The Kasbah at Ait Ben Haddou- Desert Roots of Urban Architecture

Note- published in UNESCO Courier, June 1993

THE High Atlas mountain chain once divided Morocco into two distinct parts. The area of ample rainfall, bountiful agri­culture and placid village life to the north was called bled al-makhzan , the land of imperial governance. To the south, a rocky, sandy and sun-baked expanse stretched into the Sahara. This was bled al-siba , the land of disorder .

This geographical dichotomy did not always hold, however, as the great four­teenth-century Arab thinker Ibn Khaldun noted. Often called the father of modern sociology, Ibn Khaldun saw fundamental differences in the organizing principles and cultural bases of city life and desert life, but he also found ample evidence of parallels, and indeed of a symbiotic rela­tionship of such intensity that the unfolding of history itself depended on it. As he saw it, the seeds of urban culture's highest artistic and political achieve­ments , reached only through co-opera­tive enterprise, were buried somewhere deep in the soul of the lone desert horseman. Whenever nomads rode together in bands of even five or ten men , they incorporated a collective spirit and a joint purpose pushing inexorably towards a larger design.

The Moroccan desert is rich in exam­ples writ small of what were to be the seeds of dynastic urban grandeur. The southern oases along the lush green river valleys are cultivated with the same intensity and ingenuity as the north's fer­ tile plains. Clan loyalties once radiated from the southern strongholds of the local saint in much the same way that dynastic loyalties later spread from the imperial cities of Meknes, Fez and Rabat.

Perhaps nowhere are these parallels between desert and urban Moroccan cul­ ture more striking than in a comparison of Ait Ben Haddou, a hauntingly quiet fortified farming village south of the High Atlas, with the teeming, labyrinthine, cacophonous kasbah of old Fez. Both are on UNESCO' s World Heritage List, and one can visit neither without recalling the lessons taught by Ibn Khaldun.

ROOFTOP NOMADS

While Fez has a recorded history, a host of founding dynasts known by name, and precise construct ion dates for its earliest architecture, we know little of Ait Ben Haddou's Berber past. Its age as a human settlement, we can safely assume, is less than the geological age of the rock upon which it is built, but its proximity to known prehistoric sites in the Sahara indicates quite plausibly that it is cen­turies, if not millennia, older than Fez.

But we do know that it, like Fez, rep­ resents the acme of its own particular school of high-density, multi-use, envi­ronmentally-adapted architecture and town planning. Ait Ben Haddou's desert­ born model for urban design, applied with such stunning success to the Fez kasbah, dramatically illustrates Ibn Khaldun's unified theory of civilization .

For in Ait Ben Haddou city and desert living habits meet in unusual concord. Densely-packed, multi-story dwellings create an utterly urban atmosphere, yet their inhabitants still live something of a nomadic existence. In response to changing temperatures, they "migrate" from room to room, from rooftops where they sleep at night to ground-level cham­bers where they escape the midday heat, just as pastoralists move about in response to climate-induced changes in grazing and watering conditions.

Ait Ben Haddou is by no means southern Morocco's only fortified village constructed of stone, rammed earth, adobe brick and mud plaster. The valleys of the Dra, Dades, Gheria and Ziz rivers and their tributaries are studded with such settlements in all shapes and sizes. One stretch of the Dades is in fact known in the tourist guides as the "Route of the Kasbahs".

But the term "kasbah" leads to a certain amount of confusion when applied to the High Atlas and to pre­Saharan oases. The word can lead the unwary to imagine mistakenly the maze­-like alleyways and dead-ends of the imperial cities' enclosed palace precincts, now converted to mixed com­mercial and domestic use.

More precisely, however, desert kasbahs are the ex-residences of southern Morocco's once -great ruling families­ the Glaoui, the Goundafa and the M'tougga-usually built to stand alone on some imposing mountain spur. The only true kasbah of this type that remains largely intact is the Glaoui family's home at Telouet.

CASTLES AND KASBAHS

To describe the full range of southern Moroccan architecture, one needs to be familiar with two Berber words, agadir and tighremt, which refer respectively to fortified granaries and the multi-towered castles occupied by village headmen, as well as with the Arabic words kelaa and kasr, which refer to mountain citadel villages and to walled oasis settlements.

The so-called "kasbah" of rural Morocco is often in fact a tighremt, con­structed usually in the midst of the vil­lage. But since village housing is built contiguously and shares party walls, it becomes impossible over time to tell where the tighremt ends and the kasr begins. Separate construction thus takes on the look of an organic whole.

Ait Ben Haddou has at least four tighremt-like structures. Because the vi­llage is built for defensive purposes up the flank of a steep hill, the fairly rectilinear grid pattern of the typical kasr has here been abandoned in favour of a more fluid layout following the contour lines. As a result it exhibits even more than the usual amount of spatial disorientation.

The view looking down upon the multi-level flat roofs from the ruined hilltop agadir that overlooks Ait Ben Haddou takes in the overall plan of the village and the flow of its passageways. From this perspective the settlement calls to mind a geode, a geological forma­tion with which the region is rife, but a convex rather than a concave geode, with the massed, crystal-like cubic forms of its architecture jutting up from the dull reg­ularity of the surrounding landscape.

Village housing displays a perfect marriage of form, function, material and climate. In view of the latitude and the heat of the Sun, the ratio of habitable volume to exposed exterior surface is maximized by the networks of irregularly oriented walls shadowing courtyards and second-story family quarters. Flat open roofs provide ample work space and an area where grain and dates can be spread out to dry. Fresh animal fodder is con­served in the cooler, damper ground­ level store-rooms.

Sun dried mud is an ideal building material in zones of low humidity where there are wide temperature fluctuations between day and night. Exterior walls heat slowly during the day, but radiate interior warmth during chilly nights. By morning, the high-ceilinged rooms have fully cooled and are comfortable again despite the mounting midday heat.

Ait Ben Haddou is constructed mainly of monolithic walls of rammed earth-mud, straw, dung and gravel tamped into rectangular wooden shut­tering, and unbaked, handmade adobe bricks. The thick monolithic units are generally used for the lower levels and outer walls, the bricks for upper walls, stairways, partitions and the ever-pre­ sent surface ornamentation.

Foundation walls for some of the tighremt's twenty-metre towers are two meters thick,  tapering to just one brick's width at the top. In a land where plumb lines were unknown until recently , right angles were considered not worth striving for. Instead, the sloping look gives the entire kasr a feeling of vertical tension and momentum. Against the backdrop of the High Atlas, this upward sweep makes the village appear to levi­ tate from its hillside setting.

Because it lies in the Ounila river's flood plain, not far from its confluence with the Mellah, the village is bifurcated by running water. To the east is old Ait Ben Haddou, the village of mud brick and high walls; on the Ounila 's western bank is the new town, built of cinder block and concrete slab- cubical too  in its own modern way, but so much the poorer for it.

The new town looks as if it has been hastily erected to serve the needs of the busloads of tourists arriving on two-hour visits. As such, it serves a necessary pur­pose. One hesitates to think how the old village's increasingly delicate sociological and physical condition could withstand the tourist shock-not to mention that caused by the many Hollywood film crews which have worked here-if drink stands and postcard shops had not been set at a distance from the village proper.

Ait Ben Haddou’s ancient half still rests on shaky ground. Many of its homes have been abandoned by families who prefer the new town's piped water and electricity. Only six families remain today.

FACING THE FUTURE

In order to attract the old village's occu­pants back from the other side, a new organization, the Centre for the Conserva­tion and Rehabilitation of the Architec­tural Heritage in the Atlas and Sub-Atlas Zones has undertaken a project to rebuild Ait Ben Haddou 's mosque and involve the com­munity in long-range planning.

The village needs to offer a balanced, low-impact array of tourist services, but also to maintain its traditional agricultural base. The problem is whether, as the village leader puts it, the sheep stabled in his kasbah's lower enclosure are compatible with paying overnight guests upstairs. As for the already aban­doned housing, how can mixed-use stables, granaries and domestic quarters be "retro-fitted" with the physical facili­ties-electricity, plumbing, larger rooms-expected by both foreign tourists and Moroccan home-owners accustomed to more modern accommo­dation? This is the question that the Centre's architects and sociologists are now trying to answer.

When the Centre asked the new town's residents what improvements would be most likely to draw them back to their original homes , the mosque's repair was near the top of their list. And since the project is now near completion, time will tell if it will in itself be sufficient to spark a revitalization . But since the mosque is without question the village's architectural and spiritual centrepiece, it is fitting that it should be restored first.

Over the past few centuries Ait Ben Haddou has survived flooding , siege and drought. In the future it faces perhaps even more daunting challenges-heavy tourist traffic, agricultural obsolescence and physical abandonment. But there is still hope . Its designation by UNESCO as a World Heritage site has brought it to the attention of the wider world. And its townspeople have taken a stand to pro­tect it from reckless change.

Driving Camels from Sudan to Cairo on the Way of the Forty

Note- first published in Smithsonian Magazine, March 1987. The export camel trade to Egypt now follows the new tarmac road, on lorries, no longer on the hoof across the sand. I am still in touch with trail boss Khairallah, see Aramco World Magazine, March/April 2018..

Muhammad glanced uneasily from the dented, sooty teapot over to the four slack waterskins and back to the empty pot. Masud and Adam followed his eyes and understood what worried him: there was neither water to boil our asida, a meal of millet flour and dried okra, nor, more important to the camel drovers, to brew our evening tea. For the Kababish Arabs on a 40-day camel drive from the Sudan's Kordofan Province north to Egypt, heavily sugared tea is the sole reward at the end of a 15-hour day in the sa ddle. To pass the night with out a glass of this warming fuel is to feel the desert's cold and thirst all the way to the bone.

A friend and I were accompanying these three drov­ ers, their trail boss Khairallah and a herd of 109 cam­ els on the 1,000-mile drive to the camel market in Cairo (see map , page 122). We'd been invited to join them by the owner of the herd and one of Kordofan's leading camel merchants, Bashir Abu Jayib, in order to document a way of life much like that of the Old West's cattle drovers as they rode the Chisholm Trail. Our route would take us from the heart of the camel­ breeding grasslands in the central Sudan, northeast through the desert along the dry Wadi al-Milk, along the Nile through southern Nubia and finally  again into the open desert to skirt Lake Nasser, bringing us to the village of Bimban, north of Aswan.

A dancing Pygmy as a gift

The Kababish call this overland route the Darb al­ arbain, literally the Way of the Forty, for the journey's average number of days. Part of the route has been in use since prehistoric times and was first documented during· Egypt's Old Kingdom when the emissary Har­kouf, sent by the boy Pharaoh Pepi II,  returned  this way from his exploration of the land of Pun  t, bringing a dancing Pygmy as a gift to his master. When riverine unrest disrupted trade links,  a  western  desert  route was established following a string of isolated wells running north through Egypt's Kharja oasis to Asyut. This more secretive route is still sometimes used by camel-riding runners of contraband.

To our dismay, night had fallen before we reached Umm Kharwa, our first watering place since begin­ning the drive ten days earlier at al-Nahud (the female breasts), named for two enormous sand dunes to the east of the village. Earlier this morning Khairallah had ridden ahead to Umm Kharwa to make arrangements with watering agents for our camels' thirsty arrival, which we had hoped wo ld be before dark. Now with our waterskins empty, the drovers were upset by the prospect of camping with neither food nor tea after having driven the herd all day through the hot and dusty Hamar territory.

When all the camels were hobbled, a nightly task taking the men only 20 minutes even in pitch dark, Muhammad rode to Umm Kharwa for water . Four hours later, well past midnight, he returned and the teapot was put on to boil. We dr-ank tea until breaking camp at dawn and by midmorning had entered Umm Kharwa's camel-packed well flats.

The camel trade from the Sudan to Egypt is thriving and promises to grow despite Egypt's increasing dependence on subsidized frozen-food imports distrib­uted through government fair-price shops . In contrast to  the  crowded  and  under-stocked government stores, clean and convenient  neighborhood butchers sell the freshly slaughtered camel meat at just above the price of government-subsidized frozen chicken and lamb. Here the customer can freely inspect the meat, pick­ing and choosing from one slab to the next.

Each year, some 50,000 head of camels are driven north along the Darb al-arbain. Sudanese merchants like Bashir Abu Jayib and their purchasing agents throughout Kordofan Province buy camels from Kabbashi breeders at local markets and consolidate them into herds of up to 200 head. Transfer agents in Dongola, the halfway point on the Sudanese Nile, repro­vision the drovers with essentials-tea, sugar and chew­ing tobacco. At the village of Bimban other agents sell off part of the herd for the market in Upper Egypt and provide onward transport to Cairo for the rest. 

Camels three or more years old are driven north. The younger ones are prized for their succulent veal. If fed supplementary grain along the route, they prove strong on the march and command the best prices in Egypt. Older full-grown camels, five to ten years in age, are bought for $350 to $500 in Kordofan and are sold for twice that in Egypt. While a few are used as draft animals , most are bought for slaughter.

Because of the female camels' high local value as breeding stock, few are taken on the drive. In our herd there were only ten, all to be sold to Egyptian breeders. Cow camels also pose special problems: their presence in a herd of bulls causes stampedes and duels.

The morning of our departure from al-Nahud, Abu Jayib's purchasing agent Sadiq Abd al-Wahab had slaughtered and roasted a lamb as a token of karama, or esteem, on the trail. The drovers feasted on entrails and ribs before packing the hindquarters and gather­ ing up the herd. All the camels had been freshly wa­ tered, grazed and branded on the left side of the neck with Abu J ayib's trail number.

As we left behind al-Nahud's sand dunes, passing camel riders saluted the drovers and wished them safety in the desert. When standing face-to-face, the Kababish greet one another in an elegant ceremony of gentle handshakes followed by simultaneous palm strokes over the other's left shoulder , all the while whispering Islamic salutations . When mounted, they invite each other to dismount and drink tea. Indeed, not more than two hours after leaving al-Nahud, we dismounted to share a pot with a cousin of Khairallah.

Failed rains during several previous years had parched the northern grasslands where the Kababish lived and forced much of their breeding, grazing and marketing activities south to the region of the Hamar people, a tribe of melon, millet and peanut cultivators. (More recently, with improved rainfall, the tribe has begun moving back into its  traditional  homeland.) For ten days we traversed this land of savanna  grass and baobab trees, whose stout trunks are used as remarkable above-ground cisterns. After the  two  or three rainfalls of late summer collect in the broad depressions at the base of each tree, the water is scooped with leather buckets into a hole high  in  the  trunk.  This living reservoir provides the village with its sole water supply during the 11 month dry period.

For the first days of the drive in Hamar country we made excruciatingly slow progress, allowing the  herd to graze freely while on the move and making count­ less tea stops, where the camels foraged unattended.  Reherding them was difficult work in the sometimes dense underbrush and among the acacia trees, whose long green thorns they preferred to the dry grasses. Before setting off again they had to be driven single file past Khairallah, who counted each one with  a  lazy drop of the hand.

The men would then take up their customary places around the herd, analogous to the point and drag posi­ tions of cattle drovers of the American West. Masud and Muhammad rode ja’ab at the herd's rear, urging the camels from behind and picking up strays. Adam rode makhruja at the left front and Khairallah rode maddaja at the right front. As camels tend to drift to the right when moving together , the maddaja, with a slight flick of a whip, controls the herd's direction. This place is always reserved for the trail boss or khabir, meaning expert. Khairallah's verbal com­mands to the ja’abs determined our driving speed. At a fast pace the air was filled with the drovers' cries of Hut, Onk, Heh and Birah (Easy does it)-the  four notes of the Kabbashi chorale.

Umm Kharwa was to be our only plentiful water before we reached the Nile in another 15 days. Most herds on their way north pass through this dusty vil­ lage, whose economy depends on the migratory-live­ stock watering business. The owner of a well, the watering agent, and the water drawers split the $3 fee for each 25-foot-diameter mud trough that  is  filled. The deep-voiced bellows and growls of thirsty camels, mixed with the lowing of cattle and braying of don­ keys, produced an eerie welcome as we approached from the distance. Drawing closer, we heard the softly hummed work songs of the water  drawers,  described by one ethnomusicologist as being  similar  to  the throat songs of the Inuit.

The desert widened to both horizons

Upon leaving Umm Kharwa and entering the Ka­babish territory, the thorn trees and grasses thinned and the desert widened to both horizons. A steady north wind drove fine sand into our faces-and at meal­ times into our millet paste and tea. The logic of the Islamic ablution before prayer-cleansing ears, nostrils and mouth-became clear after several days and nights in the Umrn Duhayr, Mother of Little Eternity, as the Kababish call their desert when the wind is strong.

The Wadi al-Milk , a dry narrow riverbed with low trees and thistles that cuts diagonally across the desert, appeared three days beyond Umm Kharwa. We  kept the wadi to our left for the next ten days,  staying  a mile or so out in the desert in order both to avoid am­bushes laid by camel thieves and to push the herd at its fastest pace across flat, empty ground. Every few days Masud was sent into the wadi to fill our waterskins at isolated wells. Being newly tanned, the skins made the salty water as black as our tea.

This was the part of our route where we would cover up to 45 miles during each day and half-night of travel. From dawn until many hours past dark, when Canis Major had already rotated 180 degrees since dusk, the camels crossed this enormous sealess beach , leaving their droppings and cloven prints in the wind-rippled sand. The only break in the monotonous view was an occasional outcropping of rock or a white honeymoon tent erected at the edge of the wadi. These tribal "wed­ ding announcements" always brought forth rowdy talk and speculation from the drovers, who spend most of the year away from their families.

After the dusk prayer at a 15-minute rest stop, when all the camels would urinate in unison, we remounted and watched the desert's reddish hues, only fully ap­ parent seconds before sunrise and after sunset, fade into darkness. Navigating by night was easy for Khairallah in the open desert by "keeping the North Star on the left cheek." I was always amazed the next morning, after hours of a moonless night ride, to find our camp alongside the tracks of previous drives. Old campsites that we might pass at midday, with three blackened fire stones , dung piles and perfectly aligned sand nests made by camels sleeping nose leeward, evoked the same nostalgia for tea and fellowship cele­ brated by Bedouin poets in pre-Islamic odes.

During the precious hour when we stopped at noon the drovers were never at rest. Camel chores, such as patching sore foot pads, refitting saddlebags and fetching wandering camels, occupied every minute. Mu­hammad stayed busy with the fire, teapot and millet paste, whose simple recipe of flour and water required constant stirring with a heavy stick. After the paste was mixed and hand-patted into a dry round lump, the sauce was made from dried okra, tomato and chili powder. The informal Kabbashi word for this thrice-a­ day meal, lukhma, is best conveyed in English as grub.

On the 17th day, while waiting for Khairallah to re­ turn from his search for a camel separated from the herd during a night drive, we brought the camels into the wadi at Idd Ahmad, a small outpost of settled Kabbashi goatherds. A band of locals met us at the wells and filled the mud watering troughs. Though shallow, the wells needed constant dredging and shoring up from the inside with tree branches. For every half-bucket of water, out came two buckets of sand. Upon the empty-handed arrival of Khairallah, who had ridden all night in his search, we prepared tea.

The goatherds, conscious of their un-glamorous life compared with that of their camel-driving tribesmen, were eager for us to stay and tell stories. So too was Billa Ali al-Qurayn  (Little  Horned  One).  A  resident of Idd Ahmad, he was reputed to be  a  notorious  camel thief of the  wadi. He had met us at the well with a shifty greeting and a complicated story  concerning the camel he now rode. At one time it had belonged to one Osman Billi, was then bought by Abu Jayib, then lost on a night drive and recently found by Billa Ali in the wadi. He demanded a $50 reward from Khairallah before handing it over.

Billa Ali's elegant attire-clean white riding tunic and turban, silk vest, silver earring, tooled leather car­ tridge belt and saddle, and conspicuous carbine-was in vivid and suspicious contrast to our dirty and rag­ ged clothing. Even more unusual about this character was that after sharing our meal, sleeping by our fire and pocketing the reward, he shouldered his camel gear and carbine and walked off across the sand to no discernible destination. Khairallah later  explained that Billa Ali's modus operandi was to demand reward money for camels that he himself had stolen. Because the carbine was the only law within many days' ride, an unarmed drover had no choice but to meet his terms.

Two species of carrion-eating birds followed our herds like seagulls over a fishing boat; when we broke camp they watched for the occasional exhausted camel that could not regain its feet and had to be left behind with its throat slit-a mercy killing. The Kababish called these birds Urnrn Rakhrn Allah and Abu Jurn­ juma, Mother of the Vulture of God and Father of the Skull. The trail was littered with sun-bleached camel skeletons; often the gleaming bones, some carefully stacked, served as trail cairns. Given our chronic hun­ger, it seemed strange to me that the Kababish con­sidered the meat of camels that died of trail fatigue too "tired" to be eaten.

Still days before the promise of the Nile, we marked our progress in passing barren mountains with such names as Father of the Ax and Daughter of the Mother of the Sea. They appeared on the horizon at dawn, stood beside our midday camp and disappeared be­hind in the dusk light. Rare thorn trees st nding alone made much-appreciated campsites in spite of the hun­dreds of spotted ticks, also enjoying the shade, that would swarm up our legs. Luckily, these ticks had been spoiled by camel blood and had n.o taste for humans. The night before we were to reach the Nile, a baby camel was born. The next morning it lay beside its mother with kinked, white curls glistening wet in the sunrise, too weak to rise to its feet. ,ve would have had to abandon it had not a donkey rider come upon us on his way to a Nile village and accepted the foal as a gift. He hefted it behind the saddle and went happily on his way. Although eager to reach the Nile ourselves, we had to delay our arrival until mid-morning in order for the thirst -weakened but fickle camels to be more disposed to drink in great quantities.

We saw the Nile's thin green sleeve

Our first indication that the Nile  was near,  several days before, had been the cloud masses in the north­ east of a normally empty sky. Today, more tangible evi­dence was a loosely strung telegraph line that we could barely pass under. Coming over a dune, we saw the Nile's thin green sleeve of date palms, winter wheat, beans and water grasses. Drovers and camels alike scrambled for the riverbank and a long-awaited drink. While Muhammad brewed tea from Nile water, we unloaded the riding camels,  watching  from high  on the steep bank the frenetic watering scene below: cam­els snorting, pawing, slurping  and  finally just staring at their own reflections. Local farmers left their fields to sit with us and admire the herd that was now half­ way to market. Our walking bank account of $50,000 would soon be doubled in value.

