 

The masked wearing, horse-riding insurgents caught international renown. Particularly, subcomandante Marcos won attention for his openness to interviews, charm, and knowledge of languages (he could speak Spanish, English, and two native languages). The high presence of women, and especially indigenous women, in the movement gave the impression that they practised what they preached - the capture of the capital of San Cristobal was done by Ana María, a Tzotzil-speaking woman. The rebellion caused a crisis for the Mexican government - a subaltern group had managed to unexpectedly rise up against their authority. Soon peace overtures were made, and the EZLN relied on a sympathetic bishop Samuel Ruiz Garcia to help negotiate.

*The next three sections will be taken from the aforementioned essay.

Indigenous Peoples and the EZLN

Perhaps the most central aspect of Zapatista rhetoric since 1994 has been the emancipation of indigenous Mexicans. The EZLN’s most famous spokesperson, Subcomandante Marcos (now Galeano), although not indigenous himself, has regularly evoked the image of liberating indigenous peoples in his writings. For example, in 1995 he wrote that thanks to EZLN the cost of indigenous blood was no longer ‘worth less than the backyard bird’ and that they ‘rose up so as not to live on their knees anymore’.  Marcos has presented the EZLN as preventing the further abuse of indigenous peoples, but he has gone beyond this by stating that ‘they rose up’. Instead of the EZLN fighting for indigenous communities, Marcos has presented the EZLN as fighting with indigenous communities. A regular feature of Zapatistas rhetoric since 1994 is the presentation that the EZLN answers to its communities. Two decades after the initial uprising EZLN officer Subcomandante Moises still stated that ‘The EZLN cannot interfere in [a] community’s life…Here, the people rule, while the government merely obeys’.  As communities had been historically excluded from political hegemony the logic behind these statements can be explained through subalternity. While the Mexican government ruled Chiapas, the Zapatistas have presented themselves as actually giving a voice to the ‘other’ – the subaltern guides their policy instead of the powerful guiding the subaltern. Similarly, in March 1994 the EZLN stated the reasons for their uprising was ‘The unbearable injustices and violations of our human rights as indigenous people and impoverished campesinos’, and ‘More than sixty years of lies, deceptions, promises, and imposed governments’.  The protection of indigenous rights is central to these demands, but by stating ‘our’ rights highlights Zapatista usage of the subaltern; they presented themselves as not just fighting for indigenous communities, but as members of the communities.

The Zapatistas have made attempts to practically represent and emancipate indigenous communities. As stated by anthropologist Lynn Stephen, who had worked in EZLN Muncipialities, ‘By 1994, the EZLN insurgents were indigenous people of Chiapas commanded from Chiapas’  which matches with Marcos’ own assertion on the day of the uprising that ‘The leaders are mostly indigenous’.  As indigenous Chiapans were leading the EZLN this ensures that the ‘other’ was not used just for rhetoric. Furthermore, by December 1994 several villages and ejidos (communal land) joined with Zapatistas to form the ‘Autonomous Municipalities’ rejecting government control.  The aim of the municipalities was to grant indigenous communities: autonomy; direct democracy; and access to land, education, and health care. We see a clear attempt to implement the March demands independently from the central government whom they mistrusted. As the ‘othered’ were crafting the Autonomous Municipalities we see the subaltern trying to break the oppression that came with being subaltern – they could now have access to land and education previously denied to them. This was expanded in August 2003 when the Municipalities were replaced with the ‘Caracoles’ (Snails) where they would ‘move slowly but forward’, as well as making the EZLN more accountable to local communities.  The legacy of misrule and subjugation has influenced how the EZLN viewed itself and how it wished to implement its policies – just as in their rhetoric they saw a desire to serve the communities, ‘mandar obeciendo’ (to command by obeying). The Municipalities and Caracoles were constructed in order to create direct contact between the Zapatista leadership and local communities, highlighting the importance of the subaltern. As indigenous peoples had been ruled by an exclusionary state the EZLN aimed to include subaltern communities into society.

A Caracoles mural

Furthermore, the EZLN has placed great emphasis on the Revolutionary Indigenous Clandestine Committee (CCRI) – a civilian body elected in popular assemblies, representing regions and ethnicities, and had greater authority than the Zapatista military command.  For the Zapatistas, the CCRI is a practical attempt to institute direct democracy and engage with local communities. Civilians ordered militias, and indigenous peoples could decide who encompassed the CCRI; democracy at a local level offered a chance for subaltern communities to actively engage in policy making. Since 1994 the Zapatistas ostensibly have subordinated themselves to civilian leadership. For example, the decision to put forward an indigenous woman, Marichuy, in the 2018 general election was due to the civilian-ran National Indigenous Congress (CNI) in 2016 seeing rebellion as not achieving the goals of 1994.  Although Galeano supported this measure it is important to note that it was the CNI, not the EZLN, who put forward this plan. As the Zapatistas were willing to engage in electoral politics and forsake armed revolt at the request of civilians it highlights how important the subaltern is in determining Zapatista policy. As civilians were guiding the policies of the Zapatistas the declaration of mandar obeciendo does not seem like empty rhetoric – it appears that the ‘other’ was genuinely influencing the EZLN.

Comandante Ramona

However, there are important limits to the rhetoric and actions concerning indigenous peoples. The centrality of Marcos is testament to this. Marcos is not indigenous, and many of the EZLN’s major comandantes, most notably Ramona, ‘shy away from interviews because their native tongue is Tzotzil’.  Lynn Stephen has further placed emphasis on Marcos’ own politics and love of history in influencing the ideas of the Zapatistas, specifically when he stated, ‘I went to teach what the people wanted: literacy and Mexican history’.  Marcos does not lead the Zapatistas, hence why he is known as ‘subcomandante’ and not ‘comandante’, but the reason for his centrality to the movement links to the subaltern nature of the EZLN. In his own words, he is a ‘person who comes from an urban culture, one of the world’s biggest cities, with a university education’ where Chiapas was ‘another planet’ to him initially compared to other Zapatista figures, most notably Ramona, who were rural and indigenous.  As Marcos came from the hegemonic culture he was more acceptable to Mexican society compared to a figure like Ramona, so he became the movement’s figurehead. The subalternity of the EZLN comandantes meant that they could not be legitimate in the eyes of the public, whereas the educated and non-indigenous could be used to grant them legitimacy. Consequently, the centrality of Marcos reinforced the subaltern rhetoric which the Zapatistas aimed to challenge – as they were indigenous, they had to use Marcos to be heard. 

Moreover, in the early stages of the uprising, insurgents in majority indigenous cities, like Oxchuc, came from wealthier families.  Although this has since changed, the initial domination of wealthier insurgents in the urban ranks of the Zapatistas further highlights the inability to fully strike against subalternity. Wealthier individuals had the mobility and agency to engage with the armed movement compared to their poorer neighbours who could not afford to engage in the uncertainty of an armed rebellion. This is further seen with the initial peace talks at San Andres in 1996. In violation of the ceasefire the military and paramilitary groups, particularly Paz y Justicia, increased their presence in Chiapas and attacked pro-Zapatista villages.  Unwilling to risk the peace talks the Zapatistas gave little aid and only threatened to pull out of the talks if the abuses against civilians continued. The inability to protect civilians, and the reliance on the state to accept the ceasefire, further highlights how the Zapatistas did not fully protect indigenous communities. Their own subaltern nature meant that the Mexican government felt that it could engage in human rights abuses, and break the terms of the ceasefire, as the EZLN could only look on. Prioritising peace with those with hegemonic power was an acquiescence of their own failing to break the state’s hegemony; they had only managed to briefly threaten the government and sustained resistance was not possible. Consequently, the military could continue brutalising communities regardless of Zapatista protests.