After a second pot of tea, a profligacy unknown in the desert, we resaddled and set out due north, staying well into the sands but within view of the river. It became our game to count palms, minarets and curls of smoke from a cook fire- anything to remind us of the food, drink and rest nearly within reach. But confined to the camel on the desert fringe, with the unexplored pleasures of riverine life now beckoning, and being passed by honking trucks on their way to Dongola, I soon tired of the unbearably slow pace of what mo­mentarily seemed an anachronistic, romantic stunt.

On our 25th day, Dongola promised to fulfill our desert-driven expectations of urban reward. The day was spent squatting, sitting and reclining  on the floor of the market stall belonging to al-Amiri Yasin, Abu Jayib's agent, smoking and recounting  tales of  Billa Ali and the wadi for all the assembled merchants. The trail boss is a celebrity for anyone who must earn a sedentary living measuring out dates, rice and beans. Dongola is an agricultural town and the political and  cultural  cap_ital   of  Sudanese   Nubia,  a  foreign world to the Kababish of the desert.Unused to bounti­ful supplies of fresh fruit, water jars on every corner, and unveiled women transacting business, Khairallah barely ventured out of the stall's doorway and cared to taste not one mango , orange or banana. Instead, after purchasing dried chewing tobacco and our resupply of sugar, tea and millet flour, he  hired  a Toyota to drive us back to the camels waiting on the edge of town. He seemed to have no regrets about leaving this land of plenty with so little to remember of the visit.

The next several days offered dwindling succor to our tired backsides. Signs of modernity  thinned  and the electric line from Dongola terminated , darkening our night rides once again. The truck route had now crossed the river, so we were left to ourselves and the isolated Nubian villages on the west bank. We slowed the pace to feed the camels on water grass and the rub­ble of harvested beanfields. It was possible to walk most of the day beside the river on the firm bank and to scavenge for remains of last year's date crop. The fruit of the twin-crowned doom palm, a large nut with a rock-hard graham-cracker crust, provided the mind­ less diversion of an all-day sucker.

After the fifth day of riding past verdant fields, mud villages ablaze with brightly painted doorways, and the pharaonic temple of Sulb, we topped off our water­skins north of Dal Cataract, near where the Nile be­ gins to back up from Lake Nasser, in preparation for the last leg of our journey. This was to be a forced march parallel to the lake but far enough into the des­ert to avoid contact with the over-officious and bribe­-hungry border authorities. Our encounter with a date­ wine-drunk officer of Hamid village had already cost us one day and 25 Sudanese pounds for the infraction of herding "underdocumented" camels.

One day just before our noon break we came upon three large herds being driven from Darfur Province, west of Kordofan. The trail bosses brought their cam­ els to the ground with the customary sh-sh-sh com­mand of the far west. Khairallah kh-kh-khed his camels Kordofani style and greeted the strangers.After swapping their news-the headline story was about an armed night attack by thieves in the wadi-the Dar­ furis invited us to share the meat of a crippled she­ camel they were about to slaughter.

The skin was laid open like a picnic cloth

We arrived at the scene just in time to see the squat­ting camel pinned to the ground with its neck pulled out taut by the rein, and the knife make a 180-degree slash on its under side. The body strained backward, the eyes bulged and blood sprayed over the sand for yards. When the heart had pumped the body nearly dry, the skin was laid open on either side like a picnic cloth and four men undressed the corpse with flashing blades. The ring of onlookers shouted instructions, and fin ally such choice parts as the hump fat, chest call us, hoof jelly and liver emerged from the shrunken carcass. Each of us had a share of the liver and hump, still hot and raw.

Our drovers collected their quarter-side of camel and returned to the herd. We ate a hurried meal of millet paste before setting off on what seemed like the longest, hottest, most fatiguing afternoon march of the trip. We stopped only for the sunset prayer and continued until after midnight. I was  too exhausted to stay awake at the fire for the meal to be prepared, but my sleep was interrupted throughout the night by movement at the fire and much laughter. I could even make out the animated whistle and chatter of the gen­ erally stone-silent Muhammad. The earliest light re­vealed the cause of my insomnia. All night the drovers had chopped the camel meat into thin strips and hung them to wind-dry on rope slung between saddles. The hundreds of bits of darkening red meat were to be our movable and slowly putrefying feast for the last seven days of the journey.

After several uneventful days, again riding very la te, we watched the bright glows of, first, the Aswan Dam and then the city proper approach and pass behind. We crossed an asphalt road, frightening the camels as we climbed steeply up and over its embankment in the midst of the sand flat. There were other finish lines to cross the next morning-electric lines, more roads, rows of windblown garbage- before seeing the Nile Valley for the second time since leaving al-Nahud.

The mood, however, was much different from our arrival on the Sudanese Nile near Khaliwa 20 days be­fore. The drovers sensed they were in strange sur­roundings, perhaps at a disadvantage at the hands of Egyptian hard bargaining and double-ta lk. Their status as men of the desert was not esteemed here. Still a mile from the village of Bimban, we were met by four donkey-riding merchants who swarmed over the herd with barely a word of greeting, eager to mark and reserve camels for later purchase. They regarded our mounts only as business opportunities and not as the beasts of God-favored beauty and strength that they were to the Kababish . The fragile spell of the desert was completely broken now.

Abu Jayib's transfer agent, Ahmad Hassan Abd al­ Majid, met us at his stable in Bimban with a large tray of food, which the camel buyers managed to crowd around first and nearly keep us from altogether. The drovers were fully occupied with the camels, keeping them herded, carrying straw from Hassan's stable and cutting out the ones for local sale. Khairallah accepted a Cleopatra-brand cigarette and withdrew from the clamor. Merchants in pursuit with offers to buy his saddle, knife or camel were met with the otherworldly expression of one just awakened from a long sleep.

At Bimban, Abu Jayib 's camels were fed, watered and, because the seasonal price was strong, many were so ld for the same price they would ordinarily  bring only in Cairo. After much shouting between agents, merchants and drovers, 60 of the 109 in our herd were sold . The remainder were driven two days north  to Esna and loaded onto trucks bound for Cairo.

Five hundred miles and 24 hours later, the trucks rumbled into Egypt's principal livestock market. The Cairo camel market , near lmbaba across the railroad tracks on the city's west bank, comes to life every day well before dawn. More than camels trade hands here, as one can find horses, donkeys, water buffalo, goats, sheep , animal harnesses and clothing in any one of the many mud-walled enclosures. Camels take center stage, however, the paddocks filling throughout the morning with herds recently arrived from the drive, their drovers, white-robed Sudanese merchants like Abu Jayib and his son Mahdi, Samsonite-carrying Egyptian meat-broker millionaires and their bagmen, bookkeepers and fallahin - all revolving around the kingpin of this kinetic panoply: the camel market's own King Solomon, Muhammad Abd al-Aziz .

Holding court from behind sunglasses

 This portly gentleman, always sea ted on the wide reviewing bench in the middle of the paddock , sur­rounded by eager buyers and sellers, acts as auctioneer, price fixer and deal guarantor wrapped into one. His grandfather emigrated from Saudi Arabia at the turn of the century with an acutely discriminating sense of camel flesh and founded this market. The Abd al-Aziz family quickly established itself as the indispensable trade link between the Sudan and Egypt, the desert and the metropolis, the herder and the wholesaler. Now attended by his many offspring, one of whom will eventually be named heir to his throne, Muhammad holds court from behind sunglasses and under a dis­tinctly folded turban.

Sales are conducted one-on-one-one buyer, one seller and one camel at a time. Muhammad eyeballs the camel cut from the herd, mentally weighing its dressed meat, and now sets a fair price containing a small margin for his commission. His authority is usually sufficient to settle any differences, but if either buyer or seller cannot accept the price they both must withdraw and are replaced by another willing pair. Each sale is recorded in a huge ledger and no money can change hands until Muhammad assents.

The Kabbashi drovers remained at the camel mar­ket until all of their herds were sold off, perhaps up to two weeks. Even on the outskirts of a city of ten mil­lion , Africa's largest, they continued to fill teapots from waterskins and boil millet flour over an open fire. With their wages the y made purchases for friends and family in Kordofan, visited the mosques of  al-Azhar and Sayyidna al-Hussayn in the old city,  and  settled old debts among their fellow tribesmen. Many other groups of drovers were at the market at the same time, and most were acquaintances, friends or relatives  from home villages. The spirit in the open-air drovers' dormitories was similar to that of the summer camps at their tribal wells; this was a time to reaffirm the bonds between lineages and clans. Only when all of the camels from our herd had been sold did the drovers prepare to depart for Kordofan.

Each proudly wore a newly purchased garment; each carried at least a token of the metropolis. They loaded wooden saddles and burlap sacks stuffed with cooking pots and the beloved teakettle  onto  the Toyota  that would take  them  to  Cairo's  main railroad   station. Their return  would  be  to  Aswan  by train,  thence across Lake Nasser to Wadi Halfa by steamer, on to Omdurman by  rail  and ,  finally,  to  Umm Badr  by lorry. The   entire journey  would  take  more  than  a week, one day for every six of the camel drive north. Joined by another group of drovers also homeward bound , they formed a circle in the paddock and, with arms outstretched and palms open, recited a rhythmic prayer for safety while traveling. With solemn hand­shakes and words of farewell,  the  drovers  left us and the Cairo market. In several months, before the blast­ing heat of the Saharan summer would end the drive season, they promised to be back with another herd. Khairallah's easy laugh as he asked us to accompany another drive almost  made  me  forget  the still-fresh body aches and hunger pangs of the· Way of the Forty.

Masters of Mugham

When Nashville rolled out the welcome mat for the Rolling Stones, did that say more about where rock and roll is headed or where country and western is coming from? If the Three Tenors represent a tradition of the timeless and true, does singing in football stadiums somehow drag their music off its pedestal? And for Pete's sake, why are rocker Elvis Costello and crooner Tony Bennett sharing the same microphone?

Similar questions could be asked about mugham, a traditional, ageless music of  the Middle East once played in the royal courts of Persia and the Ottoman Empire, an art music beloved by knowing connoisseurs that has changed little in hundreds of years.

Until now. The song lyrics of mugham are the intricately rhymed ghazal of classical poets, and its 70-odd scales, also called mughams, are the cousins of South Asia's ragas.

Yet upon reaching its own 21st­ century crossroads, some musicians have chosen to dabble in western forms like jazz, rock and opera. Conservatives and progressives debate which way this music should be played. And nowhere is this conversa­tion more fraught with cultural meaning than in the Republic of Azerbaijan, the Caspian oil patch where all petroleum-importing eyes now turn as the Persian Gulf becomes increasingly unstable.

The Republic of Azerbaijan, whose Azeri-Turkish culture spreads south into northwestern Iran has, since before Alexander the Great's visit in 333 B.C., been a crossroads of invad­ing and retreating nations. And, hard up against the soaring Caucasus Mountains, Azerbaijan is a crossroads with many snowbound hiding places, where cultural tradition can remain untouched for centuries.

Jahangir Selimkhanov, a musicologist and composer of new music in the tradition of Pierre Boulez and Karl Heinz Stockhausen, heads the Soros Cultural Foundation in Baku, an organization whose function is to expand the various east-west meeting places available to the post-Soviet generation. Says Jahangir, "mugham has been under glass for too long. The Soviet cultural policy ignored it, and so it stayed in the shadows, where itsurvived but never moved forward. I see it as the music of my grand fathers. "

But mugham in its pure, unadulter­ated, timeless sense-indeed, all the qualities that make it hopelessly out of date in the new petro-fueled Baku of chiming cell phone s and blaring disco hits-can take a listener to a level of contemplation, spirituality and ecstasy th at its watered down versions can only dream of.

And, based on a recent visit to Azerbaijan, Jahangir is wrong about it being merely a music for grandfathers. Among Azeris, mugham is alive and well, both in its pure form handed down from master teacher to appren­tice student, and in its hyphenated forms as sampled, borrowed and even kitschified by Azeri musicians playing with their western ears wide open.

Elvis Costello and Tony Bennett, meet Arif Babayev.

Arif Babayev is a fading star of mugham opera, a hybrid genre encour­ aged by Soviet culture commissars to merge the high  tradition s of Mussorgski and Tchaikovsky with what they wrongly considered to be the simple folk music-not the real "classi­cal" music-of the Caucasus, just as Rimsky-Korsakov had done with "Sheherazade." While the plots and settings came from such Azeri epics as those written by the 16th-century poet Fuzuli- who, ironically, lived  in Baghdad and Mosul all his life- the music and orchestration is mostly Western  except for a few token arias and accompaniments using mugham scales and the kemanche, a spike fiddle, and tar, an hourglass-bodied long­ necked lute.

Arif now teaches at the Baku Music Academy, and most of his student s aspire to careers in the relatively well­ paid world of mugham opera, rather than to sing the pure mugham in itinerant wedding ensembles that, given the shrinking paying audience for such music, end up playing mostly for their own enjoyment and that of their lucky friends.

During one Friday afternoon master class, five students seated in child-size desks faced their well-groomed silver-haired and mustachioed 60-year­ old teacher, Arif. His voice was weak­ened by age and a cold he caught on his recent pilgrimage to Mecca. The grand piano in the corner is irrelevant for this music, its western tuning rendered meaningless before mugham's eastern modal system. A hot plate brewing Azerbaijan's pot of tea offered the only heat in this darkening winter's day.

Arif looked over his class- Nazakat Tymurova, the class's only woman and Arif's protegee with a career already in motion ; ]avid Abdullayev, a burly 30- year-old with a beard in the making; Kazem Behineh, an  Iranian-Azeri refugee hoping to open a music school for fellow exiles in Copenhagen; Islam Muhammadov, a 20-year-old freshman with buzz-cut red hair, gold teeth and a blue suit; and special guest Kasemfar Abbasov, Arif 's past prize student who now directs his own mugham school. The tar and kemanche accompanists took their seats facing the students, who nervously cleared their throats and thumbed the pages of  ghazals  of Nizami, Fuzuli and the  other  lodestars of the Azeri lyric.

]avid was first to take up the tambou­ rine, holding it as a resonator to his cheek as he began a couplet by Fuzuli known by its first line- ''Ashiyani murgi dil zulfi parishaniindadir." In your hair I will build a lovely nest. And, as with all ghazals, the last couplet contained a direct invocation of the poet's name, so ]avid ended with a tribute, "O Fuzuli!"

Arif rocked his head back and forth, his fingers laced together and his eyes closed. "Sing at a higher volume, one that suits your age, otherwise you sound like my grandmother." ]avid no sooner began anew than Arif slammed his hand on the desk. "If you don't sing at the proper pitch you won't get a grade in this class." Arif demonstrated with a quick burst of song.

Nazakat began immediately in tahrir, rapidly shifting her voice between nose and chest to create a pitch-perfect warbling sound. A mugham singer's greatest success is to be mistaken for a nightingale.

Arif shouted, "Good. More. Good. Louder." He joined her in duet and ended with a teacher's warning. "The rhythm of this mugham is the most difficult in all the repertoire- but you still don't sing it as I showed you before."

He sipped his tea, unwrapped and bit into a hard candy, an Azeri substi­tute for stirring in sugar, and nodded his head at the car player's improvised interlude.

"Don't sing as well as you want, sing as well as I want." He demonstrated again, looking deeply at Nazakat as his voice fluttered dead-on between two notes.

Nazakat repeated sotto voce after him , leaning forward to concentrate on his falsetto playback. "Don't come in so heavy after taking a breath ," he warned. "It must be a seamless return to the lyric. Don't add something  that is not there. Sing it as it is, not like crying. Take your time."

She shook her head. "I can't sing this part well."

''I'll help you," he says.

She looked at the floor, singing to herself. I’m drawing it out  too much," she said in dismay. "That's why I'm missing the measures." Her drop earrings bobbed as her head rose and fell with frustration.

Arif turned to Islam,  who  gripped the tambourine like the steering wheel of an overburdened truck descending a steep mountain road. He sang care­fully, as if in slow motion, with a heavy tentativeness, correcting the pronuncia­tion of a single word.

Islam continued briefly until Arif suddenly clapped out the error in his place of attack in the last lyric. "You're singing like a girl," he shouted. "Why do you pause between verses? Is that Gorbachev's accent I hear, or a Lesghi's?" referring  to a Caucasus ethnic type commonly seen as country yokels.

An electronic tinkle of Nazakat's cell phone disrupted the class. She answered the call, which was from her father, and handed it to Arif.

"What's she doing here, you ask? Sometimes she wants to sing and sometimes she does not. I've finished with her today, so okay, yes, I'm sending her home to you." Nazakat took back the phone, put on her overcoat and left with an embarrassed smirk.

"Kazemfar, please sing for us," said Arif.

Kazemfar complained about the tar's poor tuning, but sang quickly through an entire ghazal, nodded to his teacher sheepishly, and. turned to leave. At the door he turned and said to the visitor, "My father has died, but I feel obliged to come here every week to see my other father." And to Arif, "Goodbye, teacher."

With that, the class ended. Teacher, father, mentor, and scold- Arif Babayev passes his technique co the next generation. The wheel turns full circle, his own voice failing as it gives new voice co others, just as in the words of 12th-century poet Nizami Ganjavi ....

Those poets rare who sang their songs

Grew old, departed, now sleep long.

I their executor; to their      

Sage legacy, the noble heir.

None more than I has made anew

Those ancient modes that men once knew.

Just how crossed up Azeri culture can be is evident in the contrast between Fuzuli and Nizami, a Persian-language poet who never left Azerbaijan and was called the "prisoner of Ganja," his hometown. Baku's main square is fronted by the Nizami Museum,  in which his poetic diwan is displayed in manuscript upon manuscript, but his words can be read by Azerbaijanis today only in translation.

That Baku is a less multi­ ethnic city today than 10 years ago is beyond dispute. The brutal Soviet suppression of the Azeri independence move­ment in January 1990, followed by the war with Armenia in the Karabakh region, which devastated 20 percent of Azeri soil, resulted  in a huge Russian and Armenian emigration. The golden age of Baku depicted in the early pages of ''Ali and Nino," the cross-cultural Azerbaijani love story set in the 1920s which became a best-selling novel in the United States in the 1970s now exists only in the theater.

One mugham opera that patches that golden age back together is "The Cloth Peddler," by Uzeyir Hajibeyov, an Azeri composer born in 1885 in Karabakh. Hajibeyov studied with Prokofiev in St. Petersburg and, although he became a Russian modernist, at heart he re main ed an Azeri sentimentalist. He single­ handedly established the genre of mugham opera. His grand classics, "Layla" and "Majnun," "Koroghlu" and "Mashade Ibad" come from the heights of Azeri literature.

"The Cloth Peddler" is lighter fare, an operetta of sorts which satirizes the clash of old Azeri tradition s with new ideas introduced in Baku during the first oil boom at the turn of the 20th century when such industrialists as Rockefeller, Nobel and Krupp came to town and found donkeys, turbans and arranged marriages. Its first production in 20 years, staged in Baku's ornately chandeliered State Theater, was eagerly awaited by the well-heeled beneficiaries of Baku's second boom.

The opera follows the comic twists an d turns of Asker and Gulchora, the former a Westernized oil baron who scorns the customary prohibition against meeting one's bride before the wedding day, the latter a beautiful maiden whose tradition-bound father, Sultan Bey, refuses to let her out of the house. Asker dresses himself as a lowly peddler to gain ent rance to Gulchora's room , where she immediately falls in love with the humble character of the disguise and not the cocky capitalist who wears it.

An hour before curtain time, the director, Hafiz Guliev, hurried from the costume department to the stage. His crew was still moving props and setting up lights. Guliev urged them on as he dashed to the makeup room . There he found his principal singer, Azer Zaynatov, who was playing the role of Asker, put tin g the finishing touches on his two costumes, a waistcoat and cravat for the oilman, and a high-buttoned tunic and cummerbund for the peddler. With both , he sported the same Persian lamb hat, the Azeri national symbol.

''Azerbaijanis love this opera because they see a little bit of themselves in both sides of the story," said Guliev. The alternating set design said it all- a cafe table, rocking chair and door bell in Asker's house; fountains, carpets, and pointed arches in the home of Sultan Bey.

As curtain time approached, Zaynatov warmed up his strong tenor voice by running up and down a Western scale. He was trained in Venice and his accents were heavy with Italian, his second language. Next to him one of Arif's former students trilled the contrasting scale of mugham, which she would sing in the role of Gulchora's servant. A troupe of young ballerinas chattered away in Russian, waiting for their cue in the overture. Regardless of the oriental setting, the original convention of mugham opera, then as now, required incidental notes of "high culture." T he painted backdrop for all this was the skyline of the old city showing the medieval quarter and the towers of the shah's palace.          ·

The theater was filling up with patrons gaudily dressed and conspicu­ously bejeweled. As always, the late­ comers were accessorized with cell phones. Many who came to  the performance were perhaps the grand­children of oil barons like Asker and those who came to see  opening  night of "The Cloth Peddler" in  1913,  the year Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" also  premiered.  So even with its premiere, this mugham opera was considered a quaint throwback by westernized Bakuvites. After this modern-day performance , some of the disco-ready younger patrons might move on to a nightclub where the latest hit is "Sari Galin," a tired mugham folk tune, whose languid introduction on the kemanche leads into ... raunchy French rap lyrics declaimed against a pounding techno beat.

 

Children of Sanchez, Revisited

Note- Published in Grassroots Development, the bimonthly journal of the Inter-American Foundation, 1988. This article launched my 2 year prospective oral history of community activism in the colonia Dario Martinez (here given the pseudonym Nueva Casa Blanca), “No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up” (see preceding post)

THE CHILDREN OF SANCHEZ REVISITED

Mexico City [AP] - Santos Hernandez, patriarch of the family described in Oscar Lewis's best-selling The Children of Sanchez, died when he was struck by a car while on his way to work. He was thought to be almost 90.

-   January 5, 1987

Caution! Traffic accidents can be avoided. Afterwards, nothing is the same.

-    Road sign on Avenida Zaragosa on the way to Valle de Chalco

With the death last year of Santos Hernandez, also known as Jesus Sanchez , a symbolic if not mythic figure in postwar Mexico has passed away Born in a small village in the state of Veracruz in 1910 - the year that marked the beginning of the Mexican Revolution - it is not surprising that the press should barely notice his demise.

"Jesus was brought up in a Mexico without cars, movies, radios, or TV,  without free universal education, without free elections, and without the hope of upward mobility and the possibility of getting rich quick;' wrote Oscar Lewis in the introduction to The Children of Sanchez, published in 1961. " He was raised in the tradition of authoritarianism , with its emphasis upon  knowing  one's  place,  hard work, and self-abnegation."

For many in the United States, Oscar Lewis's story of the Sanchez family brought Mexico and the Mexican people vividly alive for the first time. Lewis's use of first­ person oral histories to present a unsentimental account of urban Mexican poverty was unprecedented in popular anthropological literature. Indeed, issues such as whether Lewis's portrayal of the Sanchez family was distorted by his perceptions as a white, middle-class, well-educated anthropologist are debated even today - several decades later. At the heart of that debate is Lewis's interpretation of what has become widely known as "the culture of poverty."

Based on interviews he conducted in the 1950s, Lewis concluded that the grinding poverty of the Sanchez family and of others like it-a daily reality for people in what is now often called the "informal sector" - cannot be defined only as a state of economic deprivation, disorganization, or the lack of some specific thing . It is "positive in that it has a structure, a rationale, and a defense mechanism without which the poor could hardly carry on."

According to Lewis, the culture of poverty is a persistent condition, a remarkably stable way of life that is passed down from generation to generation along family lines. Unemployment and underemployment, low wages, unskilled occupations, child labor, absence of savings and shortage of cash, lack of food reserves, borrowing from local moneylenders at usurious rates of interest, and spontaneous informal credit devices all characterize this constant struggle for survival.

The question may be asked whether Jesus Sanchez, the passive paterfamilias living in a one-room inner city slum tenement, or vecindad, remains an archetypal figure in today's Mexico. Or does the current plethora of neighborhood organizations, particularly in the aftermath of the 1985 earthquake , signify a new era for the poor? This wave of grassroots activism contrasts strikingly with Lewis 's description of the culture of poverty, which was typified by family insularity and a lack of trust in government officials and others in high places that extended even to the Church.

Indeed, if Lewis were alive to choose a family that epitomized Mexico City's poor today, he might not look again in the neighborhoods in the center of the city. The sociological phenomenon that would most likely capture his attention is not the migration from the countryside to the city proper, which typified the 1950s, but rather the massive growth of newly settled colonias, or shantytowns, at the margins of the city. Recent arrivals there are not absorbed into long-existing urban environments, but rather join the urbanization process from the very beginning, and thus directly influence - knowingly  or not -  the future of  their community.

In the Valle de Chalco, beyond the eastern rim of the city between the colonial towns of Ayotla, Chalco, and Ixtapaluca, Lewis would find thousands of hectares of ejido land - the communal farmland held by the government and leased out to landless peasants  after  the  Revolution.  Technically, holders of ejido land, or ejidatarios, are prohibited from selling it, in part to protect the land from speculation and to preserve its agricultural capacity for future generations. In fact, however, thousands of hectares have been sold illegally, and these once-productive fields now support a population estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands.

Lewis would undoubtedly be surprised to find that many of the residents, or colonos, are newly arrived not from rural areas, as was Jesus Sanchez , but from the more urbanized areas of central Mexico City itself-most of them "rent fugitives" escaping inflationary housing costs. What might surprise him even more, however, is the degree of community activism found in at least one of Chalco's colonias . While the "Nueva Casa Blanca" (a pseudonym borrowed from the original Casa Blanca tenement brought to life in Lewis 's book) chosen for this article is perhaps less typical than other settlements, it may be just slightly ahead of its time. The colonos' activism is expressed inwardly through a commitment to self-help solutions. It is expressed outwardly through well-organized pressure on state and municipal governments, exemplified by a recent demonstration at the state capital of Toluca when some 60 residents of Nueva Casa Blanca joined groups from other colonias to lobby for schools, electricity, a water system, and sewers.

"Many of the traits of the subculture of poverty can be viewed as attempts at local solutions for problems not met by existing institutions because people are not eligible for them, cannot afford them, or are suspicious of them."

- Oscar Lewis, Introduction The Children of Sanchez

"Prompt payment for our teachers." "Fixed prices for a barrel of water." "Repair our streets."

"Total electrification."

"Valle del Chalco - an organized community. We want electricity, water, health posts, schools for our children. We call on competent authorities for help."

- Signs carried by residents of Nueva Casa Blanca at Toluca demonstration, August 28, 1987

Nueva Casa Blanca has some 2,000 building lots. About half of them are occupied, most by unregistered owners who bought them directly from ejidatarios or speculators, but there are some renters as well. Where the colonia begins and others end is not immediately obvious, sandwiched as it is between several neighboring settlements. Only its northern boundary is distinctly marked - by a large sewage canal spanned by two rickety bridges.

Like Jesus Sanchez 's inner-city vecindad, Nueva Casa Blanca is a self-contained community It has three pharmacies, where prices  are generally  twice  those  in  the city proper; a dry goods store; a beauty school, which is now closed; and many walk­ up windows in private homes where soft drinks, cigarettes, and  other  sundries are sold. In addition, there is a central market with one stand each for meat, produce, canned goods, and used records. And of greater significance to this article, the community also boasts a primary school  currrently  under  construction;  a  health clinic established by a private voluntary organization; and a market, or centro popular de abasto, sponsored by the Compaflia Nacional de Subsistencias Populares (CONASUPO) . This government-subsidized collective is locally managed and sells, among other things, discount tortilla coupons, called tortibonos.

"If there's no resolution, we'll strike."

"Let the commission find another solution."

"Don't let the commission adjourn without an answer."

- Chants at demonstration outside the Govermnent Palace, Toluca, August 28, 1987

Nueva Casa Blanca is now organizing itself around three  issues  of  primary concern to the community: education, health care, and food prices. The leadership structure is still tentative, however, as shown by the colonos' emerging political vocabulary Residents all share an intense distrust of those they call lideres, or self­ appointed community organizers associated with outside professionals and representatives of political parties. At the same time, the colonos have an almost messianic belief in dirigentes naturales, or people who lead by example. As one resident explained, 'A lider tells you what to think, while a dirigente natural acts according to the needs of the community, working for the common good."

There is also a deep suspicion of official negotiations because private deals can be struck between so-called community representatives and the authorities. "Getting too close to officials in order to achieve your goals is dangerous;' explained the manager of the CONASUPO store. "The government pulls at even the best dirigentes naturales and tries to corrupt them ."

Distrust in private dialogue with authorities is so great that during the rally in Toluca, one of Nueva Casa Blanca's delegates would emerge at regular intervals throughout the meeting with the governor's secretary, to update the group outside. Despite this lack of faith in the likelihood of honest representation, however, a three -member CONASUPO committee does exist, and an eight-person school board was recently elected. But they always meet at public gatherings, never in private.

Although it is often difficult to establish the beginnings of " community “ in Nueva Casa Blanca it seems that three apparently unrelated incidents provided impetus for the colonia's burgeoning public institutions - one a family tragedy, one a staple food shortage, and one a casual comment. The final push to build a local school came after a small girl drowned in the canal on her way to another school across the bridge. The CONASUPO store was started when the market in a neighboring colonia responded to a shortage of tortillas by deciding to stop selling tortibonos to customers from Nueva Casa Blanca. And finally, the health clinic was established after the executive director of the Fundacion Mexicana para la Planeacion Familiar (MEXFAM) mentioned to his field coordinator that Chalco's colonias might be suitable sites for the organization's innovative community-doctor homesteading program, which provides subsidies in the beginning but ultimately requires that financial responsibility be assumed by the local community.

Foreshadowing these three somewhat formal institutions, there are smaller, more subtle indications of neighbors talking and working together . Precursors are found in the committees, set up by families with hookups from the same light post, to maintain electrical transformers; in the truckloads of gravel brought in by the community to fill mud holes in the dirt streets; and in the system of launching skyrockets to warn others when a troublesome landlord appears. Despite the obvious benefits of such acts of solidarity, residents of Nueva Casa Blanca have also learned that community activism can have bleak consequences for those who are not care ful, as witnessed by the unresolved murder case that still hangs heavily over the colonia .

"He told me, 'I'm not leaving you anything, but I'll give you a piece of advice. Don't get mixed up with friends. It's better to go your own way alone? And that's what I've done all my life."

                       - Jesus Sanchez, speaking in the late 1950s about his father

"There are many dedicated people in the different colonias of Valle de Chalco who work for the common good. Their efforts to organize community residents are fraught with problems, however, because they encounter official resistance to, rather than support for, their labors."

                                  -Ramiro Diaz Valadez, from an article in UnoMasUno,

                                      September 4, 1987

In September 1987, Macedonio Rosas Garrido , his wife Rita , and his sister Guadalupe spoke to me about Nueva Casa Blanca, their efforts on its behalf, and their feelings about its fu ture. The testimonials of these contemporary "children of Sanchez;' which are patterned after Lewis's original oral histories, are intended to be more symbolic than representative of new community initiatives among Mexico City's lower class. The conversations, purposely directed toward the subjects covered, were transcribed from tape recordings and translated. The names of the family members, as well as the name of their colonia, have been changed.

MACEDONIO ROSAS GARRIDO

I'm 33 years old and was born in Mexico City. I've got about 10 brothers and sisters living all over the city. One sister lives next to me here in Nueva Casa Blanca. My father died about 17 years ago, but my mother is still living in a  little  village  called Tecama in the colonia 5 de Mayo. I've been married 11 years and have three children, two girls and a boy. I'm an eight-wheel truck driver, but it's been more than a year since I had regular work.

We ended up living here four years ago because we heard that the ejidatarios were selling land. We were interested because we were living in a tenement of about 10 families near San Andres . The building didn't have a name: I think only the older and bigger tenements have names. We were renting there, and twice a year the owners would raise our rent. We started off paying 230 pesos a month and by the time we left, it was up to 1,500. So with a lot of sacrifice, we bought this lot here and built the house, little by little. The cement floor just went down last year.

In the center of the city, life in a tenement is crowded, sad, but here it's sadder still. Over there we had water, sewers, electricity - all the services. Maybe not one or two blocks away, but we had everything we needed, like markets and schools. Out here we have to fight to get an education for our kids, and it's dangerous because the schools are so far away We even battle for water to drink.

Friendships and the sense of solidarity are the same here as there. I left a lot of compadres in the  tenement, a lot of friends. I'm very sincere when I make a friend, and I think that when someone is my friend, they're sincere too. When  I first got here I didn't know anyone, but then - little by little - I got to know people.

The earthquake didn't do much damage here. We were getting up and the house shook, that was all. Something happened afterwards, though. About a year ago during the windy season between January and March, there were really strong gusts, and wind devils. We didn't have any problems with the earthquake, but with the high winds, yes, we did. In one case a mother was washing clothes outside her house and had left her baby hanging inside in a cradle. A gust came up and took the roof off her house and everything inside it - including the baby.

The ejidatarios, they make money not twice but three times off this land: first when they use it for farming, second when they sell it to people like myself, and third when the government pays them to transfer it back. I don't know any original landowners that still live around here. They all live where they' ve got conveniences like water, telephones, paved roads, and sewers. They aren't going to be so stupid as to come here and suffer after having made out so well selling us the land.

We have to fight for everything. Sometimes it can be dangerous. I really don't know much about the man who got killed because when I moved here it had already happened. My neighbors told me about it. They said he was killed because he was putting up electrical wires for people. You know; illegal hookups to get electricity to the houses. They say nobody had him killed. The men he was working with just killed him because they thought they could charge money for what this guy was doing for free to help the community. Some say the killers got caught and others say they didn't.

Some people are afraid to do too much because of this killing. It's an example. That guy was a government employee, a bodyguard for the ex-president's brother, and he still got killed. What can his neighbors think, who don't have any protection like he had?

In Nueva Casa Blanca there aren't any official organizers ... any politics of any kind. It's simply a battle we're all fighting together - all the neighbors - for the benefit of the colonia. And by the way, we aren't afraid of the authorities as much as of each other. Afraid that somebody among us might propose some dirty business like those killers did. Those guys didn't have any political connections, nothing to do with the authorities, just personal ambition.

What we've got to do is fight together, like we're doing now. We form committees to ask for services for this colonia: We go to Toluca if we have to, or to Chalco or Ixtapaluca, or wherever else we have to go.

There are various groups that maintain the electrical hookups. Each group is in effect the owner of its own transformer box. Some boxes have 10 or 20 families hooked up - ours has 50 - and everyone has to mark their own cable so they know which is theirs. But there's one person in charge of the box, and when he needs money to buy a new fuse or a new main cable, we all pitch in. With our box we've always had cooperation from everybody. Some other guys run their box like a business, and call meetings every week just to ask for more money That's what happened to us at first. One guy appointed himself in  charge, and he exploited us whenever he could. Finally we got tired, and chose someone else who does a good job.

I've got this big cistern, but not for any special reason or because I want to make money out of it. In the rainy season the water trucks can't get through the muddy streets, so they don't come. Not everyone has the luxury of having a cistern. Some get their water in SO-gallon barrels, while others, with less money, get theirs in buckets. When it's wet and the people with buckets run out, I give a little to whoever needs it. You know, some people charge 400 pesos for 200 liters and 100 pesos for a bucket. It's robbery because really water shouldn't even cost half that much.

The primary school we're building came from the idea of one person, who told someone else, who told another person, and that's how the idea started taking shape until the moment came that it became a reality It wasn't anything political. We're all cooperating in the const ruction. It's work for men, but to finish the school, the mothers do some heavy work too. They work side by side with the men.

We have plenty of labor but no capital to buy materials. We give what we can - 100, 200, 500, 1,000 pesos - but you must realize, it's a real sacrifice. We're using pieces of old wood and used cardboard. We've already got seven temporary classrooms, but I hope to God that the winds don't come up early, because then we'd lose these rooms and everything. By the time the windy season starts, we've got to have the classrooms more secure.

You see, we're humble people here. We've barely got money to eat so it's impossible to finish the school right. Maybe over the long term, if we build two classrooms a year. We still hope the government steps in. But if the government says no, we've only got our own resources to work with, which are very low. Yet little by little, maybe one classroom a year....

"Almost 20 schools are built each day. The 1982-86 Administration."

-   Road sign on Avenida  Zaragosa  outside Ciudad Nezahualcoyotl

I don't believe it! Imagine! To say they' re building 20 schools a day is crazy You can't believe it. In Mexico City there are millions of people, but if they build 20 schools a day where is the city going to end up? It will be pure schools and no more people. Oh, in the whole country? Well, it still seems exaggerated.

The school still doesn't have a name. For the time being, we call it Nueva Creaci6n (New Creation), not because that's its real name but because it's brand new. The children are going to choose its name. It doesn't have to be named after someone from Mexican history either. The old school is named Simon Bolivar, and he doesn't have anything to do with the history of Mexico. And the other school is named Beethoven, and you know perfectly well that Beethoven isn't famous because he did something for Mexico.

The owners are still a threat. We're afraid they might come by, not to take back the lot, because that's impossible now that we've petitioned the authorities , nor to steal our building material. What we're really afraid of is that they'll come for revenge and burn all the laminated panels we put up as a temporary roof. They'd go up in a second. But we won't have to worry once the real roof is in place.

And the skyrockets? Well, we bought them because we had other problems with the landowners. We took over big lots for the kindergarten we want to build next so there'd be plenty of room, and we did get some threats. So the skyrockets are in case of an emergency if they come to take back the lots. We shoot the rockets off to pass the word to all the parents to come to the school and stop the owners from harming our children.

We haven't had to use the rockets often, thank God, only once or twice. We' ve never had to fight or anything . Only confrontations and arguments. One owner is all right and the other is really negative. They have threatened us with legal proceedings, and one came waving some papers in our faces, which he wouldn't let us read. So we ignored him. And once he brought a lawyer , and a photographer who took our picture and said everyone in the picture would go to jail.

When the government gets around to our petitions, we're ready to support the owners if they have supported us. We' ll go with them to the authorities so they get other land in compensation for what we're taking for the school. We don 't have the power to give it to them ourselves, but we realize that they could lose all their rightful inheritance. If we don't go in a committee to speak up for them , they could lose their land.

GUADALUPE ROSAS GARRIDO

I'm Macedonia's older sister by nine years. I've got three grown children and two grandchildren. I'm with my husband here and my youngest daughter, who's 18. We moved out from Mexico City three years ago after Macedonio told us they were selling land for less than we were paying for rent downtown 

I'll tell you how we got our CONASUPO store. They began selling tortibonos at a store in another colonia named lndependencia, at 64 pesos for 2 kilos -the same as it is now. In other places the price for 2 kilos was 130 pesos. Today, without coupons. 2 kilos will cost you 200 pesos. We used to go to the store on the other side of the red bridge at the highway. But sometimes they wouldn't have enough for everybody, and then they told everyone from Nueva Casa Blanca that they couldn't sell to us anymore.

When I first moved here, before the coupon system began, there was another CONASUPO store in Nueva Casa Blanca. It had been opened along with stores in four other colonias, but they all finally closed. Ours had a problem with the woman in charge. She acted as though she was the owner. People didn't like that, so they stopped going.

We all learned that we needed someone with the right personality to run the store this time, someone who wouldn't call himself the boss. And by fighting and pushing and doing whatever took away our silence, we learned we could succeed, not just with the store but in other things, too.

Let's say it was the start of getting to know each other and learning about everyone's problems, not just financial, but social and physical too. Trying to open the store became a way to communicate. It was a basis for better financial and community support for everyone. That's how you learn about yourself, and acquire the respect that self-respect deserves. One of the best ways to find out what people need is for them to go out and look for it themselves .

"The desire to know and to demonstrate that one knows is born in the heart of man."

                - Benito Juarez, inscription at the Secretariat of Public  Education

Mutual needs you see and live and feel are what help you join with others. There isn't any organizing here, rather we're a group. We've united to move forward toward finding and solving our common needs. Before, we didn't have an organization. Each of us lived our own lives. We didn't see each other: nobody knew who was who, not even each other's names. Everyone kept their needs inside. But once we had the store there was something to talk about. Thanks to that store, we've gotten the courage to tell the authorities about what else we need.

And then we had the idea for the school. We fought, marched, went to see the authorities. But they paid no attention to our petitions, so we now propose to insist on what is ours. What's the difference between requesting and insisting? "Request" is to ask for something that has been promised, and then you keep on waiting. "Insist" is when you see a lot of promises that are never delivered, then you protest . . . and march. That's our way of insisting so they will listen to us.

We hold meetings every Saturday morning at 10 o' clock. Dona Carmen and Dona Zenobia and I are on the CONASUPO store committee. Everyone comes to those meetings. That's how we began to talk about the school. The salary for the store manager and the money for the rallies, to take petitions to the authorities, come from the store.

Yes, I feel like an example for others because, more than anything, we all should be like this. Not to get ahead of the others, no, but simply to be decisive, to know how to talk, to write, to make our needs known. Because if we women are silent, or don't speak up, the authorities will never listen to us, and women will never be treated well. Women should have the same rights as men.

Before, I was very tied to the home. I was the first that tried to get tortibonos at the Independencia store, and I told some of my friends here about them, that I wished we had tortibonos here. That's how I was accepted by these people, and they listened to me. That's when I decided to get more involved, to help my colonia a little more, and me too. And until now I haven't felt like stopping, not until what we want is achieved.

I've made new friends. I've been accepted by some people and rejected by others, but I don't pay attention to the rejection, I just keep on fighting because you have to realize that we have a lot of jealous people in this colonia, people that really don't care about the well-being of others. They're conformists, without any desire to improve themselves. Some are among the first people that moved here, others are new. Maybe they don't have any little ones who risk their lives going to school, or they're just backward. We don't ask their support, but we also don't want them to drag us down. They see the school, our sacrifices as parents, and instead of being quiet they're against us. A lot of parents are under their influence ... well, maybe just a few. The rest of us have decided to carry forward without paying attention to them.

No, I don't feel proud of myself, just satisfied. Nothing more than that. Not proud, because I don't have any reason, because we're equal here. But satisfied, yes, in seeing that something has succeeded in our colonia. I don't think about the present as much as the future because I have grandchildren and I want them to have an education.

RITA MARTINEZ DE ROSAS

 I was born in Poza Rica, in the state of Veracruz, and went to Mexico City 15 years ago. Macedonio and I moved out here with the children four years ago. My sister lives in this colonia, too. She's a store cashier and helps us out sometimes. The money I make selling comic books at the school isn't very much. Out here nothing's certain, that's for sure, but it's a little better now that the school is being built. Now the children won't have to walk so far.

"To buy school supplies, parents must pay 25,000 pesos per child - the equivalent of one-and-a-half times the monthly minimum wage!'

                  - from an article in El Excelsior, September 2, 1987

What do I know about the MEXFAM clinic? I know its specialty is family planning, but they also give general exams and attend to children. The doctor treats everybody Most days there are a lot of people to see him-at least 15 or 20-and they come from other colonias too. The doctor helps the community a lot because he's the only one we have. We still don't have a doctor on duty both day and night. My little girls sometimes have sore throats and diarrhea. It's very common here because we have no water system.

 If the doctor's able, he gives us medicines for free because the pharmacies charge so much. Everyone else pitches in too. If someone brings medicine back from the free pharmacy at the social security hospital and doesn't need it, they give it to the doctor to give to someone who does. He charges very little compared to others, less than they charge at the government clinic in Ayotla, plus that clinic is so far away.

 MEXFAM brought the doctor here two years ago. When the clinic first started th ere was a lady doctor, now we've got a man doctor. Sometimes his sister comes. She's a dentist, and she charges the same as her brother. He's also thinking of putting in a small hospital, with beds for overnight patients and baby deliveries. He wants to get the midwife who lives nearby to cover for him at night. There's a social worker who gets us together to talk about how we can improve our nutrition, to make things better here for our children's health. We don't have a support committee for the doctor, but I think we should.

 The tortibono coupons from the CONASUPO store are necessary because there are lots of families here with hardly anything to eat. Some of them have six or eight children, and there aren't enough tortillas or the money to buy them. A family with five people can eat four or five kilos of tortillas a day because we eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They only let you buy two kilos a day with the bonos. Really, a family with a lot of people needs more tortillas than that.

I buy milk from the subsidized dairy three times a week. We have to go all the way to the other side of the highway. It costs 300 pesos for four liters, and they limit how much you can buy, depending on how many children you have. If you have more than four children you can buy it every day. Still, it would be a good idea to have our own dairy here. Maybe that should be our next project.