Women and the EZLN

Another key aspect to Zapatista identity is their rhetoric concerning women’s emancipation, and like with indigeneity, women have played an integral role in the EZLN. During the initial uprising it was Major Ana María who took the city hall of San Cristobal, one of Chiapas’ largest cities, and the CCRI itself was formed by Comandante Ramona.  Furthermore, it was Ramona who attended the San Andres talks in 1996 as ‘The Zapatistas say that Ramona, not Marcos, is their most ferocious weapon’.  The presence of indigenous women, both Ramona and Ana María were Tzotzil, in the highest positions of the Zapatistas indicates a clear attempt to emancipate subaltern communities. As women were able to physically lead the EZLN, including a body which superseded the movement’s armed wing, their claims of emancipating women do not become empty rhetoric. This is further seen in the twenty-ninth demand of the EZLN, the ‘Indigenous women’s petition’, which included demands that could practically alter the life of Chiapan women including day-cares and schools for women.  In these demands the Zapatistas have directly stated how they wish to dismantle patriarchal structures in order to emancipate subaltern women. Requests for day-cares, schools, and services to create co-operatives aimed to democratise domesticity and allow women to leave the domestic sphere, something which had historically reinforced patriarchy. During the ‘Other Campaign’ in 2005 – an attempt by the EZLN to create a united national alliance – Ramona was put forward as the one to represent the movement.  Ramona was to practically and symbolically show the importance of women in the EZLN; her existence in the movement was to show a rejection of patriarchy. The influence of women in the Zapatista leadership are key to understanding why this became a desire – coming from subaltern communities they understood what was stripping them of agency. 

Women further engaged with opportunities offered by the Zapatista uprising – primarily to challenge racism and misogyny which had forced them into a subaltern status. A part of this was due to a long history of indigenous female resistance to repression – in 1994, independent from the EZLN, indigenous women organised the Congress of Indigenous and Peasant Women of Chiapas in order to represent themselves.  Consequently, the emancipatory language of the EZLN strengthened women’s attempts to challenge their own subalternity. For example, Natalia, in the EZLN aligned Union of Craftswomen of Chiapas, argued that just a year after the rising ‘They [the authorities] treat us badly. But…there is more respect. Because now the indigenas know their rights’.  This partially could be explained by Natalia trying to show the benefits of the EZLN for the international community, but a desire to do so highlights subaltern support for the Zapatistas. In her interview Natalia felt that the EZLN were capable of representing women’s rights, and, slowly, bring about equality. Furthermore, in 1998 X’oyep women were visibly present at pro-Zapatista protests against increased military presence in Chiapas.  Women were willing to directly challenge the instrument of state repression in support of the Zapatistas showing that women actively engaged with the rhetoric of the EZLN. The urge to break subalternity helped influence women in directly defending those whom they believed would guarantee their own emancipation. As a result, the EZLN’s usage of the subaltern encouraged resistance against hegemonic power.

However, particularly in the first decade of the uprising, there was a notable gap between rhetoric and action. As argued by Hilary Klein, figures including Ana María and Ramona, were exceptions due to the continued presence of machismo which reinforced patriarchy.  This is shown by the number of women delegates to the National Democratic Convention in 1995 – only 19 out of 100.  Despite calls for the emancipation of women the Zapatistas failed themselves to represent women in their own leadership, and calls into question some of their demands. It is not clear who wrote the women’s petition, and although it was progressive it still reinforced the subalternity of women. The requests for day-cares and ovens for bakeries were specifically in the women’s petition and not the wider demands – for the EZLN childcare and cooking were still viewed as jobs for women. Mercedes Olivera found, through interviews with Zapatista women, that while pregnant women were expected to leave ranks in order to care for their child, new fathers were allowed to remain.  Continued subalternity of women meant that a gap emerged between action and rhetoric – the idea that women were the natural caregivers meant that, even in a supposed subaltern uprising, patriarchal views remained unchallenged. As figures like Ramona were exceptions in the EZLN leadership, this meant that rhetoric and policy were largely constructed by men, so hypocritical actions could occur without thorough questioning further marginalising Zapatista women. Although Marcos has shown his support for women taking lead roles, as seen in his statement that without women history ‘is nothing more than a badly-made fable’, his presence indirectly reinforces subordination of women.  Like with indigeneity, Marcos is thrust into public spotlight to grant legitimacy to the movement due to his own limited subaltern identity. The EZLN had the assumption that an indigenous woman, like Ramona, could not be the figurehead for the movement, so indirectly showed how degrading attitudes towards the subaltern continued in the EZLN’s ranks. 

However, since 2004 (when the EZLN looked at their actions after a decade of revolution) younger women have used their own subalternity, and the rhetoric of the Zapatistas, to challenge machismo within the EZLN’s ranks. For example, a Tojolabal woman in 2004 told Olivera that she felt bold enough to reject men if they wanted her to abandon her career in education.  This offers two insights: firstly, machismo continued despite a decade of the uprising; and secondly, the policies of the Zapatistas had encouraged women to become independent. Gaps between rhetoric and action, and the language of the EZLN, gave women the agency to challenge the continuation of their own oppression. In 2007, the Zapatistas formed a panel discussion for 200 women to express their desires, and criticisms, where men were barred from talking, and were asked to cook and clean if they wished to take part.  Women made their own spaces to discuss their own oppression, with no intervention from men, thanks to the idea of the subaltern. Zapatista rhetoric on autonomy created an avenue for women to express their own criticisms of misogyny in the EZLN, and a way for them to criticise their own subalternity. The idea of the subaltern, therefore, allowed the subaltern to express their existence. Similar to how the Municipalities and Caracoles aimed to grant autonomy for indigenous communities, the opportunities of self-rule gave women an opportunity to exercise their agency. Rosa Isabel of the Production Commission in 2007 stated that, ‘Working together in the women’s collective is where we get over the fear and embarrassment that we feel’.  This statement may have been made to show outside observers the success of the Zapatistas, but viewed uncritically it indicates how the idea of liberating the subaltern allowed women to liberate themselves. Working independent from women it shattered notions of female inferiority and limitations to domesticity. By creating their own agency women managed to actively challenge the patriarchal social structures which made them subalterns.

Reaction to the EZLN

Aftermath of the Acteal Massacre

The reaction to the Zapatistas by the Mexican state is intrinsically linked to the image of the subaltern which they have constructed. As argued by Antonio Gramsci, a ‘movement of the subaltern classes is accompanied by a reactionary movement…of the dominant class’.  In this case the Mexican state’s ‘reactionary movement’ was characterised by military and paramilitary violence, and the delegitimising of the movement – both actions were rooted in attitudes towards subalterns. The military and paramilitary groups, principally Paz y Justicia, reacted to the movement by primarily attacking unarmed, but pro-Zapatista, civilians. The most famous of these killings was the Acteal Massacre where 45 people, including children, of a pacifist group, Los Abejas, were shot on December 22, 1997 by the government backed paramilitary Mascara Roja. As Los Abejas supported the Zapatistas, but not the armed uprising, they were targeted by Mascara Roja.  As Los Abejas were pro-Zapatista and pacifist Tzotzils their subaltern nature made them a target for reactionary repression. Their indigeneity meant that they were already victims of repression, while their pacifism was seen as Los Abejas lacking agency making them ‘ideal’ targets. As the violent EZLN were seen as having agency, so were not targeted, Los Abejas’ pacifism was seen as a safe way to attack the Zapatistas. Furthermore, state-sanctioned repression disproportionally affected those ‘othered’ through multiple ways. The vast majority of the 6,000 people displaced by military attacks were poor women who were also regularly subjected to sexual assault as ‘punishment’ for association with Zapatistas.  Poor, indigenous women were so excluded from political hegemony that they were viewed as entirely lacking agency. It became acceptable for the military to target indigenous women as they lacked a voice to make their repression heard by those who could make the military accountable for their actions.

According to Bill Weinberg, the ruling Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) in 1996 hoped that the Zapatistas would break the ceasefire so began increasing military presence and the funding of paramilitaries in Chiapas.  A subaltern uprising, especially when Mexico was positioning itself as a member of the ‘First World’ for its involvement in NAFTA, was incredibly damaging for the hegemonic structure of society. Furthermore, a subaltern rising had managed to bring the Mexican state to negotiation with the intention of radically changing indigenous life in Mexico. This helps explain the willingness of the PRI to continue harsh retaliation against the Zapatistas, or fund others to work on their behalf – an anonymous Paz y Justicia member alleged that ‘There was an agreement for 4,600 pesos…[with] The Mexican army and Public Safety’.  The EZLN had not only embarrassed Mexico internationally by rising on the day that NAFTA came into being, but by directly challenging state power as apparent subalterns had brought the state into negotiations. A hegemonic structure built on the subordination of indigenous communities and women could not remain intact in the face of subaltern agency. When a symbolic constitutional amendment was passed in 2001, due to the San Andres talks, to avoid the inevitable criticisms from the EZLN president Vicente Fox went as far as to avoid mentioning the Zapatistas entirely in his speech concerning the passing of the act.  This was largely done to avoid legitimising the EZLN – by not mentioning the Zapatistas the amendment could be presented as an act willingly performed by the state. However, as even a symbolic amendment was forced by a subaltern guerrilla group into existence, acknowledgement of said group would fully expose the weakness of traditional hegemony. If apparently ‘voiceless’ peoples were capable of changing structures the entire system could, in turn, be challenged.

Samuel Ruiz

In the first decade of the uprising a recurring theme from state, or pro-state, media were attempts to downplay the subaltern nature and rhetoric of the EZLN. President Carlos Salinas in 1994 stated that, ‘This is not an Indian uprising, but the action of a violent armed group’, whereas the conservative paper Diario El Dia accused bishop Samuel Ruiz of being the ‘Red Bishop’ who was ‘fermenting rebellion’ in league with communists.  One explanation for this is a standard attempt to delegitimise the EZLN and shift causation away from the state – if the uprising can be blamed on a small group of far-left radicals then inequality in Chiapas can safely be ignored. By looking at the subaltern we see a new, indirect reason for blaming the uprising on a small group manipulated by the local bishop. Decades of disenfranchisement had forced indigenous communities and women from accepted socio-political hegemony, and with the overlooking of a tradition of resistance these subaltern communities were consequently seen as being silent. Hence, an apparently sudden uprising was seemingly unthinkable for those within the hegemonic sphere.

A recurring aspect of anti-Zapatista rhetoric in the 1990s was that the group was made up of, or being manipulated by, foreign and non-indigenous agents. For example, in 1994 labour leader Fidel Velázquez blamed ‘Peruvians, Nicaraguans, Guatemalans and Salvadorans’ and the social-democratic Party of the Democratic Revolution (PRD) for the uprising.  As late as 1998 this narrative was being repeated. On February 13 journalist Lolita de Vega was chased away from the Autonomous Municipality of La Realidad, and she put the blame on foreigners ‘manipulating our Indians’.  The Zapatistas did encourage both national and international leftists to Chiapas to report on the Rising – the majority of non-Zapatista sources used in this post was part of this initial interest, such as Nettie Wild’s 1998 documentary, A Place Called Chiapas. This was used by pro-state media to paint the Zapatistas as a new ‘other’. Instead of indigenous Mexicans they were instead foreigners, or their willing dupes, working to undermine Mexico. Opponents of the EZLN used a xenophobic fear of the foreign other to try and discredit the movement – suppression of Mexico’s subalterns was unacceptable, but suppressing foreign infiltrators was. 

Furthermore, this is a continuation of the same rhetoric which blamed Bishop Ruiz for the uprising. Through a wilful misunderstanding of Chiapan history, and centuries of silencing of indigenous peoples and women, meant that Chiapas’ subalterns were seen as passive and unable to exert agency. Hence, we see the reaffirmation of the view of the passive subaltern – left-wing supporters of the Zapatistas were recast as their masters. De Vega’s choice of words was particularly telling – by stating ‘our Indians’ it implies that Chiapas’ indigenous population were part of Mexican society until the EZLN took them away. By casting the Zapatistas as rejecting Mexico there was a clear intent to further justify their subalternity; they held allegiances elsewhere. It is telling that the same year that de Vega claimed that foreigners were behind the EZLN, Nettie Wild was stopped by a state-ran ‘immigration checkpoint’ – the state itself was crafting the EZLN as being a foreign body.  By casting the Zapatistas as foreign through rhetoric and action it showed the state’s view on the subaltern – when attempts were made to break political hegemony they were seen as entirely rejecting Mexico.

The Other Campaign and After

Shortly after the decade anniversary the EZLN planned a new campaign: The Other Campaign. We have already discussed this campaign briefly, but it is worth discussing it here. To expand the liberatory rhetoric the EZLN sent Marcos and Ramona across Mexico to create alliances with a wide range of groups. These included LGBTQ+ rights advocates, student protesters, trade unions, feminists, indigenous activists outside of Chiapas, factory workers, peasants, prostitutes, and teachers. Marcos said the aim was 'to listen to the simple and humble people who struggle', but they also hoped for a countrywide campaign which could make the government rewrite the constitution. Unfortunately, since then there has only been the one campaign, and for over a decade the EZLN has largely focused on Chiapas. Albeit, they were setback by Ramona's tragic passing due to cancer. However, they have continued to work towards liberating local peoples, and this last decade have focused on challenging long-standing sexism in their ranks. In 2017 they broke their two-decade long opposition to electoral politics by sending Marichuy, a Nahua woman, to run for president. This exposure allowed them to expand into eleven new districts at the end of 2019, and, just a few days into 2020 they have already declared their intention to prevent mega-infrastructure projects being constructed in Chiapas.

The EZLN continues to inspire people across the world for their actions. We are sorry for the inconvenience, but this is revolution.