 About the death of that little schoolgirl, it really brought us together with her mother. When they found her little girl's body in the canal, we saw we all lived here and just how bad the consequences of that ditch can be.

Some anthropologists dispute Lewis's concept of the "culture of poverty" as too restrictive. Lewis, in fact, sometimes defined it as a subculture rather than a culture, and he recorded testimony from his informants demonstrating a wider variety of experiences among the poor. Even if Lewis's conclusions were valid some 30 years ago, the concept today might have to take into account people like the Garrido family. Their openness, their belief in a better future for their children, and their willingness to act on behalf of the community stand in sharp contrast to the individualism and fatalism expressed by Jesus Sanchez .

 The community achievements in Nueva Casa Blanca are such that Macedonio Rosas Garrido would never tell his son, as Sanchez was told by his father, "Don't get mixed up with friends. It's better to go your own way, alone.”      

"No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up"- Oral History of Community Activism in a Mexican Squatter Settlement, Part 6

Epilogue

What happened in Dario Martinez was not what I initially set out to find. I found no neat, happy, or idealized ending to a neighborhood's quest to build its own institutions and perhaps create its own system of governance. The seed from which in September 1987 I thought this might grow, the collective building of a schoolyard fence, did not in fact symbolize anything larger than just what it intended to enclose.

Their own school is what people wanted and their own school is all they fought for and finally achieved.     Not a broad-based community organization, not a political party, not even a smoothly functioning Parent-Teacher Association. Just a decent, nearby place to send their children for an education, so that parents would not have to bury another Ricarda Huayapan drowned on her long walk to class.

But I was not the only outsider curious about what in Dario Martinez might grow, or explode, from a mounting impatience with the existing order. For one reason or another, and I could never clarify this despite many efforts, UPREZ arranged for Daniel to move into the neighborhood to begin recruiting and organizing on its behalf.  And for a time, UPREZ was able to shed its outsider's clothes and be seen as part of the neighborhood.

But Daniel moved to Dario Martinez too late to use the fight for the school as a recruiting device for UPREZ.    By then the school. was already up and functioning.  It already had a PTA, an energetic principal living in the community, and a motivated group of young teachers.    And without school-age children of his own, Daniel lacked even a purely personal reason to get involved.  School matters were thus to remain pretty much out of his hands.

Outsiders of a decidedly different political persuasion also took note of Dario Martinez and the Valle de Chalco's many other colonias.   Alarm bells had sounded in PR! headquarters not long after its setback there in the 1988 presidential elections.    Hence the near bottomless pork barrel of PRI's National Program of Solidarity, and hence Catarino's job with the neighborhood's Self-Help Council.    As Daniel said, "PRI doesn't reward friends anymore, it just buys off enemies."

The fact that both UPREZ and PR! used Dario Martinez as a kind of laboratory in which to experiment with- call it what you will- community mobilization, political consciousness raising, or personal co-optation, did not seem to influence the neighborhood's failure to develop its own truly grassroots institutions.  That can be blamed on neither the right nor the left.

The one incipient organization that might have so developed, the neighborhood PTA, became stalled by its very success.   It was originally created by community consensus to erect a provisionally functioning school and to pressure government authorities for a new building.   With Guadalupe as its first president, it did this work energetically and single-mindedly.   It was during her term that, despite the odds, the school took shape and opened its doors.

When Estela took over·from Guadalupe, a transition aided by her act as jailbird/martyr on behalf of the school, she devoted the PTA less to educational activism and more to political intrigue.  Estela tried but could not block the dissident teacher's efforts to oust the principal. Complaints grew over the size and frequency of obligatory school fees.   These and other disputes split parents and teachers into factions and dissolved the cooperative spirit that had prevailed under Guadalupe.

By the time Rafaela was uncontestedly elected to head the PTA, the government had already agreed to build the new school.    But by then the PTA had lost most of its community support.   Open meetings were poorly attended, few parents gave voluntary contributions for special school projects, and the PTA was excluded from the decision of how to dispose of the old classrooms.   Its mandate to represent parents' interests had been effectively withdrawn.

Not surprisingly, the inauguration of the new school building was fraught with anti-climax. Classes first met there after the Christmas vacation in February 1990.  A small schoolyard ceremony was held for students, but the principal hoped later to throw a neighborhood fiesta complete with music, food and drink,­ and a commemorative mass.      But money, as usual, stood in the way.

Until then I had been a silent observer and quiet listener of all that happened in Dario Martinez.    I had conscientiously avoided taking sides, voicing approval, or breaking confidences.   I had also, diplomatically I hoped, turned down "loan" requests from several people not connected to my interviews but whom I still knew and liked.

But I did feel strongly that there should be a party, a big party.     I thought, at the least, that a mariachi band, beer, soda, good food, and fancy decorations were in order to celebrate the neighborhood's first pre-fab, glass­-windowed, two story concrete building.   After all, this was their new school , the fruit of their hard-won victory over adversity.   So during my February visit I decided finally to compromise my neutrality for what I took to be a good cause.

Because there was no longer a PTA treasurer, nor for that matter an official ledger of school accounts, I saw that making a sizable donation might compromise my position. To overcome any misunderstanding, I took advantage of one fairly well-attended PTA meeting to ask Rafaela and the principal to accept $100 to help underwrite a school fiesta.    Whatever was left, I mentioned, might be used to buy classrooms supplies.

The principal said there was little time to plan such an event before my departure and instead suggested that we wait for my next visit.   I insisted that the party go on as soon as possible, with or without me.   Maybe, I thought, I might even recoup my impartiality in the community if in fact I were absent. That way at least the party would be an uninhibited event, not staged for some outside patron's benefit.

So all I asked of the principal was that he send me some party photographs­ which in retrospect I should not have waited so long to receive.     They never came, and because my only contact with Dario Martinez lacking telephone and postal service- was to write Guadalupe in care of her in-laws, I decided not to investigate by mail.  I would have to wait until I returned in person.

Yes, the principal told me when I arrived in November for the election, indeed a fiesta was held.    And yes, everyone came and enjoyed themselves.   But no, no one took pictures.  When I asked others about the party, few could even remember attending.   Yes, they said, there had been something or other in June on the last day of classes, but wasn't it an end-of-year ceremony as usual? Nothing special, thought most.

Perhaps it was all for the best that my gift was forgotten.    Lost, misused, or spent unnoticed on school miscellany- it did not matter.   Now I simply felt like all the other parents whose voluntary contributions always went unappreciated. That the community felt no special obligation to me was in fact a relief.   Where the money actually went, I never bothered to find out.

My November trip was memorable for other reasons however.    Unlike all the other visits, when I investigated important community events already past- such as Ricarda's drowning, Estela's jailing, or Guadalupe's showdown with the police­ this time they were occurring before my own eyes.   Reading press accounts of the Antorchista massacre as the news unfolded, and sensing the naked fear pervading the neighborhood in its bloody aftermath, I felt suddenly anchored to what was happening there.

People who were my friends and confidants might well have died up on that hillside, killed in a dispute that figured prominently in my research, on the very day I was on my way to see them.  This was not exactly a close brush with death, although certainly in Estela's case it could have been, but it did change my hold on the place.   I was no longer simply an oral historian.     If things heated up, I might become a kind of battlefield journalist; later I might even be called as a witness in a trial for the murder of someone I knew.

But good sense prevailed.  People withdrew from the hillside, the police laid down their weapons, and Juan Martinez fled the law.   The elections went on as planned and, as usual, they provided a harmless if predictable sideshow to the events they immediately followed.   In Mexico, there is nothing like an obviously rigged election and a proforma protest by the opposition to calm one's nerves.

But in one sense, this election did serve as a kind of watershed event in Dario Martinez.  It motivated Estela and Guadalupe actually to vote for the first time in their lives.  Not that they did so however because they thought the election would finally be clean.  Their skepticism about that was obvious to anyone who listened.  Entering a voting booth, and thereby breaking through the invisible barrier which previously had kept them from participating in electoral politics, required much more of a psychological adjustment.

For Estela it was the need to feel she had won something, that she had chosen correctly and so in some small way could collect a prize.   For her it meant going against her principles, her rhetoric, and her past as an UPREZ militant. It meant voting for PRI, the pre-ordained winner, and then, even more difficult, not talking about it.  For once in her life she had to celebrate her victory in private.

For Guadalupe, her vote for PRTZ also meant a reordering of principles.    All politicians were not alike, she had to convince herself.   Some were better than others. Some might actually improve things.   And Guadalupe's sense of duty to the neighborhood, what she always said stemmed from "necessity, pure necessity", led her even further, to work all day as a poll watcher.       To ma e the connection between providing public services and guaranteeing a clean election, she certainly had to show signs of a new faith.

So this is how I left them- Estela a closet PRIista, Guadalupe a dutiful radical.   Both voted in their own way, both for their own good reasons.        Daniel meanwhile confirmed the direction of his previously detected emotional drift away from the neighborhood and seemed ready to move on physically as well.  And Catarino- who knows?· If President Salinas's promised big party shake-out finally does reach his level of the bureaucracy, yes, he probably will survive. He is, after all, too good a ventriloquist dummy to throw away.

For three years I had been visiting Dario Martinez with such regularity that my comings and goings were no longer of much interest to anyone.      Guadalupe paid little attention even to the news that this visit might be my last for a long while.      I promised to share with her whatever might in the meantime emerge from our many interviews, we traded final pleasantries, and she shook my hand.

Walking down the long dirt street one last time from her house to Estela's, on my way to yet another bittersweet goodbye, I passed wall after wall of freshly whitewashed signs already starting to fade.   Older signs in the crude hand of self-taught neighborhood artists, covered over by these new signs painted with the precision of an imported election campaign, were slowly becoming legible again.

 "Rosa's Funerals- Special Prices for People with Few Pesos" floated up from "Decide with Your Vote!  Will it be Misery or Joy?".   "Stud Pig for Rent Here" reappeared under "Because the Chance for Social Peace is in Your Hands''. "World of Drugs, Street of Terror, Chalco Theater October 25" reemerged through "For a Better Life, Vote Like This".

It struck me that the entire neighborhood might be such a palimpsest of dreams and reality.  But to whom belonged the dreams and to whom the reality? Outsiders would still and always come and go, bringing electricity, voting booths, and their many other promises of change.   But their view of the Valle de Chalco is nothing but a point of debate, mere subject matter for the conflicting strategies, speeches, and sermons of social planners, politicians, and priests- they who come from elsewhere, who later have somewhere more to go.

The real neighborhood would continue to stand still, or at best barely to inch forward, but always on its own terms.    Reality here belongs to insiders like Guadalupe and Estela, two friends bonded by ties of community and circumstance so strong that no disagreement over UPREZ, PRTZ, or the PTA can sever.   For, as neighbors, they literally do share the same view.    And whenever the clouds part momentarily over lxtaccihuatl, they stand side by side, looking together down their unpaved street and up upon the same snowy heights.

163

"No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up"- Oral History of Community Activism in a Mexican Squatter Settlement, Part 5

November 1990

The neighborhood's appetite for confrontation with the authorities has weakened in the year following the completion of its new school. Some people say that after winning its greatest battle, UPREZ simply stopped the war.  Others see deepening personal rivalries and jealousies as having finally taken their toll among friends and neighbors.

But the real reason might be something entirely more predictable. perhaps that the natural life expectancy of any grassroots movement­ in the course of community events when the cooperative spirit begins to die- has now been reached in Dario Martinez?

In its past battles, UPREZ has meant many things to many people.  For some, it was just another poorly understood political entity arrived from somewhere else.  For others, UPREZ was the personification of·its members, people like Guadalupe and Estela at their outspoken best.    For most however, it was an organization built on the shoulders of Daniel alone. And as Daniel now retreats from grassroots action into more individualistic goals, so does everyone else.

GUADALUPE

There's no honesty anywhere anymore, not even in UPREZ.    It's just like an empty shell, just Daniel and a few others.    We don't have regular meetings anymore. It's all fallen apart.   No school meetings, nothing.   Everyone is going off on their own way.

It would be tough for Daniel to get everyone back on his side, but not because he's done anything wrong, like some rumors around here make it seem.   can tell you he's a clean person through and through.  I respect him a lot, a real lot. He's never asked us for anything.      But I don't know if he can win our confidence back like before.

I'd say Daniel is still an activist, but he's less responsible now.     He should arrange meetings so they start on time and everyone knows in advance.   But he doesn't even show up himself these days.   That's when you begin to ask yourself, why not just drop out of the whole thing.

Daniel is more and more into politics and less and less into things here in the colonia. Because I guess he figures it's all over here.    He knows we've still got problems.   But he's not the same Daniel fighting for our needs, trying to get respect from the authorities.     He's much more of a politician now, even though he said he'd gotten into politics just to help us out here. I don't think he's really left us behind.       But I'm a little disillusioned with what he did.

Before, he was here and we all fought together, and we were winning.     It didn't seem like any of us had to be politicians ourselves to get what we wanted.  It was from everybody's hard work that we got it.  Look at what we did with the school and the food co-op.  And if we keep fighting, then we'd get the health center too.

ESTELA

Daniel doesn't have any credibility left.   Around here, just mention his name and it's as if you called the devil.   Too bad, but that's the way it is.         And his sidekick Pancho is even worse.  He doesn't work, he doesn't even go to meetings.  He's always joking around outside.

Daniel says that the neighborhood elected Pancho to be the UPREZ coordinator, so if there were any complaints then you should go to him.       And there wasn't even a vote!  That's the way it always is, either complaining about others or acting like the boss.

And Daniel has left everything in Pancho's hands.  He says he's supposed to be above it all and just act like a referee.     When he said that, that's when I realized how out of it he is.    The more people want to get something done, the farther back he steps from the work it needs.  He's put all the responsibility in the hands of people who don't know anything.    You can't organize people with just rumors and insults.

At least Daniel tried to stop the rumors when he was in charge.      If people had something to say, he'd make them say it in public- none of this behind the back stuff.  And he'd try to iron out whatever was bothering us.  But now, one says this, another says that, and Pancho stirs it all up even more.    A leader should attack the problem head on, not run away. So is that what's become of our work here? Rumor mongering?  I'm sure not going to do any more rumor work.     I just want the facts.

What are you going to say; that we've got to do such and such just because some boss says so and so?  No, you've got to organize people by saying, "Look, we've got to work together if we want any benefit, and this is why it will help us." But going to people with just promises and tricks will never work.

And that's all I know about what's going on with UPREZ.   Ever since I left the group again, and now it's been twice I've come and gone, I made up my mind to stay away for good.  I go to say hello, but no more of their politics for me.

Many people feel that UPREZ's agenda of anti-political social activism has been overtaken by the Revolutionary Zapatista Workers Party, or PRTZ, created specificially to contest this month's state and municipal elections from a position on the far left.   Just as people had only vague ideas of how UPREZ functioned outside their neighborhood and what larger purposes it espoused, their understanding of PRTZ is equally murky.   Matters are not improved by its woefully underfinanced and poorly organized campaign.

What is clear however is that the ruling PRI party has masterfully orchestrated a revival of its political fortunes in the Valle de Chalco. Beginning a few months earlier when a papal mass was celebrated from a PRI tricolor-festooned outdoor altar, and after hundreds of public works projects were launched under its Solidarity program, the governing party has made the most of its unabashed attempts to curry.favor among people who just two years ago voted solidly against it.

DANIEL

Things have changed a lot in the last few months.     Ever since the new school was built, no one seems to care much about other things.      When we have our meetings in one of the classrooms, people just talk about how nice it all looks.  All the parents are against getting together to tell the teachers they want some changes made.  I know there are a lot of complaints one by one, but no one wants to come forward. You can't get anywhere that way.

And I can't get them to pay attention to other things either.   Most don't even come to meetings anymore.   You don't see Estela around here, and I know she could leave her baby at home and come if she wanted to. So there aren't many left to work with in the first place. That's why I asked Pancho to help organize meetings.   There's no one else. I admit he's not the best, but he's alright for what he's supposed to do.

So this election will tell a lot about how things have changed in four years. It's important for a lot of people.   And that's where I've been putting most of my attention lately, outside the neighborhood. We've founded the PRTZ to run some candidates for mayor and the state assembly. That's taking a lot of time. We had to register it in as many voting districts here in the state of Mexico as we could, because we can't run candidates unless its registered.

UPREZ made the decision to start this party.   Not just the UPREZ here in this neighborhood, but the central committee of UPREZ for  the whole Valle de Chalco. The idea was to go one more step past what we'd done so far. We knew we had the organization in the community and we knew we had a lot of members who would help us campaign.      So why not try to be heard at the polls.

Throughout history there have been not a few "shepherds"- leaders, caudillos, chiefs, ideologues and creators of opinion- who have tried to act as "pastors" and to lead the people toward artificial paradises.  And one after the other- when the danger comes- they have shown themselves to be false shepherds, servants not of truth or goodness, but of self-interest, ideologies and systems that turned against man.

Pope John Paul II, Chalco, August 1990

CATARINO

Our Holy Father’s presence·a few short months ago in this humble valley was a blessed event for us all.   His words uplifted the entire neighborhood.   I think we all attended his mass one way or the other.  And thanks to our planning, something we had been doing for months, there was not even one small problem for all the hundreds of thousands of pilgrims who came.  I don't think there was anyone left behind. The neighborhood was like a ghost town that day because we were all with the Pope.   It’s not everyday that he comes to pray for us right here.

GUADALUPE

The truth is I wasn’t even interested in seeing the Pope. I saw him on television, but he's got nothing important to offer me.   He's just like the President, people who live somewhere else and come here once in a while to look us over but not give any help.    How can I say it better? It's like they come just to stare at poor people.    But neither the government nor the priests care about helping.

So the Pope comes in person to look things over in Chalco.   My God!, anyone can see for himself it's all terrible here.  And he doesn't do anything for the old people or the children but say a mass.     He's got millions and he can't even help the little kids.   And the church here is just the same.  No help, no support.   They think we're just lousy poor people.  And when we raise up our voices, they call us vulgar too. They say we're not sophisticated enough to know how to ask for things. But the only way we have to protest is to march and demonstrate.    And shout out loud.

I wish to extend a paternal invitation to the inhabitants of the Valle de Chalco so that they might themselves become the first and principal architects of their advancement through their individual work, the domestic economy and the education of their children.

Pope John Paul II, Chalco, August 1990

ESTELA

I didn't go see the Pope because I didn't have the money. They were charging something like 10,000 pesos just to get there.   And you had to go the night before to save a place if you wanted to see the mass. The police weren't letting people in on foot, you had to go in a special bus and pay whatever they asked.     I don't know exactly who was behind it, but someone for sure was making money out of it. So I just listened on the radio.

That was the same day Guadalupe and Carmen came by and asked me to rejoin UPREZ. That's how it got started again.    But I told them I'd have to think about it first, I couldn't say yes or no just like that.    Then Carmen came again, and this time Daniel was with her.  Daniel said he wanted my help organizing the new party, the PRTZ.   And I thought to myself, so Daniel was behind the other two when they came the first time.

People told me Daniel had missed having my help all the time I'd dropped out of UPREZ.  No one was doing any of the work I had been doing.    You can tell by looking at the kind of people he's got with him right now.    How many even show up at meetings these days?  Not too many.

I decided to go to a couple meetings, but afterwards I realized that was enough for me.  You know, there were still a lot of problems between everyone, nothing had gotten better.  At one of the meetings I went to, some guy was going on and on about the school breakfast program, complaining about this and that and everybody who'd ever had anything to do with it.   Just the same old stuff.

On the way out, Daniel grabbed me and asked if I'd be in charge of the enrollments for the new secondary school he wants to start up. He said it'd be good to have one of us there.  So I said okay, I'd do it.   And when Daniel asked for another volunteer, everyone else said they were busy that day. So I said to Pancho, if you're the coordinator for my block then you should do this. Not just talk, but work.

I said, "Let's see who does the most around here."    And I said I'd put up some posters and paint some signs with party slogans.   But something else came up­ with them, you know, something always comes up- problems big and small!    I didn't say a word, I just said, "Look, I've rejoined the group to help however I can.   I'll do the enrollments, I'll paint signs, but I don't like all this talk."

And just try to take a good look at that new party.  It didn't start up here. We didn't have anything to do with starting it.       In honest fact, no one here knows anything about it.  If we were really up on it, if we really felt a part of it, we'd have our say in what it stood for.   I'd have a say in what it's trying to do in this campaign.

GUADALUPE

And we still haven't seen the PRTZ candidate, and that bothers me.   I have no idea who he is or where he's from.    I consider myself a good member of UPREZ, but I've got to say I don't know anything about our own candidate.       I don't even know if I agree or disagree with what he stands for.  He's never asked to talk to us.  And I think it should be Daniel's job to bring him here.  This is an UPREZ neighborhood and we've never even seen him.

Daniel asked me to work as the PRTZ poll watcher. I'll do it, but I really don't want to get any more involved than that.   So I'll watch for them, because I think that's a citizen's duty, to do whatever you can to make sure the election is clean.   And if it means having to stand on my feet all day, that's what I'll do.   I'll keep an eye out for dirty tricks.  This is the first time I've ever done anything like this, and I'm kind of interested.  I want to see for myself what kind of stuff they try to pull on election day.  But I'll be there to make sure we don't pay the price of their cheating us.

I'm registered to vote but who knows if I will.   I've never voted even once before in my life.  I registered twice before, but I never actually cast a ballot.  I figured, why bother, my vote won't count anyway. I only registered in the first place because I had to show a voter card to get my kids into school.  But this time I figure, if Daniel is behind this PRTZ party, maybe should get behind it too.  So that's why I registered again this time.

ESTELA

I don't know how the PRTZ started up or who is really behind it. Daniel just came one day and said he was signing people up.     His system was to sign people up who didn't even live here.    He'd give me a pile of empty registration cards and tell me to fill in the names of relatives. He needed at least 15,000 names before he could get the party on the voting list here, and I can tell you, plenty of those people that got signed up didn't even know it.

This is what I know about the party, and it's what a lot of my comrades in UPREZ are saying too. All the party wants from us right now is our names. They don't want us to talk back to them. They want us for their benefit and don't care if we get anything from it or not. It's just like all the other parties- when a candidate gets elected, it's only him who wins.  Anyone who voted for him can just go to hell.