The sources I have used are as follows:

-People Without Faces, Directed by Elena Karykhalova, Oleg Myasoedov, and Vera Vorobyeva, (St Petersburg: Free Travel, 2016)

-A Place Called Chiapas, Directed by Nettie Wild, (New York, NY: Zeitgeist Films, 1998)

-Zapatistas: Crónica de una Rebelión, Directed by Victor Marina and Mario Viveros, (Mexico City: Canalseisdejulio, 2007)

-Castro, Y., ‘Interview: Regional Union of Craftswoman of Chiapas’, in Katzenberger, E., (ed.), First World, Ha Ha Ha! The Zapatista Challenge, (San Francisco, CA: City Lights Books, 1995), 111-118

-Edmonds-Poli, E., and Shirk, D., Contemporary Mexican Politics, Second Edition, (Plymouth: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2012)

-EZLN, ‘Demands at the Dialogue Table’, in Joseph, G., and Henderson, T., (eds.), The Mexico Reader: History, Culture, Politics, (Duke, NC: Duke University Press, 2009), 638-645

-Gramsci, A., ‘The Modern Prince’, in Hoare, Q., (ed.), Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, Trans. Smith, G., (London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1971), 123-205

-Klein, H., ‘“We Learn as We Go” – Zapatista Women share their Experiences’, Toward Freedom, (2008), towardfreedom.org/archives/women/qwe-learn-as-we-goq-zapatista-women-share-their-experiences/, accessed 11 April 2019

-Mallett-Oultrim, R., ‘The Story behind the EZLN’s Decision to enter Mexico’s Presidential Race’, New Internationalist, (2016), newint.org/features/2016/10/25/ezln-enters-mexicos-presidential-race; accessed 8 April 2019

-Marcos, ‘The Zapatistas Hike up the Price of the Indigenous Mexican Blood’, in Vodovnik, Ž., (ed.), ¡Ya Basta! Ten Years of the Zapatista Uprising, (Oakland, CA: AK Press, 2004), 83-86

-Marcos, ‘12 Women in the Twelfth Year’, in Vodovnik, Ž., (ed.), ¡Ya Basta! Ten Years of the Zapatista Uprising, (Oakland, CA: AK Press, 2004), 226-233

-Olivera, M., ‘Subordination and Rebellion: Indigenous Peasant Women in Chiapas Ten Years after the Zapatistas Uprising’, Journal of Peasant Studies, (2005), 32:3-4, 608-628

-Petrich, B., ‘Voices from the Masks’, in Katzenberger, E., (ed.), First World, Ha Ha Ha! The Zapatista Challenge, (San Francisco, CA: City Lights Books, 1995), 41-54

-Poniatowska, E., ‘Women, Mexico, and Chiapas Revolutionary Women’s Law’, in Katzenberger, E., (ed.), First World, Ha Ha Ha! The Zapatista Challenge, (San Francisco, CA: City Lights Books, 1995), 99-108

-Russell, P., The Chiapas Rebellion, (Austin, TX: Mexico Resources Center, 1995)

-Stephen, L., Zapata Lives! Histories and Cultural Politics in Southern Mexico, (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2002)

-Weinberg, B., Homage to Chiapas: The New Indigenous Struggle in Mexico, (London: Verso, 2000)

-"El CNI esboza su estrategia contra el Tren Maya". Proceso. January 4, 2020

Thank you for reading, we have a list of other Left-Wing and the 'Other' History posts here. For other blog posts please see our Facebook or catch me on Twitter @LewisTwiby.

The Legend of La Llorona

From Chilango.com

Welcome to 2019's 'Month of Horror' where each post in the month of October we look at something horror related. This week, and the first post of 2019's 'Month of Horror', we will be looking at one of the most enduring legends in Mexican, Latin American,and Chicano folklore: that of La Llorona. 'The Weeping Woman' has remained a prominent feature of folklore for several centuries - sometimes as a tale to scare naughty children, other times as a metaphor for class and gender. She has also made several appearances outside folklore, mostly in Chicano and Mexican film, and most recently in the 2019 horror movie The Curse of La Llorona - one of the movies in the wider The Conjuring cinematic universe.

Who is La Llorona?

As usual with folklore, there are different versions of the La Llorona tale, but many of them share the same characteristics. Once in a rural village a poor but very beautiful called Maria met a nobleman. This nobleman became enchanted with her, and they soon married - to the delight of Maria's family and the chagrin of the nobleman's family. They settled down and had two children - a boy and the girl - but the nobleman's family was not content with their son's new life. He was kept away often, and as Maria grew older it was clear that he was falling out of love with her. One day the nobleman came to the village with a younger woman of his class standing, and announced that he was leaving the family.Sent into a fit of rage Maria took her children to the river and drowned them. However, as soon as she finished the act she snapped out of her rage, and with horror realised what she had done. Unable to find the bodies of her children, now washed away down the river, in despair she drowned herself. Upon reaching the gates of Heaven she was turned away as the souls of her children were missing, so she was tasked with finding them. Now she wanders the mortal world weeping for the lost souls of her children earning her the name of La Llorona - The Weeping Woman.

La Llorona is now seen around waterways weeping for her missing children, the cries of 'Mis hijos' (My children) being heard. Children have to be wary if they hear her cries; in either grief or rage La Llorona will try and drown them to claim their souls in the place of her children. Similar to the tales of the Irish banshee it is sometimes believed that hearing her wails is a sign that you will soon die. Also, in some versions of the tale La Llorona will drown men, especially white men (a point we will get to), in revenge for the man who left her and drove her insane. 

Origins

As La Llorona exists in folklore and oral tales dating back centuries we do not know her true origins. The tale certainly dates from the post-Spanish Conquest era, especially as one of the interpretations of her is that she is La Malinche, although some historians like Camilla Townsend disagree with this interpretation. La Malinche holds a very important part of Mexican identity. She was an indigenous slave given to Hernan Cortes in 1519, officially 'hacer las tortillas', but in reality she was raped and had to fight for survival. As she was a smart young woman who knew many languages and political systems she became Cortes' translator, and at times tactician, as a way to survive. She later gave birth to Cortes' first son, Martin, but Cortes later abandoned her and married a Spanish woman. Quite importantly, when she was, most likely forcibly, baptised she was given the Christian name Maria. Over the centuries La Malinche's legacy and image has constantly changed - from independence in the 1820s until the 1970s, and even then only in feminist circles, La Malinche has been seen as a traitor and a whore. Recent scholarship, such as the brilliant Camilla Townsend, has pushed back against this but some scholars, like Gloria Duarte, have created a link between her and La Llorona. Many scholars have also discussed how La Llorona resembles many other legends from across the world - banshees in Ireland, the White Lady in fifteenth-century Germany, Lilith from Jewish folklore, and Lamia and Medea from Greek mythology. It is likely that local legends and folklore combined with European folklore. Townsend has discussed how post-Conquest indigenous elite combined their own history with European tropes to explain how their own parents and grandparents were conquered - the myth of Cortes being seen as a god resurrected the god Queztalcoatl and combined his story with Christ or warrior saints. 

Different Meanings

A depiction of La Malinche

La Llorona has meant different things to different people. Of course, we have her being linked to La Malinche. In some versions of the tale she was called Maria, the Christian name of La Malinche. Townsend has refuted the idea that La Llorona came from the legacy of La Malinche stating that Malinche never lost her children as Llorona did. However, it has been seen that she is not weeping for her children in particular, but instead the lost indigenous peoples of Mexico - post-independence Mexico tried to link itself to the Aztec past despite being ruled by white creoles. La Llorona could have emerged from a paternalistic, and colonialist, retelling of La Malinche's story. Another key part of La Llorona's meaning is the warnings about transgressing class and racial boundaries. Although the ethnicity of Maria and the nobleman is never stated looking at the history of class in Mexico we can realise that the nobleman was likely descended from white creoles, whereas Maria would likely have been either indigenous or mixed-race, most probably mestizo. La Llorona becomes a cautionary tale by a patriarchal and racist society about transgressing class and race.