But they're just campaigning on Daniel's block and no where else.    And it's not because that's the only place they've got supporters, because I know that Daniel signs people up all over the place, people who don't know the first thing about what the party stands for. And that's his job, to let people know what they're supposed to be supporting.   If you're with a party, you've got to know something about it.

Even PRIistas don't do things like that any more.   They don't work in just one corner of the neighborhood.  They're all over.  They don't care if PAN or PRO has gotten there first, they go in anyway.   And look how Cardenas is running things. Do they ever hold back if PRI's already there? No way! They say, we're PRDistas and we want to talk to everybody!

But don't bother looking for any PRTZ signs in this part of the neighborhood. There aren't any around here.  They're all over by Daniel's house.   Where is all the help from the people Daniel always talks about?    It's just a small bunch of his friends who run the whole show.

And all its propaganda says, New Choice and Honesty and Work.   If you knew who was in that party, you sure wouldn't think honesty and work!   And that's when you start doubting everything, when even their slogans make you laugh.    How can't you be full of doubts?    How can you keep believing their word? I guess you've just got to keep trying, but I joined that crowd twice already.        I tried, really I did.   I really wanted to help them, but I just couldn't do it. There was no way to keep with it.

Decide With Your Vote.   No More Misery.

-Popular Socialist Party

Don't Let The Train Leave Without You. Get on Board and Ride.

-Cardenista Front for National Reconstruction Party

For A Better Life

-National Action Party

For Mexico. Housing. Services. Peace. Democracy

-Revolutionary Democratic Party

Honesty and Work. You Decide, You Govern. Better Schools And More Of Them.

Better Teachers And More Of Them. For Democracy And Respect.

The People Must Govern Themselves.

A New Township.  A New Choice For Valle De Chalco.

-Revolutionary Zapatista Workers Party

-Signs and Billboards, Valle de Chalco

CATARINO

These are very important elections for the state of Mexico, the first since President Salinas declared that all contests will be transparent.    And PRI is working hard to ensure this message is heard in every community. We've brought our mayoral candidate here to meet the residents, and he's signed agreements to work on matters that concern them.

I think people in this neighborhood recognize what our party has done for them in just. a few years.   We gave them a new primary school, and the water system is almost completed.    People cooperated with us through their financial contributions and their own efforts, so I'm sure the final vote will reflect this mutual respect.

We have a younger generation of candidates offering themselves in this election.  Many are new to PRI.   We recruited the best people we could find to run for office. They represent new ideas and new vision so UPREZ has little to criticize us for now.   We reformed our internal nominating process so that many people who used to be on the outside are now on the inside, making the very same decisions they criticized before.

It's a new kind of political maturity that both candidates and voters have found this time. We see now PRI has deep roots in the community.  New strength comes from the bottom just by cutting off some of the top branches. And that’s the strength we're counting on.

Those opposition parties are still immature here.    All I know about this PRTZ is from its wall paintings.   We've had more experience with PAN and PRO, but I think both those parties are still dominated by people at the top.     They have no organization at the bottom.

Just look at our National Program of Solidarity.    Solidarity means people work together at all levels.   And the money's available to make sure services get delivered whenever and wherever they're needed.

Greatness is built on Solidarity.   Participate.

-Institutional Revolutionary Party

Solidarity doesn't bring social progress

-Popular Socialist Party

Campaign signs, Valle de Chalco

The Mayor of Chalco estimated that PRI would get 15,000 votes, noting his municipal budget is 10 thousand million pesos and that the National Program of Solidarity will provide another 7 thousand million.            ·

La Jornada, November 8

DANIEL

What you're seeing here is not uncommon.    People just get tired and want to stay home.  Or they get bought off with a few handouts from the government and then stop protesting altogether.  Do you think the school got built only because of what we did?   Let me tell you, that came right out of PRI's strategy to buy votes.  They saw what happened here in 1988, the way Cardenas beat PR! by a landslide and then they had to cover it up.      Well next time PRI decided to all about.  Votes. It doesn't have anything to do with schools.

GUADALUPE

The government's got enough for everyone who needs anything.    They don't just have billions of pesos, they've got trillions.   That's why we're asking, "What solidarity?   Where's all the solidarity?"   For PRI, solidarity is just for businessmen.   Here among the poor, we don't even know what that word means.

About that new water system they put in, they stopped sending in the water trucks so we'd all have to pay for the pipes.  But even people who'd gotten hooked up already weren't getting water except for once or twice a week.  And even then it wasn't fit to drink.

All the water trucks that Solidarity is supposed to send us, they're supposed to charge just 500 pesos a bucket.    But ever since they put in the water system, they've stopped the trucks from coming at all.  And what about people like me who don't have money to pay for the hook up? And there's a lot of us. Now we don't have trucks and no pipes either. What are we supposed to do?  Go without any water at all? For the poor, there isn't solidarity with anyone who's rich.

The 1988 election results in favor of the opposition required strong government countermeasures, such as dedicating extraordinary levels of financial assistance to the Valle de Chalco under the National Program of Solidarity, which PR! publicized heavily during the papal visit.

El Excelsior, November 4

The Valle de Chalco can thus become an eloquent example of what the Christian virtue of solidarity is capable of producing when the social doctrine of the church penetrates the conscience, the heart, arid the practice of a Christian people.

Pope John Paul II, Chalco, August

ESTELA

Let's say it's all different this time just like PRI says it'll be, that the truth can come out no matter what.    And let's say I'm leaning for PRTZ.    I know what kind of people run that party, but maybe I'll vote for them anyway.   But in the back of my mind I'll be thinking, they're just looking out for themselves, trying to get rich, and they don't even care if the rest of us are eating or going hungry tonight.

And let's face it, the PRTZ candidate doesn't have a chance anyway.    So why vote for him?  Let's say I vote for PAN, because it seems they've got the best chance to beat PRI.   What's in it for me?   I still wouldn't be heard.   They don't let you say a word even if you cast the deciding vote yourself.

Look at the PRI senator from Chalco.    They ran a huge campaign for him and he won big here.  So we went to him to ask for a pile of sand to finish building our school, to do the work ourselves.  And what did we get?   Nothing. When you make campaign promises, you should deliver.  And not a single grain of sand for our miserable school.     We weren't asking for ourselves.   And the worst thing was, when he came on a tour, he asked his assistant to open the book and read off what he'd done for us! He hadn't done one thing. But when he wants our help, he expects to get it right now.

So you've got to see things the way they really are. When you've reached the very bottom, what's the good of voting for the opposition?   Tomorrow if they're the winners, do you think they'll treat us any different?    At least if you support PRI, you know you'll get the same thing as before.  And now the PRI candidate is saying he'll work with us but can't promise anything.    He just wants us to help him.  That's all fine, him saying he wants to fight together with us, that he won't let us die all alone.    Do you believe a word of it?

That's why I'm not supporting any party now. I don't even know if I'll vote on Sunday.  I know it's my responsibility and my right to go to the polls, but no matter what the politicians say about democracy and freedom of expression, unfortunately it's all a big lie.  Look at what happened to us in 1988 right here in Chalco, when it was just between Salinas and Cardenas.    You can't call that an election.  That was an imposition.  Cardenas got the votes and Salinas got the presidency.

Eleven Opposition Candidates Charge Election Fraud in Eastern State of Mexico.   Remember Chalco's 1988 vote count.  Twelve Thousand for Cardenas, Five Thousand for Salinas.

La Jornada, November 10

Complaints that PRI makes teachers brainwash students to tell parents how to vote.

La Jornada, November 12

Priest orders parishioners not to vote for PRO candidate because he is not catholic.

La Jornada, November 13

DANIEL

I don't know what Estela is up to lately.   People say she's been helping the PRI campaign, talking to her neighbors and getting them to sign agreements. Those signatures don't mean anything to PRI, either now or after the election, but if PRI thinks people here are already on their side, they won't do anything later.  Agreeing with them now just makes them think we're on their side, or at least are beginning to be.

That's why they come here in the first place.     It's much easier to buy votes with just promises before an election than it is to go in later where they voted against you and have to do something real for a change.  Take the Solidarity program, that costs them money, but they only give it to people who're against them.  PRI doesn't reward friends anymore, they just buy off enemies. So that's why it's better to oppose them all the way.  You can only negotiate with PRI after you've shown them up.

But Estela thinks just about herself.   Sure, she might find something in it if she helps Catarina and the other PRIistas here.   They might finally give her the deed to her lot she's been after so long.  But she's also selling out her comrades who don't want to make deals.  Once PRI gets one or two like her on their side, they can ignore the rest of us.

That's one reason why we're running this campaign. So people like Estela will have someone they know to vote for. Sure it's a small party, but what do you expect?  It just got started.   I don't even know if it can win enough votes to get single seat in the assembly.

But we thought UPREZ had to do something in this campaign, and instead of making a deal with some other party that doesn't even know where Chalco is, we should do it ourselves.   It's our first time, so sure there's a lot of complaining about how we're doing things.   But if this election is fair, then at least we'll know where we stand with people.

ESTELA

So I don't know who I'll vote for. The PRTZ candidate hasn't even come around here yet and I don't even know what he looks like except from his poster.   He's got the face of a thief.  You sure can't say that's an honest face he's got.

At least PRI has come by. Their candidate walked up and down these streets saying hello, getting to know what's what.   I even shook hands with him. don't have much of an opinion about him, but I think he'd try to make some changes.  Because even before he'd announced he was going to run, he was coming around here to see people.   He didn't make a big thing about his visits, he'd just show up and talk and see for himself.

This is one PRIista who might want to make a big break with the past.  He's already talked about doing specific things for us.  No promises, but real agreements, put in writing, that we will all work together.   He's made something like twelve visits here so far, and each time he signed agreements with whoever he met with.       Even Guadalupe signed up.

I signed one of his agreements too, the one about getting our street drains cleaned out so when it rains next we don't get flooded. And he countersigned. And one agreement asked to lower our water bills, and another petition demanded that our town councilman l i ve right here in the neighborhood and not off some place where we never see him and he never gives us a second thought.

But I know PRI can change things overnight if they really want to.   Like giving us police protection, and a playground , and a health center so we've got a doctor when we need one.

Tortillas for Votes!  Bread and Milk, the Poor Man 's Voting Card! Helping PRI get out the big vote, CONASUPO announced today that tortilla coupons will now be delivered to the poor by mail . The people however greeted this news with rancor and disgust, expressing cynicism about the decision's electoral opportunism and feeling certain it will be rescinded after the vote.

Police Newsweekly, November 13

A PRI spokesman firmly rejected the notion that his party must lose an election in order for Mexico to achieve democracy.  "To modernize the party, we shouldn't have to stand it before a firing squad", he explained.

El Excelsior, November 13

GUADALUPE

Even PRI sent their candidate through the neighborhood, but I don't know if he'll live up to his promises or not.    As you know, most promises get left behind after an el ecti on.   I think down deep he's a fraud, nothing but a fraud. All the agreements he signed, all those food coupons he handed out to pregnant mothers and children- he was just after votes!    It isn't just pregnant mothers who are poor in Chalco, we all are.   We all need those coupons.

Sure we signed our own agreements with him. Signing a piece of paper is one thing, but fighting for what's promised in it is another.    Signing and then sitting still doesn't get you anywhere.   You've got to fight for what you need . For instance, we wanted a guarantee our doctor here could keep his rent low. People were saying the landlord wanted him out so he could rent the space for more money.  We want all these politicians to know we need our doctor to stay , because that's all the medical help we've got here.    But we didn't get anything.

You've got to be realistic.  A lot of people believe what politicians say.     But to them, it's just politics.      They buy people off with a tortilla coupon or two.     Anything for free.  Sure, we've got a lot of poor people here and some will do anything to survive.  If the government kept giving us handouts all year long, that might even be okay.   But after the election, it all stops. Nothing!  Everyone's after their own interests, and you can't blame the poor for trying anything to get ahead.

I doubt he'll do anything after he's elected.   His agreements he signed are empty promises, just like everything else PRI does. ''Help me now, and I'll help you later- but it never happens that way.   I know their type.   They wanted to make me block captain once, but I refused. That would have put me right into their pocket.

With PRI, either you're in with their corruption or you're out. And if you're in, you're as dirty as they all are, whether you've done anything yourself or not. I'd hate to have to tell my neighbors- and a lot of them are even poorer than I am- that they've got to pay money for something or other that will go right into some crooked PRIista's private bank account.   I know I couldn't deliver all the things that PRI promises to people.

The dealmaking machinations and dirty subplottings of Juan Martinez, that tired-out symbol of the old political order, reached a spectacular front page climax this month. On a barren hillside just outside Dario Martinez, the chief town councilman's fortunes were dealt what will probably prove to be their death blow.

There, on a large expanse of government-owned vacant land, Juan Martinez masterminded a confrontation between the police, unwitting local people, and the radicalized members of Antorcha Campesina, a left wing PRI splinter group known for its fearless mass actions. But the violence backfired, the press finally caught on to him, and Juan Martinez was last seen fleeing the scene for his life.

ESTELA

That was something else Juan Martinez did.    The whole bloody thing was his doing.  He knew the government was planning to hand out building lots up there on the hill to whoever came first, so he made sure his hand was in there before anyone else's.

It all started when Catarino called a meeting that I went to.    And he said that we should all meet the next day in another neighborhood to hear some big news that would make us all happy.    I didn't go to that one, but the others who did said that when they got there, the Antorchistas were waiting.   They thought our people had come to take their dairy co-op away and move it back here.     And they were ready to do anything there to stop us.

I don't know who had told them all that or what Catarino really intended to have happen, but there a big fight with a lot of shouting and yelling.    And when our people finally got back here, it was about nine o'clock at night, and they sure were all worked up against the Antorchistas.  That was on a Thursday.

And the next day was a Friday, and Catarino called another meeting right away. He said this time we were all going up the hill to take over the empty lots the government had promised to everyone in this neighborhood.    He told us to take our lunch but leave the little kids at home. ''So there won't be any problems up there," he said.   A lady standing next to me said, "Know what? This doesn't sound too good."   But a lot of people were ready to go because they all had a chance to get some land for free.

So the next day they all left at eight in the morning.    But not me, because I've already got my place and I didn't think they'd let me have another one. And around eleven o'clock a friend of mine came by and asked what was going on up there.    I said I didn't know, but if they weren't back by one, then I'd go to find out for myself.

So a little later I was giving the baby a bath and my neighbor's girl came running up- you should have seen her face- really scared and screaming, "Estela, It's a disaster! So many dead, so many wounded.    Ambulances!

Helicopters!" So I said, "You take the baby and let me go see."    But she didn't want to let me go, because she knew I didn't have any family up there to worry about.  But I said, "I've got neighbors and friends up there."

So I ran up to the highway, and that's where I saw it all.    Up on the hill, people running all over the place just like sheep, running this way and that in a panic.   And a helicopter was flying overhead.   From up higher on the hill I saw flashes of light like someone was signaling with a mirror.  Oh no, you just can't imagine how bad it was!   And people finally started running my way down from the hill.  Clothes ripped.  Faces all bloody.  Some had even lost their shoes!  You should have seen it.

I asked one of the ladies what had happened and she said she didn't know, that it had all happened without any warning.   And I said, "How can that be, it's Juan Martinez behind it all."   He was there the whole time and wanted it to happen. How could he lead those people to their slaughter knowing damn well they weren't going to get any land in the first place?

He just wanted a confrontation with the Antorchistas.   All along he'd been stirring us up against them, saying they had no right to that land, that they weren't even from this neighborhood and he wouldn't let them rob us and get away with it.      He'd been talking like that in meetings all along.   He'd even said he wanted the Antorchistas out more than he wanted us in.

So what happened?  He got a lot of our people to follow him up there anyway to face down the Antorchistas.   And they're just as poor and miserable as we are. And when it all ended, Juan Martinez and Catarino ran off in the truck to save their own stinking skins. I heard there's an order out to arrest the whole bunch of them.   I don't know, but it's Juan Martinez they should go after.

VIOLENCE!  Blood runs in Chalco!  Governor and Mayor held directly responsible!   Councilman Juan Martinez escapes! Blood ran freely yesterday in the Valle de Chalco during a dispute over building lots.  Fraud by government officials who sold land to Antorchistas, knowing full well the plots were in a restricted zone, and then sent unarmed settlers to oust the rightful owners.

  Police Newsweekly, November 13

Arrest Ordered for Chalco Councilman Juan Martinez, Intellectual Author of last Saturday's Violence.   Capture is only a matter of time.  Children leave school amid rumors Antorcha plans to take classroom hostages to revenge killings.

El Excelsior, November 7

The violence in Chalco is an example of political primitivism. On one side are the innocent Antorchistas.   On the other is a group led by Juan Martinez, a man known to punish rivals by political rules "a la mexicana".

Uno Mas Uno, November 11

GUADALUPE

That's not the end of Juan Martinez by a long shot.      The people he got killed are all poor, and he's rich.    They're weak and he's strong.   And around here, what makes you a big man is money.   I doubt the law will ever touch him.

Strong people get help from other strong people.    It's the poor who get persecuted. Juan Martinez will be free because the poor can't give anything to the authorities.  Money makes you forget anything.   Juan Martinez will be a free man tomorrow, and next year he'll still be free. He might be more afraid now than he was, but he'll get off just the same.

The newspapers are full of lies.   There might be an arrest warrant, but he'll never go to jail.  No one important wants him there.   And if the papers say he's in jail, who will believe it?  No one with millions of pesos spends a night in jail.  We'll never know.

His days in politics might be over, but he'll get off.    And they'll probably appoint him to something else. the killings will be forgotten. And whatever they offer him, he'll take it, and The higher ups don't need a fall guy. Martinez won't fall because too much money is at stake.

Estela told me she wanted a building lot for her stepson. That's why she was in on that thing up the hill. I told her to stay out of it. I said, “Your life is more important than some empty lot.       Look how many kids depend on you. If you need a lot, go buy one.   Or take over one around here.   And if the landlord comes by, at least he won't try to kill you.    But up there on the hill, people want blood.  And it'll be you who pays the price.”

I don't think PRI planned the killings.   They don't need tricks like that to get elected.  Whoever they chose to run gets elected no matter what.   Juan Martinez did it all by himself.   He saw he's losing strength here, and after the elections, he'll be out on the street.   So he figured he'd better act fast to get those lots for himself while he's still got some pul l. Later i t' d be all over for him.     Now he's Mr. Martinez, the Councilman.   Later he'll be just any old Martinez.     He won't have the PRI behind then.

I doubt the mayor had anything to do with it either. He wants another job when his term is over.  He doesn't want to rock the boat now. You've got to see the kind of hog slop they all eat down at town hall.    And even though the mayor is the fattest hog at the trough, he's not dumb.

But someone must have wanted it to happen so close to the elections.     Juan Martinez is capable of anything, he didn't want to let those millions of pesos just sit on the table like that after he walked out the door.     He wanted to get everything he could before it was over.    Some PRIistas must feel the same.

Even though the Antorchistas belong to the PRI, they're all poor people just like us.  I don't criticize Antorcha for what happened.    They didn't do the killing. They were the ones who got attacked and got killed.    The Antorchistas weren't invading anyone else's land.            They'd bought the lots fair and square from the government.   They didn't have any reason to stir up trouble.    They were happy with what they'd gotten.    Just because this guy Martinez didn't like it, and he had some power in town hall, he decided to start something up.

At the scene of last week's bloodshed in Chalco, the authorities ordered heavy security for all ballot boxes, prompting opposition charges of intimidation and the implication of violence.

El Excelsior, November 12

Land tenure agency found responsible for defrauding hundreds of thousands of victims.  Public confidence erodes just when PRI needs a big vote.   Slim hopes of improving a bad situation. Opposition parties take up the cause.  Political death for PRI. Chalco not an isolated case.

Police Newsweekly, November 13

CATARINO

What happened last week was an outrageous violation of our rights as peace loving residents of this community.  The Antorchistas deliberately incited violence against our good people in order to discredit the election and bring suspicion upon our candidates.  PRI condemns all types of violence, especially during the electoral process, a time that demands concentration and sobriety.

1 wasn't involved in any of that so I can't say for sure what happened.    The exact sequence of events is now in the hands of the police.   It just so happened I was away from Mexico at the time, in Puebla.   There was an illness in the family and I returned only today.   All I know is what I read in the newspapers.    I can't say for certain Juan Martinez was involved.    Since he's not able to speak for himself at the present time, we must wait the decision of the investigating authorities.

And we must now look toward the elections on Sunday.      Nothing should stand in the way of our efforts to bring an open and orderly campaign to a close.   We trust that a climate of calm will prevail during election day.     I'm here to assist my community to identify the political representation of its choice.

PRI tactic backfires.  Using Antorcha movement to strengthen party in state of Mexico results in Chalco blood.

El Excelsior, November 6

A PRI spokesman admitted the affair has become a major preoccupation for the party because it occurred so close to the election. "If those responsible are found to be party members, expulsion will be considered", he said.   "Whoever advocates violence does not belong in our party."

La Jornada, November 6

We should ask ourselves, Who acts with such cruelty and Who plans and executes such cold and systematic crimes? "police" psychology behind this violence? We leave the reader to supply his own answers.

Uno Mas Uno, November 12

DANIEL

Who's surprised by what happened?   We all saw it coming.   PR! thought they could use Antorcha Campesina to do their dirty work and get away with it. Their party bosses encouraged Antorchistas to turn violent so then they could come in and pretend to make peace.   They wanted to seem like they were the only reasonable ones, so they needed someone they could denounce.

But look what Antorcha did.   They step on a lot of toes wherever they work. And they were stupid enough to take on people like Juan Martinez and think they could win.  But he wasn't going to let them take over from him, from what he controlled. So he called in his police friends and reminded everybody who was in charge.

Rebutting opposition party charges of foul play, state of Mexico Governor Pichardo spoke of the upcoming election's climate of tranquility, of PRI's new political maturity, and of the transparency of the electoral process that his party oversees.

La Jornada, November 6

Tense atmosphere for today's election amidst opposition party claims of PRI-engineered fraud and PRI claims of opposition party-backed shock troops ready to take action.

El Excelsior, November 11

 GUADALUPE

The polls opened at eight in the morning and stayed open past eight that night. A lot of people voted for different parties, but their dirty tricks made lt look like we all voted for PRI.   And that's a lie, because I saw with my own eyes people voting twice, and trucks bringing PRIistas from other polling places to vote again here.

Some PRIistas wouldn't let people vote at all if they were intending to vote for someone else.  One guy waiting in line to vote shouted, "Look out everybody, it's a fraud they're trying to pull here!"    But that's all that happened.

A lot of people weren't on the voter rolls, so that's why the PRI watchers wouldn't let them vote.  But the law says you can vote even if you're not registered as long as you've got other identification.    So we drew up an official protest letter, me and the other opposition party watchers.     I was sure there'd be some violence, but I guess all the police stopped anything from getting started.

PRiistas kept coming up to vote with forged voting cards, and the PRI watcher just waved them through.   But he wanted me to show all my PRTZ credentials just to watch.  I had my personal ID but not all the papers from the party they wanted. They let me stay anyway after I complained, but they asked for it again later.  They were really giving me a hard time.

And as soon as the vote count started, they tried to kick me out altogether. They said I didn't have the right papers to represent my party.     And they said I couldn't even sign the protest letter that PRO and PAN had written up. said, "Fine, I won't sign the letter, but no one is going to throw me out during the vote count."

So they let me stay, but not as a party official, just as a private citizen, and they tried to make me stand off to the side.   So I said, "I've had the right to be here on my feet all day since eight in the morning, and you're not about to take that right away from me now."   The count is the most important part of the whole job.

I said, "Do whatever you want, but I'm not moving."   They finally said I could stay, but I still got in the last word.  I said, "I'm staying because it's my right to be here, not because you give me any permission.   Your kind of permission doesn't mean anything to me.    I'm just a housewife and I don't have all your fancy credentials, but I'm staying anyway."

Confusion, Irregularities, and Abstention in State of Mexico's Elections.  PRI declares victory in 119 of 121 mayoral races and all assembly seats.  Opposition parties charge momentous vote theft. Disputes, verbal confrontations, and fisticuffs mar otherwise peaceful day in the Valle de Chalco.    Three ballot boxes robbed.  One PRDista hospitalized.  PANista housewife threatened with a knife.

La Jornada, November 12

Opposition challenges PRI victory in Chalco.   PRO cites intimidation, ballot stuffing, and voting list manipulation. PAN claims electoral black magic.

La Jornada, November 13

CATARINO

The election went very smoothly in this community, a fact I attribute to the open voting process our party worked hard to ensure.   I think the results speak for themselves. At the polling place where I voted, there was an overwhelming choice for PRI. didn't hear any complaints of i rregula ri t i es anywhere. Our party members were too busy doing their jobs to have time to cause trouble for anyone else.

GUADALUPE

And then the roast chickens arrived!   The mayor sent over roast chicken for all the PRI vote counters and poll watchers, but they didn't offer any to the watchers from the other parties.   Not even one bite . But I didn't care. I watched the whole vote count and it looked clean to me.      We checked each ballot that came out of the box and each mark that was on i t. The count itself was okay, but that still couldn't clean up the dirty voting.

That yellow ink they put one your finger after voting came right off, all you had to do was rub it with a little grass. I recognized at least seven people who came through to vote three times, once in the morning, once in the afternoon , and again at night.  And each time, their fingers were wiped clean.

That's when the PRO watcher decided to write up the protest letter.    And the PRIistas got mad and started shouting.   I stayed out of it, I thought it might be a trick to close down the poll, and then all the PRTZ votes would be disqualified.  We'd been warned about that.

The press came by for a few minutes to talk to the poll president, but they didn't stay long and they didn't bother to talk to us. The poll president isn't supposed to talk to anyone during the vote and he sure isn't supposed to eat roast chicken sent over by the mayor.   That's where the dirty tricks start. The PRTZ got more votes than it needed at our polling booth.     If we do as well at the other booths, then we'll have enough votes to get at least one seat in the assembly.   And that's the most important thing, at least to win one.

DANIEL

I idn't know how this would end up, but I can guarantee now there'll be a lot of people protesting this.   I think everyone was surprised PRI would do what they did.  Last time they manipulated things so they'd win the election by a few votes.  But this time they did it so they'd win every vote but a few! don't know, maybe the big bosses didn't explain it to the little bosses well enough. Fraud, sure, but not one hundred percent!

I doubt we got enough votes for a seat in the assembly.     At some polling places we didn't get a single one.    Those were the places that reported 80% abstention, which makes me think all opposition ballots there were just thrown out and the voters listed as absent.            How else can it be, because at Guadalupe's booth there were plenty of votes for PRTZ. When you've got people watching, they can't cheat. But we couldn't cover every polling place.

So this is a chance for our party to be heard, not by winning but by losing. If the other parties are going to protest, so will we.    We can all stick together and maybe get some changes made.    I doubt they'll clean up the results, but maybe they'll give a seat to everyone anyway. That's what I've got to hope for.

As for what UPREZ does next here- well, that's up to everyone else.  People like Pancho and Guadalupe.   I doubt Estela will do anything more with us, and don't know about the others, the ones who used to do the most.     Maybe they'll want to quit too, or maybe they'll want to work with me and the PRTZ now.   I've got to keep up my other things, like the high school I' m trying to start, but I'll still be around.

I live here too after all.   It's my neighborhood just like it's Estela's and Guadalupe's. It doesn't mean anything that I'm not so involved anymore with UPREZ.  I just figure I'd rather work with PRTZ.  If it's going to be a game of politics, you might as well be ready for the new rules.  And the changes. UPREZ was the old game.   We've all got to learn about political parties now.

ESTELA

I voted for PRI and I'm not ashamed to tell you why.    At the last minute I just decided I wanted my vote to count.   I've been on the losing side for so long, for once in my life I wanted to be with the winners.    They don't even know- and I'm not going to tell them- but I know . And I can tell myself that finally I'm a winner too.

Not that it gives me anything special over people who voted for the others. We're still all in the same boat no matter who we voted for.    To tell you the truth, I'm just glad there wasn't any violence at the voting booth when I was there. I almost didn't go at all because I was afraid of something like that happening. What's been going on here all along is politics and violence spoken together in the same breath.

I've got plenty to do without doing anymore with Daniel and the others.  Where does my family get money unless I stay busy washing my neighbors' clothes? PRTZ sure isn't going to feed my kids, and neither is our new school.  in or lose today, you still wake up tomorrow worrying about the future.     That's what it seems like anyway.

GUADALUPE

I learned a lot in the last few days.   To realize you've got to have an opinion about politics, and make your neighbors realize that too.    And we've got to make the government recognize our right to have our own opinions.   I don't care if it's the President of the Republic, he's got to accept the way we think.

Just because they're powerful doesn't mean we have to kneel down in their presence. You can't let the powerful always take advantage of their power. But I think the future is in the party's hands right now, not in ours anymore. It's not just UPREZ anymore, now it's politics.    Not so much what we want to do, but what we've got to do.

But I probably won't keep up with the party like I have been.   I'll do what I can, but not all the time like before.  So far it's just my time I'm spending, more and more of it, but now it's beginning to cost me more too.   I'm selling bread in the market these days, and I've got to keep at it if I want to make any money.

I'd still like to see this PRTZ make some progress though.    You've got to know what politics are all about, how it really works, if you want to get ahead. You can't stay in the dark the whole time.

But PRTZ has already been recognized by the people.    Now all it needs to do is work harder, to show they're the right party for us.    Before, we were just in a movement to fight for things.   But now, after getting what we wanted, we've got to work harder.  It's a bigger responsibility.  Not just with talk, but with action.  I'll stand with them because I won't take abuse from anyone.   That's why I'm with PRTZ.   And even if I'm not working for them, I'll still be protesting against the others.

I don't know how they plan to protest the election results.    No one says they were fair, but I'll only march if we do something right here in the neighborhood.   Probably there'll be something, but I doubt we'll make a big thing out of it. They're already protesting in other places.     So far they're just shouting, but who knows what will happen next.

I spoke to Daniel yesterday and he didn't tell me what he'll do next.       But it looks like he wants to help the party more next year.   More campaigns for something or other.  But he said my job was over now.    I'd just promised him that one day watching the poll.    So now it's up to Daniel to stay on with the party, to keep it moving forward.   If the party gets a seat in the assembly, he'll help decide who'll fill it. And if it doesn't get a seat after all, we'll just have to try harder next time.  But this time, I'm glad I was there.

Final election tallies showed PRTZ's vote insufficient to qualify for even a single seat in the state assembly.    Although many irregular ballots were thrown out after opposition party challenges, PRI did win some 65% of those found to be valid. This was a five-fold margin over the left wing Cardenas­ led PRO party, its nearest competitor.    By all accounts, the National Program of Solidarity had done its job admirably.

Estela seemed resigned to these results.   By her own admission, she had calculated only the psychological costs and benefits of choosing how to vote, without expecting a tangible return regardless of the outcome.    Her decision finally was to vote for PRI because that way she knew her ballot would at least be counted.   That way she would at least be heard.   In her head, Estela herself thus emerged the winner.

Catarino on the other hand had real expectations for himself in the wake of the PRI landslide.     He would almost surely be moving up the party chain, the memory of his role in the Antorcha massacre certain to fade quickly. Daniel meanwhile was out of the neighborhood on PRTZ business almost constantly now.  It seemed as if he had decided to move on, having abandoned the lost small cause of UPREZ for the promise of something bigger yet to come.

True to her word, Guadalupe was neither disappointed nor concerned by the failure and uncertain future of her lately-chosen party.    But now she faced a turning point of her own.  Would she continue to allow others- whether it be UPREZ, PRTZ, or whatever political group next arrived in Dario Martinez­ to claim credit for her own personal strengths and activist energies?    Might she instead go her own way and fight for things as she had before, alone as a mother and homeowner. Or would she make good on her threat to withdraw once and for all from neighborhood affairs?     But these are questions that must go unanswered until Guadalupe speaks again.

"No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up"- Oral History of Community Activism in a Mexican Squatter Settlement, Part 4

February 1990

To the surprise of everyone in Dario Martinez, the authorities agreed finally to build a new school on a site suitable to all parties concerned. Construction was completed just before Christmas and in record time.     This followed not long after another surprise.   State of Mexico Governor Beteta, an old guard PRIista with close ties to the business community, was forcibly replaced by a young technocrat named Ignacio Pichardo, a change symbolic of President Salinas's pledge to reform his party.

Estela's own surprises might have been predicted with somewhat more certainty- the birth of her baby daughter Clara Ruth, her seemingly definitive break with Daniel, and her rumored dealings with local PRIistas and, if certain gossips were to be believed, with Juan Martinez himself. Taken together, these events seemed to leave UPREZ on unfamiliar ground, having lost one of its chief activists and, with the school now built, a main rallying cry of protest.

UPREZ's broad appeal has been further undermined by the government's S3.8 billion public works program, the National Program of Solidarity, known simply as Solidarity, which has targeted precisely those neighborhoods where PRI did most poorly in the 1988 presidential elections.

Needless to say, the Valle de Chalco has been a major Solidarity beneficiary. But now there is some uncertainty in Dario Martinez as to where to credit the building of their new school- to the grassroots activism of UPREZ or to the pork barrel politics of PRI?      Even Guadalupe and Estela flirt with the idea of crediting PRI. Thus the difficulty in maintaining their own solidarity and initiative in the face of government co-optation and well-financed paternalism.                             ·

GUADALUPE

Big time politicians really don't care.   Even so, sometimes, someway, we get through to them- but not ever to our own town officials.    They've come and seen everything here a hundred times, but it wasn't until the new governor Pichardo came that we made any progress.   That's because he's open.  He walked through the neighborhood when he came, he didn't just ride through in his car.     There was a lot of mud in the streets that day and he saw it all- everything we had talked about.  Maybe he came just because he saw PRI losing votes here, but I don't care.

Our success getting the school built depended on Pichardo coming visit us, and getting him to take an interest in us in the first place.    What counts most is having a good connection.   We've been fighting since the early days of Governor Beteta, and he never showed any concern for poor neighborhoods. This new guy Pichardo comes to see things with his own eyes, and that's a big change.

But the other political parties just use us like pawns in their games.     They want to take power, that's it.   If what they say is true, that we're all fighting for the same things, then we'd have gotten what we all want by now. But they march and demonstrate just for their own reasons.   Not for what people really need.

ESTELA

The change in governors was really unexpected, like day and night.     But I guess they finally realized Beteta wasn't doing his job. He blocked every request we'd ever made. He'd say, "Okay, we'll give it to you'', but no one ever got anything. They always said we'd get things, but when?

We'd been demanding a school for two years, and for two years he said it couldn't be done.  Juan Martinez and Beteta would get together and say no. We'd go to Beteta's office and he'd hide.       His secretary would tell us to come back another day.  Salinas finally saw Beteta wasn't doing any good.    That's what got rid of him.

As far as we're concerned, Pichardo is a miracle.    When our people told him what we needed and he saw for himself, he said, "I'm going to do it." Guadalupe and a few others dragged him over from the Red Bridge all the way to the school so he'd see how bad it was and how stubborn the town authorities had been.     So Pichardo promised to fix it, to find out who owned the empty lot we wanted for the new school.    And he resolved it all without any problems.

When I went to town to sign the agreement, because I was still PTA president then, Juan Martinez said, "Okay, you've finally got the lot, do whatever you want to with it, just don't say another word to me. What else do you want?" He was really mad, because we got the lot he wanted for himself.       That's how we saw the change between the two governors. We finally had support!

And the government itself is finally changing.   It's changing because Salinas finally heard our cries and decided to change the system.    He's trying in every way to get people to believe again in PRI, because he knows the opposition is ready to act if he doesn't.   PRI has to give what it promises, because when Salinas came to the Valle de Chalco, we told him, "No more promises!     We don't believe you anymore!"        And he said he'd deliver what he promised.

This is how I analyze the situation.    He wants to win people back from the opposition.   Who knows, maybe I'd even become a PRIista when the time is right.. But I doubt it.  My neighbors say if Salinas begins to deliver and the opposition continues just to complain, they'll go with PR!.   But I'm not sure. Who knows what will happen?   There's always bad with the good.  Even if everything's perfect and they give us somethings for free, somethings they'll still want to take away.

CATARINO

The PRIistas are different now.  In the last election, people didn't believe anything PRI said.  So we hope they'll listen when we say we want to change. The party officials have the last word, but they don't have any alternative. If you go house to house and ask people what party they belong to, no one would say PRI.     But that's because of what PRI did before, not what it's doing now.

President Salinas has the chance to change everything for the country's sake. He's going out to the public, and he sends his governors out too.     Governor Pichardo came here on his own, he didn't need to be invited.

Beteta had some political problems, which I don't know anything about.   But he's the one who started all the projects Picardo is carrying out now.     So we're benefiting directly from what Beteta did.

Pichardo is much more open than Beteta.   Each has a different style.   Beteta always worked through functionaries. Pichardo is personally involved, he's out in the townships checking into things. He's more attentive and closer to people.     The change in governors reflects a change in policy, to h ve a greater impact with the people.   For us, it's a brand new thing.

This has never happened.   Before Salinas, the President of the Republic had never come to the Valle de Chalco.   But he said he'd go neighborhood by neighborhood if necessary to see what's needed.    He's working with the people, and whoever wants to run in the next election has to work as hard as he does.

DANIEL

This new governor is a real change.   Before there were real problems.   Beteta got into a jam with powerful economic interests in the state.     PRI was in a real squabble about it, and there wasn't anyone who could impose order.  There was chaos at the top and disagreement at the base between supporters.     And everyone had their eyes on the upcoming elections, trying to regroup and get rid of their own divisions.

But we didn't get our school just because Pichardo paid us a visit, and not just because we pressured the authorities either.        We got it because we organized and negotiated.  We learned finally how to get the mayor and his followers to listen.  But we also put on the pressure.   When Pichardo came to the Red Bridge, our people had to drag him here to show what we needed.     And that's how he saw what sad shape the school was in.

So it was a combination of three things.   Our own negotiating and organizing, the pressure we put on the officials, and the governor's visit, which finally made him see the problems caused by Juan Martinez and his crowd.        Maybe pressure was the decisive thing, I don't know.    If we hadn't brought the governor here in person, he'd never have seen the swindles pulled by town hall:

That's why the other schools in Chalco never move forward.    They build one classroom at a time over years and years.    But we got our new school in just two years because everyone was together on it.    None of the authorities did anything here until we got together and protested.

But by giving us the electricity and the new school, they're just looking for legitimacy. People don't think they're getting gifts from heaven above.    They see them simply as the results of what they've fought for.   They don't think electricity and education are anything presidential.

In other neighborhoods they say it's because of Salinas that they finally got electricity.   Even the PRiistas think it's due to him.     If you talk to someone from PRI, they'll tell you their party made the difference.    But we know the truth.

Governor Pichardo denied that he was purging mayors in the State of Mexico.  ttThere has been no purge'' said the Governor.   At the same time, he affirmed that four mayors, some of whom are his principal supporters, were jailed following investigations. “Whoever acts badly will have bad things happen to him", he said.

El Excelsior, February 24

GUADALUPE

Now that we've got the new school, everyone's slacked off.   We've all gotten lazy, even me.  Before, I was willing to do anything, but not anymore. Sometimes we start to talk about our problems during a meeting and it just turns into gossip.    That's where our problems come from.      You get disillusioned with so much gossip.

I hope the problems inside UPREZ are over, but I don't know.      Daniel is still our number one.  When we see something that needs doing, he's always out front. But we've still got the problem of Estela.     The truth is; I don't know if she's gone with PRI now, or with the Cardenistas, or where she's gone.   I have no idea.     From what I hear, she's with PRI.

I almost never see her anymore, but we've stayed fiiends.   For me, she was just a friend who had problems.   What bothers me most is she never admits that friends can help.   But whenever I see her, I still say hello.

When Estela dropped out of UPREZ, she showed us what a temptation that corruption can be.  It makes you see other ways of getting ahead. You forget about UPREZ and think it's easier on your own.     You think you can play dirty politics like the others and do a lot for yourself that way.       That if you're on your own, without UPREZ or your friends, you can get farther ahead.    You think you can help yourself.

ESTELA

I really didn't drop out of UPREZ.   I just needed some rest after I met a man and got pregnant.  I knew I couldn't stay active with UPREZ because of my commitment to the guy.   But my UPREZ friends thought I left for other reasons. They thought then and they still think I got involved with PRI, but up to now I haven't even thought of joining either PRI or the Cardenistas.

They've got no reason to think that.    Who knows why?   I'm not in any organization.   If one day I decided to join something again, I'd just rejoin UPREZ.      That's the only line I know.  It's where I got started and where I've always been.  And if not here, then it'd be with UPREZ in another neighborhood.

Anyway, in this neighborhood UPREZ isn't doing very well anymore.    According to what I hear, Daniel is trying hard to keep it alive.   In fact, there's not much left of UPREZ at all.  I heard Daniel called a meeting to tell people he was going to give some land away.  That's how he's trying to get people back, with promises.  But that's all I know.

DANIEL

The leadership group here is very loose.   Some participate a lot and some just come and go.  I don't see any ideological explanation for who participates and who doesn't.  Some people act with the group only when it pleases them, only as far as it serves their own interests.

Like in Estela's case.  She's not ideological, and when she saw there was another way to get ahead, she did whatever she had to.    She withdrew from the group and went her own way.

We try to keep making changes.   We've been able to keep going because we have a steady turnover of volunteers.  You can't have a frozen leadership, that way you become bureaucratic and authoritarian.  And arrogant.  The PTA keeps changing, and UPREZ keeps changing.   Our only problem is we don't have a lot of people active at any one time.

UPREZ doesn't have a pyramid structure.   Our idea is to have horizontal power with a lot of independent heads, so one can't corrupt the others.     In the beginning, it's inevitable that the ones in power too long become corrupt. People aren't used to power, and when they finally get the chance to take charge, they feel different from the others- with more rights and more responsibilities.     But in time, people in charge settle down, because if they don't, their followers will try to get rid of them.    If you don't have the right style, you'll be fired.

In big organizations, just one person can corrupt all the others.     And when that happens you're in for trouble.     When everyone is thinking what they can do for themselves, what gets done for others?    There's some advantages in poor countries like this, because manipulation isn't as sophisticated as in rich countries.   People's thinking can change faster here.     When you don't live with the masses, you'd be surprised how fast they change.

But we can't come up with just any new project, because people know what can help them and what can't.       So if we're wrong, they'll eventually turn their energies to what really matters and leave us behind no matter what we say.     So we've got to keep people together.

Opposition groups ask to what extent the new government Solidarity program is simply a device for PRI to recover the votes it lost in the last elections.         A government official answers that the program is not an activity with poltical goals, but rather the result of having recognized the real needs of the lower class.

La Jornada, February 26

CATARINO

We've always felt that UPREZ doesn't do anything positive.    Their people aren't constructive.   They've got their own way of doing things; but I wouldn't call it help ful. If they want to coordinate with us, we'd all have more power, not less.      And that way we could all do positive things.

It's the people who should decide what's positive and what's negative.    Not just UPREZ.  But they're not serious.  They won't even talk with the officials they always say they want to meet with.   They abuse us verbally, and that's sure not the way to treat people you're trying to work with.

It's true the teachers helped get the new school, but it was town hall and the state government that finally accepted it.       The problem couldn't be resolved until we all got involved.   They think what we say are just lies, but we were involved and we know the truth of the matter.

UPREZ might not cause the government as many problems as the opposition parties do, but they'll still regret their activities some day.       PRI is the only party that can deliver what they want.   It's the only one that gets things done. What President Salinas has accomplished speaks for itself. When he visits the Valle de Chalco, he sees what's needed. And then PRI delivers. You won't get more help from anyone else.

A new use for the old school's classrooms was debated in the neighborhood. Those who built the school naturally felt the decision should be theirs alone.  Daniel, never before involved in school matters, saw this as an opportunity for UPREZ to expand into other community activities.      Catarino hinted meanwhile that all decisions involving the school should be made by the PRI patronage system.

GUADALUPE

Now we're thinking about what to do with the old classrooms.     We're thinking about building a twenty-four hour health clinic or an adult education center, or maybe a community restaurant or a cooperative workshop.

But Juan Martinez says everything goes to town hall when the new school opens. And we sure won't let that happen.      That place is ours, we built it with our own hard work and suffering, not theirs!   And it can still serve our needs.

I'm afraid we'll have less enthusiasm than before if we start another project so soon after getting our school.     But a community workshop could solve a lot of problems here.    People who have to travel a long way to find a job, they're the ones who should fight for it!   And how many kids here sometimes need a doctor right away?  The only doctor we've got works just in the afternoon.       And how far do we have to haul the kid if the doctor's not in?      So we'd be fighting for our own needs.