La Llorona's story changed in the nineteenth century based on who was telling the story. Men, like Juan de Dios Peza, portrays La Llorona as the wailing and malevolent spirit punished by Heaven. However, women told the story in a very different way. When feminist scholar Y.H. Harris translated the tale into English in 1888 she combined her own beliefs with women's version of the tale, so La Llorona became a tale of male betrayal. It is the actions of the negligent and womanising gentleman who drove her into killing herself, and some versions also have her accidentally killing her children. Expanding on this Domino Renee Perez has discussed La Llorona as being a way for Chicano communities to connect with Mexican culture, and how that is exploited in mainstream media. In the pilot for Supernatural the protagonists fight a voluptuous and renamed La Llorona to avoid accusations of racism, but at the same time literally whitewashes her story. Even the reunification with her children turns into punishment instead of redemption. Finally, we have what La Llorona means for children. By the late-twentieth century she became a bogeyman used to scare children from being naughty - Patricia Marina Trujillo describes how her uncle George told her the story,and her mother and grandmother used the tale to stop her from being disobedient. The story terrified her so much that she had nightmares of 'la diabla' which her brother and cousins preyed on by pretending to be her to scare the young Patricia.

From The Curse of La Llorona

La Llorona remains an ever changing part of Latin American and Chicano culture, with her legend being mixed in feminism, colonialism, racism, and childhood pranks depending on the storyteller. So far, in English media we have only seen a version of her that is destructive and vengeful giving rise to questions of cultural understanding. Maybe if we allow Chicano voices to tell the story we might see new stories of her appearing?

The sources I have used are as follows:

Domino Renee Perez, 'The Politics of Taking: La Llorona in the Cultural Mainstream', The Journal of Popular Culture, 45:1, (2012), 153-172

-Rene Trevino, 'Absolving La Llorona: Yda H. Addis's "The Wailing Woman"', Legacy: A Journal of American Women Writers, 36:1, (2019), 123-130

-Y.H. Addis, 'The Wailing Woman: "La Llorona", A Legend of Mexico', Legacy: A Journal of American Women Writers, 36:1, (2019), 131-136

-Gloria Duarte, 'La Llorona's Ancestry: Crossing Cultural Boundaries', in Kenneth Untiedt, (ed.), Folklore: In All of Us, In All we Do, (Denton, TX: University of North Texas Press, 2006), pp. 107-113

-Patricia Marina Trujillo, 'Becoming La Llorona', Chicana/Latina Studies, 6:1, (2006), 96-104

-Camilla Townsend, Malintzin's Choices, (Albuquerque, NM: New Mexico Press, 2006)

Thank you for reading and I hope you found it interesting. For future blog updates please see our Facebook or catch me on Twitter @LewisTwiby.

Left-Wing and the 'Other' History: Indigenous Peoples and the Mexican Revolution

Yaquis in Sonora, c.1911

On this series we have not managed to look at the 'Others' in history so far, and looking at Mexico's indigenous community during the Mexican Revolution shows an interesting way to view the event. Despite being at the forefront of the revolution, indigenous communities have regularly been sidelined in how the Mexican Revolution is remembered. Looking at the Mexican Revolution from below we can see how important indigenous peoples were in shaping the events of the revolt.

The Mexican Revolution - A Brief Overview

The Cananea Strike in 1906

To understand the role of indigenous peoples in the Mexican Revolution we first have to understand the chronology of the revolution itself. Unfortunately, the Mexican Revolution was a long and complex affair lasting over a decade - historians heavily debate about when we can consider the Mexican Revolution 'ending'. As a result, we'll just go over a broad overview of the revolution to keep things easy to understand. Mexico prior to the revolution was dominated by extremely wealthy landlords owning large plantations named haciendas, and the Catholic Church dominated any land not owned by landlords. From the second half of the nineteenth century foreign based companies began purchasing Mexican land placing further pressure on the landless peasantry. On top of society was Porfirio Diaz who had been president since 1876, bar a brief four year absence. Diaz relied on support from the wealthy landowners, much to the chagrin of the peasantry and urban workers. Before the revolution there had been steady opposition to Diaz's regime - most notably from syndicalist Ricardo Flores Magon. By 1910 things came to ahead, the elderly Diaz failed to find a political successor, and the election was contested by landowner Francisco Madero. The election was rigged in Diaz's favour sparking a revolt led by Madero and local figure in Chihuahua Pancho Villa on 20 November. Villa and other revolutionaries started seizing hacienda land, with Diaz's support coming from haciendas, and, eventually, the revolution spread to include the peasantry. In the south, Emiliano Zapata helped lead peasants into revolt against landowners. Diaz was forced to hold free elections in October 1911 bringing Madero to power.

Pancho Villa (L) and Emiliano Zapata (R)

However, the revolution did not end here. Madero just wanted Diaz out; he was disinterested in dismantling the Porfirito state which had been the objective of Villa, Magon, Zapata, and other radicals. Also, as he had not dismantled the existing power structures, conservative forces in Mexico challenged Madero. In 1913 Madero and his allies were overthrown and assassinated by conservative general Victoriano Huerta who aimed to crush the liberal and radical forces in Mexico sparking a new phase of the revolution. Opponents of Huerta united under a banner of 'Constitutionalists', wanting a new constitution, thanks to the work of Venustiano Carranza. Carranza helped unite the anti-Huerta forces, such as Villa in the north and Zapata in the south, to form a united front - this was also aided by the fact that the US occupied Veracruz in 1914. That same year they succeeded, and Carranza was made president, but this did not end the conflict. Carranza's Constitutionalists were largely made up of urban, middle class communities, so opposed the urban and rural radicals. Carranzistas battled for support against the Villistas and Zapatistas for five years. Due to the popularity of the radical Zapata, the government decided to introduce the radical Constitution of 1917 promising extensive land reforms and rights for indigenous peoples. Zapata was also assassinated in 1919 causing widespread grief in the south where he was immensely popular. In 1920, Carranza was assassinated and democratic socialist Alvaro Obregon became president, often seen as the 'end' of the revolution. Villa retired to become a hacienda owner, but was assassinated in 1923 - possibly by the government as Villa had expressed interest in re-entering politics. For the purpose of this post we will say that the revolution 'ended' in 1929. In 1926, conservative forces rose up in response to the government implementing land reform and secularisation. Obregon was assassinated, and concessions were made. We can argue that even today the Mexican Revolution continues, but that is a discussion for another day.

Indigenous Peoples before the Revolution

"Uprising of the Yaqui Indians - Yaqui Warriors in Retreat," by Frederic Remington, 1896

Indigenous Mexicans fit well into the 'subaltern' category as described by Antonio Gramsci - centuries of direct oppression, racially discriminated against, alienated from traditional hegemonic structures, and even linguistically isolated from the rest of Mexico. Of course, there was not one indigenous experience, even among the same communities - indigenous women faced oppression based on race, gender, and class. There were a few norms - since the establishment of Spanish rule in 1521 indigenous communities had faced persecution from the hegemonic power, whether it be Spain or Mexico. The Yaqui in the northern state of Sonora had consistently resisted oppression since 1533, but this often caused harsh reprisals against Yaqui communities. Following the Yaqui Uprising of the 1890s Diaz hoped to permanently end the 'Yaqui Question' by forcibly moving Yaqui communities from Sonora to Yucatan and Oaxaca in the south; the idea behind this was that by moving them to the other side of the country it would separate them from their cultural identity and would force them to become 'Mexican citizens'. From 1902 to 1908 over 7,000 Yaqui were forcibly moved to Yucatan alone; many more were killed, deported elsewhere, or sold into slavery until the outbreak of revolution in 1910. Elsewhere, the situation of indigenous communities were bleak - most were rural, landless, and poor. In 1910, three-quarters of Maya in Yucatan had to work on haciendas for little pay, and 95% of family heads lacked any form of land. Indigenous women were also unfortunately at risk of sexual abuse from landowners and overseers, racist courts and a dependency on haciendas for life meant that resistance to this was difficult. When indigenous people did go to court to air their grievances they were forced to refer to themselves as 'poor people' or 'mestizo', (mixed white and indigenous parentage), as they would be ignored by the court - dismissed as backward and childlike. 