That's why UPREZ wants to build the community center where the old school is. Daniel is the one behind that idea.    It's through him that we got our store. He organized all our petitions and went all over the place to do whatever needed doing.  When the governor came, Daniel was right here.        And the next day Daniel went to talk to the governor's secretary about what he'd promised to do for us.       And before that, he fought for our teachers to get paid.

But if the community center ever does get built, I wouldn't let them put me in charge.  When I was PTA president, all its problems were mine, even when I had my own problems at home.     So I've had it with problems like that.     I feel fine staying just where I am, without taking any responsibility. When you're president of the PTA, if you don't work hard, you've got problems.       And if you do work hard, you've still got problems.

ESTELA

And who's getting the old classrooms?   Is Daniel going to get rich off them

too?  I was told he wants them for his store.     Is that right?  Should you get rich off someone else's work?         It's the worst that could happen. Let's have a real community project, not profit for just one person!

The store is just for Daniel.    It's not for everyone.  He should be investing profits back in the community, but instead we're making him rich! He's the only one who benefits. He says he's restocking the store, but where is he putting it? In the store or in his new house? They say the store is barely breaking even. And whenever there's profit, there just happens to be a robbery the same day.

How can anyone afford to build a house as fancy as Daniel's in this kind of neighborhood?   Where's he getting all that money with no steady work?      And his wife is poorer than me!   Maybe he did inherit a two story house in Ciudad Neza, but where does he get the money to build here too?

You've got to see things like they really are.     At least some of us do.   He looks after his own interests and doesn't get involved in things that can't help him.     And now he wants UPREZ to get involved with the school.      He wants to appoint new teachers, but the ones already there told him no. They don't want any UPREZ teachers.

DANIEL

Our plan for the old school is to use the classrooms for other things we need here, like maybe an adult education center or a health clinic.   But the problems we'll have building them are the sames one as always.   Juan Martinez and town hall!  But we can eliminate them if everyone joins in and we get the higher-ups to listen.

True community leaders should make people see what can help everyone.    They should make people see what they need but haven't yet discovered for themselves because of all their other problems at home, problems like their family, finances, and neighbors.  There're so many distractions here that we forget the wider context.      That's the job of activists, to stimulate others to act for what's still missing.

I'm talking about stimulation in two senses.   One is getting everyone out front, making distinctions about priorities.   And the second is letting people choose their own path, getting them to realize that if they can't feed their kids for instance, then they need the school breakfast program . And next a place to feed their kids those breakfasts.       When they realize the old classrooms are the best place, then we'll try to get them for good.

We might see a loss of community spirit, but that's just because we've already got what we want with the new school.       There might be some drop off now, but we've still got to fight for other things, like the water system and drainage and paving.     People will fight those fights just like they did for the school. That was everyone's number one priority and now we don't really know what to do next.      We have so many needs and we don't distinguish between them.

CATARINO

The community itself must decide what'll happen to the old school.    Maybe the previous landowners will reclaim their lots, because they still haven't been officially relocated or recompensated. If they don't, then we can assign the lots for any use the people choose, like a park or a soccer field.       But that's only if the previous owners don't make a claim.

Some say Juan Martinez opposed moving the school to the new site.       But he didn't. In fact, he intervened to help us buy the new lots from their original owners. He just said we didn't need a school as much as we do other things. He'd rather have a secondary school, not another primary school.

I repeat, we're not against education, but we don't want schools we don't need. We've got to coordinate our priorities.   We don't want two primary schools or two kindergardens when we don't have even a single secondary school.    We don't want fewer schools, we want more schools, but only when they're really necessary.  Maybe that's why people say Juan Martinez is against the new school.

DANIEL

Before, there was no opposition movement in this neighborhood.    Not because everything was perfect, but because Juan Martinez was the cacique, and whatever he said was law.   Word got around not to speak up or you'd be killed, be careful what you said or he'd double your taxes.    And that's still the way he'd rather do things if he could.

But when we got here, he had to change. Now he tries to convince people that what he's doing is right.       But we've had our own success, and he can't pretend he's the only one who can deliver.    Catarino is just like all the rest.    He's got the job, he says whatever he wants, and takes whatever he needs whenever it suits him.      But we've caught on to Catarino    He's never mixed it up with us except once or twice in meetings.   We've never confronted him like we do Juan Martinez, but he's still just a puppet.

We're not yet sure how we'll handle the upcoming elections.   Some say we should take part, others say no. Some even say we should start our own party. There's an outside chance we'd ally ourselves with an opposition party, but we haven't thought much about it.  It would depend on what they offer us.    If they want to lead and us to follow, then no.

In UPREZ, we're free to vote for whoever we want or participate with any parties we want.  We haven't thought yet about organizing votes for one candidate or another.  First we'd have to talk it over.    Some might refuse. It's a question of moving the popular will to a higher level.

It's not up to me alone, because this needs a much broader commitment.  It's not simply a matter of taking over another building lot or making sure there's no fraud at the store, but really getting involved in politics.      Some might want to participate only among ourselves but not with politicians.

I think the time to make deals with a political boss has come and gone.       That was the 1970s when people said, "Let's back this or that congressman, tell him we're with him, and then get something out of it."     But people have changed after having been fooled so many times.   We've seen too many candidates buying votes and giving nothing in return.

Political groups have turned the walls of historical buildings into canvasses for their "propaganda paintings".   Community advocates have asked that this practice be ended before valuable monuments are converted into a "grotesque blackboard" that can never be restored.  At the same time, representatives of the opposition parties stated that because they lack the means of legal political expression, they must paint on walls in order to be heard.

El Excelsior, February 24

-Listening to Your Demands and Working for Solutions- PRI

-The Only Party that Manages Effectively- PRI

-We will Work for the Future- PRI

-Because the Chance for Social Peace is in Your Hands- PR!

-PRI Brings Strength

-Because Unity and Work are better than Criticism-PrI

-PRI, Join and Participate

Signs and Billboards, Valle de Chalco

GUADALUPE

There are a lot of opposition parties here. They paint their slogans on the walls and hand out fliers, but they don't do any good.      Just talk and paint, but no results you can give them any credit for.     They tried to get close to UPREZ once, but we're independent and told them so.

I don't want to campaign for any public office.     Before, maybe I did, but I · never made up my mind for sure.    I'm content just as I am.  I don't want any special job.  You have to be responsible all the time to take a job like that. But I'd oppose Juan Martinez anyday.  I'd even get involved in politics to stop him from being reelected.     And I don't want some other inept thief in his job who'll screw up just like he does. Sure I'd get involved.

ESTELA

Some leaders of the left wing parties tried to get me to join their group.        But I don't see anything concrete in what they do. They wanted me to help take over empty building lots. They said they were going to do it no matter what happened, but they had kids with them! They were risking the lives of the little ones!    I don't see why they had to go that far.

They came to me because they know I like to fight.    They've known me since my early days in UPREZ and now they know I've quit.     But I don't want pressure from anyone.  I'll help people, but I won't get involved in an organization. I've already got my land, so I don't need to fight this for myself.

I was out front of everybody in the fight for our school, but thank God that problem is fixed.        And now I'll only get involved again if I see something that really requires everyone's support.  But with the opposition parties, they just want to take over land, without even trying to talk first with the authorities. First you've got to negotiate, to see if people can get permission.

But the people following them are blind.   They don't know what they're doing. They're told to just take over empty lots, but when they see the police in their helicopters, they'll have to back down.   They'll stop following then. They could be walking right into a massacre.     One cop told me they've got orders to shoot to kill, not just scare them back. So why put people and even little kids in such a risky and useless situation?

In the past, whenever UPREZ decided to take over a lot, it was only after we'd discussed it with the authorities and had everyone involved.    So when we did take it over, we knew we'd be successful.     And if UPREZ said not yet, it was because the authorities hadn't answered yet. And when they said yes, it meant they had promised not to make trouble.

For me, those politicians on the left are playing with our lives.       They're acting just for their own sakes and their own political gain. They feel superior to us. They think they're the only ones with connections.           They treat the rest of us like followers and think once they've got_us, they can do anything with us they want.   If they really knew what they were doing, they wouldn't have to take such risks.    Instead of playing with our lives, they'd get the authorities to sell us land at good prices.        They'd negotiate peacefully first.  Or they'd only invade land they knew they could get.

DANIEL

The strategy of the leftist parties is to confront the government, pure and simple.  And what would happen now if they did otherwise, establish a dialogue with Salinas for instance?  They'd lose every single person who backs them now just because they're anti-government. That's why they'll never get anywhere.

They come in and say we should have tortilla coupons, or that public services should be provided free of charge.   But what does it matter when we're dying of hunger here?   All they do is talk and not act.    They just want to elect their own leaders.

UPREZ does whatever's necessary to get services here, but we do it carefully. We won't let our people get beat up by the police.     We're more flexible.    When we have to sit in, or march, that's what we do. When we've got to talk, we'll talk.      Just like we talked with Pichardo.   He came, we talked, and he agreed to build the new school just the way we wanted it.

Neighborhood groups in the State of Mexico have demanded a dialogue with the authorities.    The Popular Mexican Front, a federation including UPREZ and five other associations, protested the government's noncompliance with its petitions for public lighting, special labor brigades, and a reversal of the recent 90-120% price hikes for drinking water.

La Jornada, February 25

GUADALUPE

That's our way of working, to put it in writing- writing, writing, and more

writing.  And we have meetings, meetings, and more meetings.   And when we finally see we aren't getting anywhere that way, that's when we start marching. But we keep it peaceful.   We just want our demands answered and our problems solved. That's it.

UPREZ still works by·itself. Just us, without any political parties.     We aren't a party, and we couldn't run in elections anyway because we're not registered.   We're just neighbors.   But we're going to fight and stay independent, and who knows, maybe in the next elections we'll support someone.

But I told Daniel it's better to stay on our own and not make deals with anyone else.  That way we're free to protest whatever we want, with less risk of losing members to the other side.   If we ever got close to a political party, they'd tell us to shut up and let them run the show.

As the new PTA president, Rafaela serves as a kind of litmus test for how people rated Estela during her term in office that has now ended.    If they like her, it means they dislike Estela, and vice versa.           Rafaela's style certainly contrasts strongly with that of her predecessor. She is meticulous about details, punctual for meetings, and careful with her public opinions- all qualities that might guarantee a long if undistinguished career in neighborhood politics.

ESTELA

Rafaela thinks her politics put her above everyone else. She goes around saying she's helping the community, but really she's hurting it.    I told the school principal that since he's the one who wanted her elected, now he's the one who's stuck with her.  I told him he'd elected her just because she's on his side.  But what about me? Don't they remember who went to jail for the school and who left four kids at home alone with the chicken pox to fight for it?

Rafaela even accused Guadalupe of stealing money when she was PTA president. And she accused me of doing nothing when I was president.      I wasn't about to tell her I was pregnant and that's why I couldn't be so active anymore.    She'd just try to dirty our reputations even more.

Now that she's president, let's suppose she acts well and doesn't give me or Guadalupe any reason to criticize.   But others are watching too, and they see someone just giving orders and never saying please.   People are already talking about her. They make you PTA president not to have authority over others. You're supposed to make good decisions for the school and get all the parents to work together.   But I can't say Rafaela is trying to improve things.    She's just dividing us.

There should be more kids in our school but Rafaela won't let them enroll. Parents from other schools asked the principal if they could bring their kids here.      Inocente said yes, but Rafaela said no, not if they hadn't personally fought for the school.        Bosses always say no, but sometimes they're replaced by higher-ups.   Look what Salinas did to Beteta.    And Rafaela too might be replaced when she's not looking.

GUADALUPE

There aren't a lot of us willing to really work hard. Since Rafaela was elected president of the PTA, we've seen her do her bit.      But she's by herself. There isn't anyone else on the PTA board who lifts a finger.   She works harder than Estela did, but that's still not enough.       She goes to the capital, she goes into town, she talks to the engineers about the new school plans. She's a real activist, but the others, no. After Estela dropped out, Rafaela was the only one who wanted to take her place.

We're too informal here.  Maybe that's why there's no one else on the PTA.     And in UPREZ, all we've got is Daniel.      When you take a job like that, you've got to carry it out.    No one has the time.  You could say we're irresponsible for not making the time.   But what's the alternative?  Always have the same president just because that person happens to be free? That's the way it is in PRI.     At least here we keep changing.

And if we see Rafaela is still doing a good job on the PTA, we'd reelect her . We can change things whenever we want to. The term in office is one year, but if we see something we don't like, we'd call a meeting and ask for her resi gnati on. That's why Estela didn't have any choice about dropping out. We'd have voted her out anyway.    And she was pregnant with her new baby so she couldn't come to meetings anymore. And now with her husband, she can't run around like she used to.

Although municipal elections are not scheduled in the Valle de Chalco for eight months, violent protests over vote fraud in the states of Michoacan and Guerrero have forewarned residents here of the troubles to come. No party has yet begun to campaign actively in the neighborhood.      However, there is a widely held opinion that this election, regardless of the winners and losers, will redistribute political power from town hall back to the neighborhood.

DANIEL

Look at the election results in 1988!    The PRiistas got a big surprise because they didn't bathe to mix with the people. They didn't know what we were thinking.  Now they've got to consider everything that went wrong.   There's a big shake up now inside PRI, and that's why. Their politics of manipulation won't work here anymore.

Juan Martinez doesn't have a chance in the next election.   There'll be a complete change. People here have pushed him into a political corner. Any new PRlista candidates will have to be much cleaner than Martinez, because he's just ripping us off and everyone knows it.     In other neighborhoods, you might get services if you play the politician's game and do him favors.    Here there's no way to get services that way. The bosses just want to get rich without doing anything in return.

If PRI changes, it won't be because they want to.     They have to, because society is changing under them and they've got no choice.   We're a younger population now, less respectful of the old ways and less patient than we were in the 1970s and 1980s.   People won't wipe the feet of politicians anymore. Both the politicians and the people realize this.   We've all got other options now.

What's missing is a true social movement.   We're just reacting to problems and looking for individual solutions   But we still don't have access to power.     We can get a few things done here, but when we run into the authorities, nothing more happens! So that's next on our agenda.            That we all stick together to get power.

Some PRiistas might want to change the system, but it will be hard.       Bribe money is too tempting.  Look at what they did to Estela!    Unfortunately, people like her can go bad, I don't even know what she's up to any more.       But it doesn't matter to us what party she's with now. Our politics aren't based on individuals.   A lot of our people have dropped out. Some stay at home, others like Estela try to stir up other things.

But PRI doesn't care about Estela either.   She's isolated herself with all her gossip. She's a troublemaker, saying one thing to one person and something else to another.   Then she gets into such a mess she can't get out.     She forgets that an organization watchs what an individual does.   Gossip in the street isn't like gossip in an organization.            That does a lot more damage, which she didn't ever understand.

ESTELA

I don't know if I could ever call myself a PRiista.      Just because they give me a school doesn't mean I'll let them keep screwing me with other things. And so what if they give us a dairy store and then raise the price of milk? We've got to analyze things first, because many threads come together into one yarn.

Today I went to the land tenure office to see about some empty lots in the neighborhood.   I want to get them for people I know who need a place to live. I told the authorities they should give vacant land to the needy.    I didn't go alone, I went with two others, but we went as individuals and not as an organization.   Nobody else knows I went, and even if they do, I don't care.

I didn't tell Daniel, because I won't give UPREZ the satisfaction of knowing my business.  I don't want any contact with them about it.     It may be more efficient if I did, but I'm not interested.   Solidarity is important sometimes, but often it's better to act on your own.

UPREZ does things their way and I do them my way.   They don't care about the empty lots in this neighborhood anyway.   They're more involved in other places now. Daniel's not here everyday anymore.   All he's interested in are the old school rooms.\

I don't mind their gossip.   On the contrary, it just makes me more famous.     Let them say bad things, it doesn't bother me.    Who comes out worse?   Them or me? Daniel's the one with the bad reputation now, not me. They don't want him here anymore.  Only about five people still support hi m, that's i t. If I can get those lots from the land tenure office and give them to people who really need them, my reputation will soar. Anyway, I haven't fallen any since leaving UPREZ.

I'm just a housewife now, but I'll fight for others if I can. But I'm still not anything special.     A wife and mother, that's all. An occasional visit to the land office doesn't make me anybody important.   I do things quietly, just seeing what others need and how I can get it for them.     Right now, I just want to put all the empty land here to good use.

"No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up"- Oral History of Community Activism in a Mexican Squatter Settlement, Part 3

August 1989

Heavy rains and rising tortilla prices bring unusual hardship to the people of Dario Martinez this month.   The neighborhood's main topic of conversation however is of President Salinas's upcoming visit to the Valle de Chalco, scheduled for sometime in the coming weeks, in order to inaugurate the new electrical grid and distribute deeds to homeowners.

Nearly everyone expresses an opinion about what good the visit might bring to the community and what they would say to President Salinas when and if he does come.     Guadalupe and Estela, always among the neighborhood's most outspoken activists, not surprisingly choose words that contrast sharply with those of Catarino, whose official position gives him a much different view of reality in Dario Martinez.                             ·

GUADALUPE

If the president comes, we'll bring him right here.    Believe me, we'll make him walk all through this neighborhood, and I hope it's raining the day he comes so he'll see for himself the mud holes our children have to walk in just to get to school.  And he'll hear just how many demands we're making.  I'd be the first to tell him how it is and what a fool we've got for a mayor.      And our councilman is even worse.   I've never even seen the guy.   How does that seem to you?  There's no one to listen to us after we pay our taxes.

I'd ask him, "Why don't you look the whole neighborhood over, not just the few places our officials here aren't afraid to take you?    Take. a good look at the corruption in our town hall.   Why don't we have any garbage trucks, or gravel to fill up those mud holes, or help building our school?   Send us people who give a damn and no more corrupt politicians?"        I'd be glad to talk to him. We'll go look for him and bring him right over here.    Let's even announce it on the radio.

You've got  to fight for what you want and not just    stand with your arms crossed, because the mayor appoints the councilmen, and Juan Martinez appoints the block captains. Once I asked who'd voted for them. I sure didn't- there hadn't even been any elections. I'll never accept them, because if we let them take a free hand, it'll just stay the same.

The ejidatarios still get paid for the land they sold a long time ago. They should be improving the lots they've already sold and made money from. They should put water and electricity in like the law requires, instead of just going on with their double dealing. Juan Martinez is the ringleader, and the mayor lets him keep right at it.

People say Juan Martinez wants to run for mayor in the next election, but very few people support him. He won't be any more open when he's campaigning than he is now. And if we don't want him here, no one anywhere else sure will take him. Some of the other parties are organizing campaigns, but we're independent here. We might accept their support, but we don't give any back.

Three million people live on lots without legal deeds in Mexico City. The legalization process is the cause of the urban periphery's lack of public services, and its effect is massive confusion over property rights.  Another problem is the explosion in illegal property sales involving ejidatarios, their agents, and the colonos themselves.

La Jornada, July 31

CATARINO

Officials in the Valle de Chalco requested the presidential visit so he could see for himself what our needs are here.    He's supposed to come, but it's not for sure yet.     If he comes in person, he'll be able to help us.     He's coming primarily to distribute housing titles to about 25,000 families in the Valle and to inaugurate the lights.       The mayor invited the president to come to this particular neighborhood.

There are very few people with their deeds in order, maybe just ten percent of the total. It's so few because most people are afraid to complete the paper work.  We try to convince them to go to the land commission, but they still won't.   They know the procedures perfectly well, but they're suspicious.    They expect to have public services immediately.   They don't realize that services are provided only after they've settle their deeds.   Maybe when another 20% get theirs done, the others will realize it and join in.

We don't know why, but we see that President Salinas is improving the system. The working class is most affected.     People are in agreement because everyone benefits- at least that's my personal opinion.   There's been a complete change from the past. Salinas realized what the problems were and decided to set things straight.       He'd had a lot of time to study the situation when he was in government, and since everything is in his hands, he's acting.

Now that the President is making changes at the federal level, logically changes also happen here.    We've seen it with our own eyes- never before has there been so much progress as this year.   It's not changed totally yet, but at these changes from above are reaching the local level.

We're planning to fix up a few streets here ourselves- to take advantage of the president's visit to make some progress.   We don't have the money to fix all of them, so we hope to make the president see what still has to be done here.     If he's with the governor, for sure we'll get what we want.

The ideal thing for people here to do is just talk to us.  That way they' ll realize why these changes are happening, and why they're happening now.   They should see the new benefits everyone is enjoying this year.

We want the president   o talk directly with the people.   He'll come with a lot of politicians and he'll tell them what they should do for us.     It would be good if he talked directly to the people, but if he only talks to those of us who know the situation here best, I think that would be enough.     He'll be talking to the senators, the mayor, maybe the governor, and other functionaries. They're the ones who represent what needs to be done.

We'll have new local elections at the end of next year, but our candidates are already working hard.  They don't just wait until the campaign.    Nobody's announced yet, but they're all out there helping.  But I don't think Juan Martinez is the right guy to elect mayor for the moment.    And even though I don't know his intentions, the law forbids him to be reelected as chief town councilman. But it all depends on the people.   If they still want him, he could resign now and then run again.

State of Mexico Governor Beteta calls on party loyalists in municipal committees to stay united and fight together, saying problems aren't within the party but rather on the outside.   He stressed the need to maintain power, reassure voters, and build Mexico's future, adding that his party is most responsible because it accepts its obligations.

La Prensa, July 28

Huge rally by Priistas in the state of Mexico.    Governor Beteta says Mexicans are committed party loyalists who can't be fooled by opponents who use PRI's little errors and big shortcomings to attack the system.

La Prensa, July 30

ESTELA

They told us they're fixing the avenue because the president is coming to turn on the lights.  But no one knows which president they're talking about.   We don't know who arid we don't know when.

But they're finally putting up the electric wires.    There's been so much talk about those so-called donations, finally the light company had to accept all the receipts from town hall.      I haven't paid my share yet- I'm thinking maybe next week.  I have to pay 20,000 pesos, and that's just part of all I owe.

The mayor's office said they've sent a lot of sand and rock trucks here to fix all the streets, but they're just as bad as ever    Only the avenue is getting fixed, so the president won't get stuck in the mud.  Now in the rainy season you can't even walk down the street because of all the water.   But when it's dry, you can't see where you're going because of the dust in the air.