While being persecuted indigenous communities were simultaneously used to identify what it is to be 'Mexican'. Mestizaje, the valourisation of mestizo identity, was emphasised by Mexican intellectuals following independence - Mexico was great as it mixed the glory of the Aztecs with European culture. However, they argued that, thanks to colonialism, indigenous peoples were left backward compared to their ancestors - the current ruling classes positioned themselves as the 'true' heirs. Indigenous communities were further used to forge identity based on conflict. At Namiquipa, Chihuahua an identity emerged of 'white, masculine, civilisation' against the 'savage barbarians' of the Yaqui and Apache dating back to the eighteenth century. The 'border' peoples, often accused of being backwards and not being 'true' Mexicans, used the conflicts with indigenous as a way to define their own identity within the Mexican state.

Indigenous Peoples and Revolution - 1910 to 1917

Zapatista forces entering Cuernavaca, 1911

As Madero relied on figures like Pancho Villa the revolution soon spread to the peasantry who were largely indigenous or mestizo. Emiliano Zapata himself was from a rural, mestizo family. Mexico's southern states, (especially Yucatan, Oaxaca, and Chiapas), have significant indigenous populations, so the rural revolt naturally brought many indigenous peoples into the revolution - Zapata was the main revolutionary in the south. Morelos, Zapata's home state, became a focal point for indigenous activity as indigenous communities rose up in support of a radical break from the past. In 1911, revolutionaries in Morelos, including Zapata, forged the 'Plan of Ayala' which historian John Womack would describe as the Zapatistas' 'Sacred Scripture'. Although not as radical as the 1917 Constitution, the Plan of Ayala emphasised seizing power 'for the benefit of the oppressed peoples' by redistributing 'hacendados...who directly or indirectly oppose the present Plan', i.e. virtually all landowners. The Plan of Ayala's cry of 'Tierra y Libertad!' (Land and Liberty!) inspired the landless, indigenous peasantry to rise up to claim lost land. The Mexican Revolution offered indigenous communities in the north, as well as the south, chances to reclaim their identity and land. Despite centuries of dispossession and genocide, the Yaqui managed to retain a solid cultural identity. Yaqui in Sonora used the opportunity opened by revolution to reclaim their lost land, but when their requests were rejected in October 1915 they decided to take it by themselves. It took a brutal war with Obregon, ending in 1916, to end the land seizures. Racial stereotypes were used to lambast the radical forces. As argued by John Womack, for years peasantry and indigeneity were seen as synonymous, so the pr-Huerta yellow press attacks on rural revolts became racialised. For example, the paper La Imparcial decried 'Zapata and his trogolodyte hosts' as the 'Modern Attila the Hun'. It is notable that the white Obregon and Carranza were not described as modern Huns, but the mestizo Zapata was.

Indigenous Peoples and Revolution - 1917 to 1929
The Constitution of 1917 was passed in order to draw support away from Zapata, but by doing so it brought indigenous rights to the forefront of the Mexican state. Directly inspired by the Plan of Ayala, the Constitution of 1917 became one of the most progressive political documents of the twentieth century. It was particularly important for indigenous peoples; it vowed to protect the 'ancient rights' of peoples, and the radical Article 27 aimed to end land monopolies and expropriate land for 'centers of population that lack communal land'. With the exception of a few states, such as Yucatan, it would take twenty years for land redistrubution to take place, and even then it would be far from complete, but its presence in the Constitution served as a way for communities to express their rights. Mary Vaughan has highlighted how the Yaqui used Article 27 to represent their claims to land, and both the Yaqui and Tzotzil used this period as a way to ensure a cultural revival. The Mexican Revolution further brought indigenous peoples into Mexican political hegemony even in the remotest of places. The Chamula in Chiapas even today remain excluded from society, but Ricardo Pozas recorded the experience of Juan Perez Jolote and how the revolution impacted his life. Juan was forcibly conscripted to serve in Huerta's army, and he changed sides regularly based on circumstances, but throughout he never knew what each side fought for. Each just said 'you fight for us now'. However, moving around and meeting new peoples gave Juan agency to understand who he was as a person, and gave him the courage to challenge his father at home.

The Constitution of 1917

Unfortunately, indigenous peoples remained oppressed following the revolution, however, things had changed. As rural, indigenous peasants had managed to exercise agency hegemonic figures feared a reassertion of this - as argued by Gramsci, any movement of the subaltern will see a counterrevolutionary movement from the hegemonic power. This is seen in the diary of landowner Rosalie Evans who in 1921 described the newly elected member of Congress, Manuel Montes, the 'arch-devil' for his advocacy of land access and peasants rights. She specifically stated that 'the Indians have elected' Montes, and even called them a 'rabble'. Fear of the 'other' reasserting its rights following the revolution and civil war meant that peaceful assertion of rights were seen as terrifying. Conversely, mestizaje and indigismo were used to heal the divides of the last decade - an idealised shared indigenous identity, while actually excluding indigenous peoples, aimed to unite Mexico. This was also due to demographic and external events. Racism flourished in the north as nativists attacked Chinese workers, and anti-American feeling had grown thanks to US involvement during the war. The US occupation of Veracruz in 1914 was one of the few things uniting Mexicans over the last decade, the paper El Independente proudly declared that ‘While Mexicans cut Gringo Pigs Throats in the Churches the Gloria rings Out’. Mestizaje and indigismo were therefore used to forge a new, exclusionary, identity. Poet Carlos Pellicer in Ode to Cuauhtemoc (1923) honoured the last emperor of the Aztec Empire and declared that ‘The civilised monarchies of my America fell’ and that ‘in the crater of my heart/burns the faith that will save your people’.  Meanwhile, philosopher and politician José Vasconcelos argued that through mestizaje ‘We in America shall arrive…at the creation of a new race fashioned out of the treasures of all previous ones: The final race, the cosmic race’. However, the people who could claim indigenous ancestry were exlcuded from this process - mestizaje and indigismo were constructed by elite white, or at times mestizo, communities.

Yucatan and the Revolution

Mural of Salvador Alvarado by Fernando Castro Pacheco

I want to discuss Yucatan as a specific case study about how indigenous revolution took place. Being in the south Yucatan had a large indigenous peoples, and contained many of the famous Mayan pyramids. With large haciendas and indigenous populations Yucatan saw intense sympathy for the radical nature of the Mexican Revolution, and in 1915 a progressive socialist general became governor. Salvador Alvarado had allied himself to the syndicalist Ricardo Flores Magon, specifically returned to Mexico to fight Diaz, and became entanced by feminist theory. Upon arriving in the capital of Merida he began issuing 3,000 decrees over the next three years aiming to help Mayans, women, and the poor (many fit into all three categories). Immediately, he began passing laws liberating Mayans from a destitute and brutal life on the haciendas, banned corporal punishment, ended forced guardianship for indigenois children, and prohibited discriminatory laws. His dream was to transform Mayans and women into a proletariat class, so he implemeted laws to protect urban, domestic, and rural workers (especially women). Working with local Mayans he implemented Agricultural Committees to oversee local conflicts to benefit rural peoples, as well as building up Yucatan's infrastructure. In three years over 1,000 schools were built. However, Alvarado did hold paternalistic attitudes towards women and indigenous peoples. Alvarado believed that Maya had to abandon their culture and adopt a ‘modern’ culture – as late as 1968 historian T.G. Powell viewed integration as a non-racist policy.  In 1917 Alvarado wrote in La Voz de la Revolution that Maya should be equal, but their ‘backwardness’ and moral ‘sickness’ meant that they had to be brought into the ‘robust health’ of ‘civilization’ through education.  The Ciudad Escolar de los Mayas was seen as replacing Catholic and indigenous belief with secular rituals to inspire ‘love for the patria’. Although progressive, Alvarado did hold these paternalistic views towards the Maya. In 1918 Carranza moved Alvarado away from Yucatan, but his support of Victoriano de la Huerta (not to be confused with Victoriano Huerta) over Obregon meant that he was executed by Obregon's forces in 1924.

Elvia Carrillo Puerto

In 1922 democratic socialist, and co-founder of the Mexican Socialist Party, Felipe Carrillo Puerto became governor of Yucatan. Building of Alvarado's reforms, and relying on local indigenous activists, this meant that land reform was most successful in Yucatan. Elvia Carrillo Puerto, his sister, was a key figure in his cabinet, so she managed to ensure that a socialist and feminist attitude towards reform managed to persist in Yucatan. Building on older reforms, the Carrillo Puerto's encouraged education for women, access to family planning, entry into trade unions, and better health care for women and children. Thanks to the influence of Mayan allies Carrillo Puerto helped encourage a resurgence of Mayan identity which persists today - there are now cities named after him in Yucatan for this reason. In defiance of policies coming from Mexico City, Mayan was encouraged in schools, Mayan architecture was implemented in cities, and Mayan ruins were rebuilt or restored, the most famous being the pyramid of Chichen Itza in 1923. However, Carrillo Puerto did express the paternal views of Alvarado and other white progressives. As argued by Jo Smith, Carrillo Puerto conflated female and Mayan identity – he argued that both were out of step with modernity thanks to the Church and were intensely traditional by nature.  The ‘other’ was prevalent in his thought. Poor standard of living and exploitation that Maya and women experienced, and a lack of resistance, was blamed on culture, and gender, instead of societal structures based on exploitation and patriarchy. Although Carrillo Puerto did blame societal institutions, mainly the Church and haciendas, he still blamed the marginalised for their own oppression. As this was happening when mestizaje was being promoted we see the paradoxes of national identity. Those who lacked a voice in society were further excluded from a new social identity being constructed – despite being of the vaulted culture, they were deemed (ironically due to Spanish-Mexican culture) not worthy of being members of the new state. Elvia Carrillo Puerto wanted Maya to have smaller family sizes and use birth control, as she saw large families as keeping women back.  Not only does this policy ignore the key point that many rural could not afford birth control, but it highlights continued paternal, or maternal in this case, overrule. Policies were implemented without the consultation of those who were affected and with a semi-understanding of grassroots issues.

Despite the clear faults in Alvarado's and Carrillo Puerto's approaches, reinforcing oppression instead of solving it, they did offer a space for indigenous peoples to express their own agency. Mayans were integral in implementing the reforms and served in the state government - the positive aspects of their governorships were heavily reliant on the support from Mayans. As a result, the success of the Mexican Revolution in Yucatan came not from the caudillos, but instead the Mayans themselves. Like the Yaqui in the north, Mayan identity flourished and went through a revival, beginning properly in the 1930s, thanks to their involvement with Felipe Carrillo Puerto's cultural policies. In a twist of fate, during the De la Huerta Rebellion Carrillo Puerto found himself on the opposite side of the war to Alvarado, but met a similar fate. He was captured by rebels loyal to de la Huerta and executed in 1924. However, Mayans went to fight with Carrillo Puerto as they saw him as the best way to secure the rights which they had been fighting for. Indigenous peoples managed to involve themselves with the wider politics of Mexico. The Mexican Revolution had gave them the opportunity to do this.

Conclusion

An EZLN mural depicting Zapata

Looking at the Mexican Revolution through how it impacted indigenous communities shows the paradoxes a revolution has on subaltern peoples. They were integral to the revolution, but have often been sidelined. They were spoken for, but found their own voice. They saw success, and setbacks. Indigenous peoples allowed the forging of a new Mexican identity, and their impact influenced the forging of one of the most radical consitutions. Throughout the twentieth century, when inequality in Mexico was being challenged, people would look to the Constitution of 1917 for support. Indigenous peoples took this up as well. In preparation for the passing of NAFTA in 1994 Article 27 of the Consitutution was redrafted to allow for US and Canadian ownership of Mexican land. In response, indigenous and mestizo communities in Chiapas rose up on 1 January 1994 to resist neo-liberalism, racism, and sexism. Creating a link between the past and present they named themselves the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN). Indigenous involvement in the Mexican Revolution forged Mexico and will continue to do so.

The sources I have used are as follows:
-‘The Constitution of 1917: Articles 27 and 123’, in Joseph, G., and Henderson, T., (eds.), The Mexico Reader, (Duke, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), 398-402
-Evans, R., ‘An Agrarian Encounter’, in Joseph, G., and Henderson, T., (eds.), The Mexico Reader, (Duke, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), 403-405
-Pellicer, C., ‘Ode to Cuauhtemoc’, in Gilbert, G., and Henderson, T., (eds.), The Mexico Reader, (Duke, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), 406-410
-Vasconcelos, J., ‘The Cosmic Race’, in Joseph, G., and Henderson, T., (eds.), The Mexico Reader, (Duke, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), 15-20
-Zapata and Others, ‘Plan of Ayala’, in Joseph, G., and Henderson, T., (eds.), The Mexico Reader, (Duke, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), 339-343
-Eiss, P., ‘Deconstructing Indians, Reconstructing Patria: Indigenous Education in Yucatan from the Porfiriato to the Mexican Revolution’, The Journal of Latin American History, 9:1, (2004), 119-150
-García, N., ‘”What we want is for the Whites and Soldiers to Leave”, Yaqui and Mexicans in Times of Revolution (1910-1920)’, Historia Mexicana, 66:4, (2017), 1863-1921
-Gilly, A., The Mexican Revolution: A People’s History, (New York, NY: The New Press, 2005)
-Joseph, G., ‘Caciquismo and the Revolution: Carrillo Puerto in Yucatan’, in Brading, P.A., (eds.), Caudillo and Peasant in the Mexican Revolution, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), 193-221
-Katz, F., ‘Violence and Terror in the Russian and Mexican Revolutions’, in Grandin, G., and Joseph, G., (eds.), A Century of Revolution: Insurgent and Counterinsurgent Violence during Latin America’s Cold War, (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010), 41-61
-Powell, T.G., ‘Mexican Intellectuals and the Indian Question, 1876-1911’, The Hispanic American Review, 48:1, (1968), 19-36
-Smith, J., Gender and the Mexican Revolution: Yucatan Women and the Realities of Patriarchy, (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2009)
-Vaughan, M., ‘Cultural Approaches to Peasant Politics in the Mexican Revolution’, Hispanic American Historical Review, 79:2, (1999), 269-305
-Womack, J., Zapata and the Mexican Revolution, (New York, NY: Random House, 1968)

Thank you for reading and I hope you found it interesting. We have a list of Left-Wing and the 'Other' posts here if you are interested. For future blog posts please see our Facebook or catch me on Twitter @LewisTwiby.

Comics Explained: La Lucha, The Story of Lucha Castro and Human Rights in Mexico

As I am writing it has recently been International Women's Day and in my local area a more radical version of the movement has came into being - one advocating internationalism, trans rights, and anti-fascism. This reminded me of a graphic novel released in 2015, and in our first for Comics Explained it is based on real events. Some of the best comics are ones detailing actual events - March is another good example. La Lucha, The Story of Lucha Castro and Human Rights in Mexico follows human rights activist Lucha Castro of El Centro de Derechos Humanos de las Mujeres (the Center for the Human Rights of Women) in Juarez, Chihuahua. The city of Juarez has been caught in Mexico's War on Drugs as cartels and the police/military both commit human rights abuses, especially against women. La Lucha follows Lucha Castro and other human rights activists in a startling depiction of human rights abuses. The graphic novel, meanwhile, is a bleak one. Covering gendered violence and human rights abuses it is entirely monochrome and the drawings are not overly detailed. It works well in creating the feel of human rights abuses in Chihuahua. It is a bleak time - a happy future may never come around.

Background and Opening

La Lucha was drawn and written by writer and activist Jon Sack, and is edited by Adam Shapiro - the Head of Campaigns at Front Line Defenders. Front Line Defenders is an Irish based human rights organisation which helps fund poorer human rights groups in poorer countries. The Center for the Human Rights of Women (Cedehm) was formed in 2005 as a way to defend women against human rights abuses, and later defending human rights activists. Human rights abuses have largely been overlooked in Mexico - in the opening when crossing the border to El Paso, Texas a US border guard is surprised to learn that abuses are taking place. Since 1993 over 370 confirmed women have been found murdered, where over 137 showed signs of sexual abuse. The intensification of the War on Drugs under Vicente Fox in the early-2000s brought a militarised police to Chihuahua which increased human rights abuses. Cedehm was formed in order to challenge these abuses. Helping victims get justice became the focus of Cedehm. There is a spectre of abuse in the opening - while Sack and Shapiro was in Juarez saw the military patrol the streets following the shooting of two people, including a police chief. It highlights that a park is known as Praderas de Irak, the 'Prairies of Iraq', as one activist states 'Well, we're also in a war'.

Marisela
La Lucha does not focus solely on Lucha Castro - we get to see the stories of other human rights activists. The most striking one is the story of Marisela Escobedo - Lucha acted as her lawyer. Interviewing her son in El Paso, Juan Frayre Escobedo, he tells us the story of how his sister, Rubi, was murdered by her boyfriend Sergio Rafael Barraza Bocanegra in 2008. Rubi and Sergio vanished, and despite disinterest by the authorities, Marisela managed to track Serio to Fresnillo where he was arrested and revealed that he had murdered Rubi. They only found a third of her body. Despite the overwhelming evidence against him, he had shown them where Rubi's body was, the court absolved Sergio in 2010 for his connection to the powerful cartel Los Zetas. Enraged Marisela acted. Starting a grassroots movement the judges were suspended and a retrial found Sergio guilty in absentia but he had vanished. Marisela changed her tactic to try and find Sergio, marching in a dress with Rubi's face on it. She marched through Fresnillo, marched through Mexico City, and demanded to see Mexican president Felipe Calderon. The comic also graphically recreates one of present-day Mexico's darkest videos. December 16 Marisela was protesting outside the Capitol Building in Chihuahua. A sicario (hitman) arrives, she runs, and she is killed. As Marisela was buried her brother-in-law was found in the streets of Juarez with a plastic bag over his head. The rest of her family flee across the border being mistreated by border guards, and aim to continue her fight from the US.

Norma
Another key story, albeit a very short one, follows Norma Ledesma, the founder of Justicia Para Nuestras Hijas (Justice for Our Daughters). Norma's daughter Paloma disappeared aged 15 in 2002 and was found murdered a month later. Like Lucha, Norma aims to find what happens to disappeared women and find those who perpetrated human rights abuses. Norma bluntly summarises the situation 'There is no way of restoring life to someone no can life be turned backwards to a time before someone was raped or maltreated... so there is no Justice, but there is Truth'.

Josefina

Another major story follows the Reyes-Salazar family, now living in El Paso to escape both the military and cartels. Josefina and Saul Reyes-Salazar were raised by progressives who instilled in them an urge to fight what was right. In 1998 the siblings had successfully prevented a nuclear waste dump from being created in Sierra Blanca. When the femicides began in Juarez Josefina began protesting the murders which resulted in her house being sprayed by gun fire. In 2008 Calderon intensified the War on Drugs in Juarez creating a militarised zone where murders, extortion, and torture became endemic. While protesting the military they disappeared her son Miguel Angel and was returned 16 days later with signs of physical and psychological abuse. Three months later he other son was executed at a wedding, and Miguel Angel was again arrested on an accusation that he was a sicario for the Juarez Cartel. They moved from their home in Guadalupe but when visiting her home there was a kidnap attempt, and as Josefina resisted she was killed on January 3 2010. The family resisted and the local area became enraged by the murder of Josefina - they even started printing the disappearances of family members on milk cartons. In August 2010 Ruben Reyes declared 'Well...here I am' when armed men came to get him - he was then shot. Despite this the family pressed on but as more and more of them were disappeared or tortured, caught between cartels and the army, they fled to the US in 2011. Saul Reyes-Salazar concludes that 'Guadalupe is practically a ruin. I believe that for all these dead there will never be justice...no one will be detained... no one jailed... no one condemned'.

Conclusion

La Lucha concludes in pessimistic terms. It came out that Marisela's driver had been threatened by an attorney from the state attorney's office for refusing to claim that Marisela was working for the Sinaloa Cartel. More members of the Reyes-Salazar family had managed to received asylum in the US, and the Juarez Valley had lost 70% of its population through either murder or inhabitants fleeing. Lucha Castro offers a pessimistic and optimistic look to the future. She states that 'Disappearances and the killing of journalists with impunity is still occurring, but the government doesn't want to talk about it. Our doors, however, will remain open'.

Many of the readers of this blog is in the North Atlantic world (Western Europe, the US, and Canada) where International Women's Day has somewhat lost its radical roots. In many areas it has become an event only for white, middle-class, cis-women, and at its worst openly extorts bigotry - especially against trans women. La Lucha highlights the need for International Women's Day to return to its roots. Abuse and torture against women has become widespread in Juarez and the femicides have largely fallen out of media's attention. My local International Women's Day offers a hopeful future - it resoundingly condemned transphobia, saw talks from an organiser hoping to protect sex workers, and called for collaboration against Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil (and honoured murdered activist Mariella Franco). Hopefully, International Women's Day can help Lucha Castro and the activists at the Cedehm.

Lucha Castro

Thank you for reading and I hope you found this post interesting. Please leave any thoughts and comments. For future blog updates please see our Facebook or catch me on Twitter @LewisTwiby.

If you were interested in reading more on human and women's rights in Mexico here is a quick reading list:
-Jon Sack, Adam Shapiro, and Lucha Castro, La Lucha, The Story of Lucha Castro and Human Rights in Mexico, (London: Verso, 2015)
-J.Tuckman, ‘Mexico: The Graphic Tale of Lucha Castro’s struggle to defend women’s rights,’ (2015), https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2015/aug/05/la-lucha-the-story-of-lucha-castro-and-human-rights-in-mexico-graphic-novel; accessed 5 August 2017
-E.Edmonds-Pli and D.Shirk, Contemporary Mexican Politics, Second Edition, (Plymouth: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2012)
-A.R.Schmidt Camacho, ‘Ciudadana X: Gender Violence and the Denationalization of Women’s Rights in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico,’ CR: The Centennial Review, 5:1, (2005), 255-292
-http://cedehm.org.mx