But these guys are so big that they'd never come down to where we are.     Some say Salinas is easy going, but we've got to see if he is or not, or maybe he's just a despot like all the others in the town hall.    The mayor came last week and got his pickup truck stuck in the mud.    Everyone chased him out on foot.

But we had to push his truck out later.   So you think Salinas is going to wade through the lagoons in the middle of our streets?    He should come in a boat, not a car. What would I tell President Salinas if he ever does come?      Well, talking to the President is a remote possibility.   Even if he comes to the Valle de Chalco, he won't come to this neighborhood, he'll be taken somewhere else.    As close as he'll ever get is to the bridge.    They say he's coming here but there're plenty of other stories too, that he'll turn on the lights at the bridge and not come into any neighborhoods at all.

But if he really comes and I get the chance to talk to him personally, I'd say that what he sees now, with town hall and the light company suddenly acting real busy, isn't what he'd normally see here.    He should still see our real problems, that town hall charges us for things they never deliver.    We moved here because we had to.   We've been suffering here so much, going without so much.  I'd like him to come into the neighborhood and walk down some of our streets to see for himself what it's like.

I'd like him to come in person and not just send one of his delegates, because that's more likely. If I get his ear, I'd ask him to clear things up for the· school and quit all the double talk.

The latest dispute between authorities and the community concerns the PTA's decision to fence off the side street used as the school playground. The recreation period is disrupted whenever a water truck rumbles through. On one occasion, a truck ran into an open ditch and overturned, nearly crushing several children.         Guadalupe's spirited encounter with policemen over the fence has given her the same standing among neighbors that Estela had gained previously by spending three days in jail.

GUADALUPE

We put up the fence in order to block off the street for the school, to make the playground bigger.  But the authorities told us they were laying new water pipes and so we'd have to open it up again.    But some town councilmen told us they'd take the fence down and put it back as soon as the pipes were in.

They ended up taking it down, but a few months went by and still no water pipes.      So we decided to rebuild it because we didn't want any more big trucks driving through.  We gathered signatures of support and then put it back up.

So one Saturday somebody told me they'd come back to tear it down again.     I said, "Take it easy, let's get people together and see just what's going on." I went over to the school to tell the teachers and they agreed to help us fight it.    Well, nothing happened that Saturday, but on Monday six guys from town hall drove up in a police car, and some of the block captains arrived too.      We got together about eight parents.   One lady wanted to ask what they planned to do, but I said to be quiet and watch.

Finally the block captains left but the policemen stayed on.    We kept watching and then most of us left too, but then a kid came up and told us the block captains had just gone around the corner and were coming back on the other street. That's when I realized they were planning to take the wall down after we'd all gone home.  I told Lucina not to worry, that we'd fight them, but she should go back to get the others.   So I was there by myself.

I was plenty afraid but I told myself not to let on to them.    That's when I told them, "Don't you dare touch one brick, because if you do, you won't be worth your mother's spit.   So just listen up!  Whoever puts a hand on that fence is going to pay."

One of the cops grabbed his rifle and I told him, "You can't scare me. You and your rifle don't mean anything to me.   I don't feel superior to you, so don't try to scare me.  If you make me eat dirt, we'll all eat dirt, because I know . my people will kill you if you even touch me."

They shut up after hearing that.    But one guy said, "No, senora.  We don't want any trouble with you."   And another said they hadn't come to damage the school, just to post a notice that the fence had to come down.      So I said, "I'm not afraid. I just want you to know we'd like to talk it over and reach an agreement.       Put up that notice if you want, but while you're at it, take a good look at what pitiful shape our school is in. That fence is our work, not town hall's.       The mayor has never given us even one grain of sand. Everything's been built by the parents.

That's when they began taking pictures of me and the fence, so I said, "Would you rather have me over there where you can get my whole body in the photograph?    I'm not afraid to have my picture taken.    Come any time and ask anyone where Dona Guadalupe lives.      I'm not afraid.    We're here to get a job done and we'll stay here until you back off.      We're here to help the school. You can write in your newspapers that it was built by the government, but let me tell you, there might be a lot of schools in Mexico, but damn few are thanks to the government's help.  It's thanks to parents who want their kids to get ahead.    We had to build our own school.    Now you do what you have to."

They said, "No ma'am.   If you need any books or school supplies or anything from -town hall, just let us know.         We'll get a truck and bring you whatever you need." I said no thanks and goodbye, and that's how we left it.

But the problems with the school always come up.     Always the street.  I don't see it as such a big problem.     We should be able to close it for our school's sake.  Is that the first street ever closed for the public's benefit?       No way! How many streets were blocked off for the market.                And the market is less a public service than the school is.      Each vendor over there makes her own profit.                Not here.    Here the only profit is helping the kids get ahead.

The unauthorized closing of the side street has led the government to deny financial support to the school unless it moves to a new location, a standoff that frustrates parents and teachers alike.    Guadalupe's confrontation to the police squad led subsequently to power struggle between the school principal Inocente and a new teacher named Josefina over whether to accept the government's terms.

This struggle widened a long standing division between the teachers, who by and large agree to the relocation, and the parents, who insist that the school remain where it is. Daniel meanwhile saw this as an opportunity for UPREZ to enter school politics, a realm it had previously avoided, as a way of extending its influence in the community.

GUADALUPE

That teacher Josefina just wants power, and she's managed to get some parents behind her.  Josefina doesn't want UPREZ working with the school, but we went on anyway.   And she had her eye on becoming school principal.    A lot of parents were saying that.      She was trying to get the authorities to recognize the school on her own so she then could take over.

I think eventually we can get Josefina to calm down.      Even though she's got a big mouth, she'll listen and accept our point of view.      She's already accepted UPREZ's input and sees eye to eye with them on some things. She knows that what UPREZ fights for, it wins. She's seen that happen.    But there's still too much rumor mongering.  I told them I was surprised they could be so well educated and still be influenced by people who just want to poison our work. That's not right!  But now I think Josefina is changing a bit.

I told Inocente he's got to be more energetic.     He can give the teachers certain liberties, but he shouldn't let them be libertines!    He's got to be strong because he's the only principal we've got.   It's good that he's easy to talk to, but he's got to be more firm.        He's got to impose authority over the teachers just like he does over the kids and their parents.      Even if he's a good guy, he shouldn't let himself be duped.

We had a real problem with Inocente when he wanted to move to the other site without even talking it over with us. The PTA told me he was ready to sign the relocation agreement.           He didn't build the school by himself, and neither did the PTA. The parents elected them both, and they can't start playing with us now. The school belongs to the community.           After I talked back to Inocente in a meeting I finally started getting through to him.    He said he hadn't thought of telling us, and I asked him how that could be. He's one guy who deserves the name his parents gave him.

A principal can't be too passive or too autocratic.   The community has to decide.  We'll talk it over together and not accept anything that the principal or the PTA or UPREZ just happens to say.     UPREZ should just orient us, and not impose things.  The same goes for Inocente and the PTA.

Residents of Colonia Emiliano Zapata in the valle de Chalco rallied to demand an end to abuse from the courts and the police. A spokesman for the colonia said that police had taken the community hostage by jailing, beating, and extorting bribes.    The Governor's assistant said the rally demonstrated the state's respect for the rights of its citizens to protest.

Uno Mas Uno, July 29

ESTELA

We went to the State Urban Development office to get approval for the school where it is now.   But it's always the same and always will be. The street, the street, always that same street, they say.   They say we can't close it off, even though the government closes streets wherever they want.   When officials are new in their jobs, they don't know what's gone on before, and we have to start from the beginning with them.   That's what they always tell us to do, and the result is always the same- a big run around.   Whenever we go to a government office, they always say the same thing. No. No.

There are two possible solutions.   They're telling us to reopen the street, but if we do that there won't be enough room for the school and we'll have to find another site. So then they say they'll buy us a bigger lot somewhere else.

Tomorrow we've got to go to Toluca to talk to the architect from the Schools Department. If he agrees to talk to Urban Development on our behalf, maybe we'd make some progress.

It takes several hours to get to Toluca from here.   We have to take the bus to the San Lazaro metro, then go by train to the Observatorio stop, then take another bus to Toluca.  And if we don't get an answer, it's a whole day wasted. We've already wasted two years doing this. And if we lase this fight after everything we've done... But I doubt they'll ever build the school like we want.

We've got to talk things over before school starts again in September, because we've got some problems with the teachers.   There's a new teacher this year named Josefina who's trying to provoke problems between various parents, and unfortunately she's been successful.     This teacher is always stirring things up.  I think she wants to get the principal's job. She says she just wants a better school, but we don't know if that's all.  So now she's threatening to leave and take two other teachers with her.

The situation is critical.  Parents feel angry and deceived, but the PTA won't let any teacher quit until the school's problems are all solved.       As soon as that happens, everyone is free to go.    But we won't let the teachers walk away now because they're the ones who started the mess and they're the ones who have to fix it.

We won't let them make fools of us too. The authorities already make fools of us, and now if the teachers start...we just won't let it happen.    That's when you've got to get involved.    We told the teachers, "Now you've got to do what we say, not just what you say."

Parents are very upset with each other about these teachers.   They've divided us by starting rumors and getting us to talk behind each others backs.    The teachers say they're going to straighten things out, but in fact they haven't done anything, and it's reached a point where we're so mad, a lot of us are saying we won't sign our kids up at this school again.   So the principal is signing them up himself, without help from the teachers.

Josefina started it all by saying we should move the school.      She says the fight isn't worth it, that we'll just cause more fights and more delays by staying.      But that would be tough because we've already done so much work where it is now.         It's working well as it is, we've made progress.    And no one can make us move just by ordering us. Juan Martinez tried but he couldn't get us to leave.   We're an educational institution, and you can't destroy it just like that.  We're not going to listen to Josefina when she says to take over another lot.

Josefina said time is on our side since Urban Development hasn't given us a deadline to move the school.    So we've got time to think it over and do whatever is in our best interests.   And those plans that Urban Development drew up are from last March, so there's already been quite a delay.       But we won't let them wear us down anymore or make us seize more land.

Josefina said she'd never taken over property before.   I told her, "Maybe not you, but we have.   We know what it's like.   First you have to get building materials wherever you can, and buy cement and carry water.   Kids have to haul bricks. You have to seal it off good."

But we won't do it again. We can't ask mothers to do it again if they've already done it once.  We can't tell them to do it all over.       What would they say?  We should definitely keep what we've got, or else everyone will just go to another school.  That's true.  That's why I don't want to move it.

We don't know what Josefina's goals are.   But as long as I'm still president of the PTA, I won't let either Josefina or UPREZ bring down the school we've fought so hard for.  We started this work and we won't let others destroy it. Even though I don't have the free time I did before, I'll see to it that our school survives.

If we move, we'll lose everything we've put there.     If we leave now, it all would fall into the hands of the authorities at town hall, and what would we have gained?     Nothing! And what would the politicians do with the classrooms? Put bars and pulquerias there, because that way they'd earn something.    The lot might be too small for a school, but it's the best place we've got.

DANIEL

There's been some progress with the school, but not much.   At least people are all squared off against town hall, because they see clearly now they'er behind the problem. But the teachers can't get the parents to accept the proposal to move the school, so now there's a fight between teachers and parents.

Personally, I won't get involved in the fight.   People already see what must be done. They're not asking me to do anything, so I can save my time for other things.       The parents are handling themselves well in this.   They made some mistakes at first, but now they see what they have to do.   But I'm still here to orient them.

CATARINO

We can say there's still a conflict over the school.      The Urban Development officials want them to leave their present site because they've built on private property, and they can't settle the matter with the rightful owners. And still there's another problem- you can't just close off a street as they've done.  As soon as the owners sign over their deeds to the school, then we might stand behind the parents.  But they still can't invade that street.

They've got a reasonable alternative.   Get the signatures from the present property owners, and reopen the street so we can lay down the water pipes and put up the light posts.        Urban Development demands that the school be moved to their designated site, but no one wants to. In the official location there's also room for a secondary school to be built later on.

We don't know exactly how you can take over private property for a public service.  I realize that people have needs here, but that's no excuse to invade private property.  There are already designated service zones in the neighborhood.   They don't need any more.

But their idea is to keep it near their homes.     Most kids walk twenty five minutes to school, but these parents won't let their kids walk even five.    We think their objection is just an excuse not to cooperate.   Kids come to that school from other neighborhoods.  We can't educate everyone's kids in the state of Mexico!  They belong to other towns.    For the local kids, it's just a five minute walk wherever the school is built, no matter what they say.       I'm not the one to say which town provides better services, and I can't say their school is better or worse than the others.

We've talked to the mayor about these complaints.   We can't offer public services by ourselves to satisfy them all, and we can't do any planning until they reopen the street.      I don't have any idea if Urban Development can fix the situation- but we can't accept it until they do.     If the parents get permission, that's another thing.

Primary school drop-out rate at 17%.   The first signs of dropping out are absenteeism, inattention in class, loss of interest, incomplete homework assignments, feigning illness, use of aggression to justify lack of knowledge, and lifestyle alternatives.   The greatest weakness in the National Study Plan is its lack of moral values that instill a sense of responsibility, self-worth, justice, family, democracy, liberty, solidarity, and national pride.

Uno Mas Uno, August 2

GUADALUPE

The mayor said we shouldn't accept kids from other neighborhoods, but what's his problem?   The school is ours, not his.    And anyway, is he a racist or something?   Education is open to everyone.   I once asked Juan Martinez why he didn't come to a school meeting so he'd see for himself how crowded it was, and so he could explain to all the parents why he's against leaving the school where it is.   He doesn't do anything around here.    He's afraid even to show his face any more.

The last time he showed up he said he wanted the school closed as soon as possible.        Some of my friends were afraid he'd do it, but I said, "No way. He always says one thing and does another.    But if they ever come to tear it down and you don't get involved, it'll be your own fault if you lose it.  You need it as much as we all do."

That's been our biggest problem so far. I'm against moving the school and I'll fight that until the end. But if they do insist, we should make them get a new site that suits us all. We've already looked at another lot that's closer than the one they want to give us, but the inspector said no, it didn't have to be so close.

So I told him to try walking that distance himself.      And he told me that kids walk much farther in the country, but I said this isn't the country, and you can't jam so many kids into just one school anyway. We've already got 400 kids here.   We're full, and we need help now.     They should help us finish building it.    It's been open for two years already and new kids keep coming every year.

They said it was Estela's idea to put the fence across the street, because of when the truck turned over right in the school yard.     Everyone claimed Estela said she'd put it up herself.    And people were saying she tried to take all the credit.  But Estela never said that, and she got mad at all the rumor mongering that makes me so mad too.

It hurts me that this gossip about Estela continued.   And it hurts our meetings.  We should be talking about the school, and not about other people. It's not just a few who built the school- we all did!      It was terrible when Josefina made personal accusations against her in public.   I don't like it because Josefina's not just hurting us- she's hurting the school too. She knows the school's got problems.       And if town hall gets wind of all this gossip, they'll have good reason to close it.

Estela works hard as an activist.   She's my closest comrade, my number one. She went to Zacatecas, Durango, to all the meetings to share our experiences with others. But so people got jealous because she got out in front of the crowd. That's always how problems start here.    And some women got mad at her.

Maybe I'm not as hard working as some of the others, but I still don't like their rumor mongering.      If we're all comrades fighting for the same neighborhood, let's forget the gossip and fight together.   Gossip has nothing to do with our problems.   It's just personal politics.

ESTELA

Last week in a PTA meeting some woman came up and said I was claiming all the credit for building the fence.  I said, "You bring m the person who heard me say that, and we'll put a stop to these rumors right now."      If someone does something for the benefit of the school, that's wrong.   And if you never do anything, that's wrong too.  So you can't win.

I spoke with Guadalupe and said I wasn't going to be on the PTA anymore.     She said I had to be, because if I left, they'd move the school for sure.       But I said, "No, I can't leave the house much anymore, and secondly, I don't like all the rumors about me."      Whenever I miss a meeting, I'm all they talk about.

You can avoid the rumors only if you're always there, so they can't talk behind your back.  If so and so is saying things while you're there, you can stop it right away.   But if you miss meetings for a week or a month, they'll be sure to talk.      Guadalupe told me to keep it to myself that the PTA's got problems- a lot of them- there's a real division between former comrades.

So I've put some distance between me and UPREZ.     I pulled back because I had to go to work.  My kids kept me from staying in touch, and now with this new baby on the way...I'd like to resign from the PTA next month because by then for sure I won't be able to go to any meetings.

I've also got a man in the house now who's cut my wings.      I cut them myself really- he doesn't say no to anything I do.     I'm the one who decided to stay home more.  I met him through some friends, but he's not an activist himself.. He said I could go on doing whatever I want, but only don't go looking for trouble.        But you can't avoid trouble if you're an activist.

And I don't go to many meetings any more, not because I don't like to go out, but I've got to stay home more now. You can't be in meetings until eight o'clock at night.               How can I come home so late with my man waiting for me and the kids without dinner?     What's he going to say?   "Is that right?  Sure, you've got my permission, but look what time it is!"   That's what happened to make me grow apart from it all.    I'm still with them, but don't ask me to participate the same way I used to. I'll help as I can, but let me stay home.

Neighborhood disunity is further reflected in the way different factions reacted to the two outsiders Daniel had asked to help him with UPREZ affairs in Dario Martinez.         Hapy and Nico first worked as his assistants, but relations soured when they began publically to question Daniel's management of the food co-op.

Residents were confused and angered by the leadership struggle waged by outsiders in their own community.  Daniel's real intentions were questioned for the first time, but eventually he was able to reassert himself by forcing Hapy and Nico to leave the neighborhood.     Public support for Daniel however was damaged.  Although Guadalupe continued to support him, his increasingly hostile comments about Estela gave her cause for bother.

GUADALUPE

Hapy and Nico were new and had other ways of doing things.      And as Daniel said, we're the pioneers here, we began the work. They brought in another way of doing things and that's when the problems began.       They came from the outside, but it was Daniel who brought them with him. They tried to run things and run us too in their own way.   That's when all the disunity began, but thank God we won.  We realized they  ere playing with us, and we fought back and fought hard. Thank God our group stayed together.

They first tried to manipulate one of our comrades.    We had always made our decisions as a group, each one of us had the chance to talk up and then vote. Everyone's opinion was heard- there was real exchange, and then we'd accept the best idea.  No one ever sa i d, "You've got to do this".  It    was always open.    It was "we've got a problem, so what are we going to do?"

But those two guys wanted us to do other things .    The problems with them started right away, but they were gone in two months. One of the leaders of UPREZ came and wanted to know what the problem was.  He was worried our group would fall apart here.  Luckily we finally agreed, and they had to leave and since then never came back.   We almost made a big mistake.

We told Daniel it was his fault for bringing them in the first place.     And he realized it and finally stood up and did something about it, so we got back to doing things the old way. Those two guys just wanted to divide the group and take over the co-op.  They wouldn't accept that Daniel was in cha rge. They just pointed out how messed up it was.       What hurt most was to see some people almost take us over.   We weren't beginners at this after all.   Outsiders have no rights here.  We'll let them help us but not destroy us.

ESTELA

It all started when Hapy and Nico tried to join the organization.     I hadn't been around much then- I was glad to be away from the problems- so they didn't come looking for me. So when Hapy and Nico came, they met with Lucina, Guadalupe, and Don Ramon- and they came to tell me they wanted to reorganize UPREZ, because they were unhappy with Daniel.

They said Daniel was trying to get rich off the co-op, that he was running it badly. It was always broke but Daniel always seemed to have money for his other projects. Whenever it ran too big a deficit, Daniel would bail it out. Where did he get the cash to do that?     That's something we never knew.    But he always had plenty of capital.

I said, why get involved?  It was Daniel's affair.  Then Daniel asked me to attend a public meeting.              That's when he asked me what was going on behind his back.  He'd heard they were talking about changing UPREZ and said they were crazy to even try.

I couldn't go to the meeting, but afterwards and said they'd spoken against Daniel because of all the co-op's financial irregularities. They'd gotten signatures against him, including even Guadalupe's.   I told them that the UPREZ bosses couldn't do anything against Daniel because he was so slippery. If they came to a meeting here, Daniel would just get his friends together and put an end to the whole thing.

So one of the big UPREZ people did come to a meeting.   I wasn't there because wanted to steer clear, but later they told me that just personal accusations were made, that Nico had deserted his family and wasn't fit to be a leader, that so and so was doing such and such- just a lot of personal gossip.  Later I went to a meeting to help organize a march to Toluca, but I went for the PTA and not for UPREZ.  Some people criticized me because I hadn't supported UPREZ in this.

Daniel got mad and started a rumor about me, that I'd stolen my house from UPREZ and now I'd have to give back the stove and the beds since I'd turned against them.    They said I'd only been with them in the first place so I could get something personal out of it.

And I answered, "First, UPREZ didn't give me this house or what's in it.     I took it myself.  And I'd never gotten anything from Daniel.    He'd done nothing for me.  So that's why I'm leaving UPREZ, because of the rumors."

And then the new person Maria who Daniel had brought in with him started complaining about how I'd managed the school breakfasts.    She just wanted to take over herself.  In one of our meetings she said I'd hit her and caused her to miscarry her baby.  I wasn't at that meeting so I couldn't defend myself, but I wasn't even at home the day she said I'd hit it.

People asked me why I wasn't at the meeting, as if they thought I was afraid to be there.    I was busy that day but no one believed me, because Maria had already told them.  That was the first I'd heard of the story.    I've got witnesses I wasn't even home that day.   But Daniel backed Maria up all the way.

What does Daniel want by starting these rumors?    I don't talk badly about people. I never talk about anyone like that, so what does Daniel want?     What's he up to?   I really can't answer.  I just don' t know.

  GUADALUPE

And now about this thing with Estela, that they're going to take her stove and things from her home- I'm completely against that.    We're all screwed here, so how can we manage to get her a new stove?    Maybe a pot or a pan, but we can't buy her a stove and gas tank.

I told Estela that if they come to take her things, that she should let us know right away and I'd get people together.   Daniel knows if I say I'll organize people, then I intend to.   He said he couldn't help her anymore, that they were coming and he couldn't stop them.       But all those guys are his friends.

Sure he could talk them out of it.   But if they do try to take anything, I'll call them thieves to their faces.   Daniel's trying to scare Estela, but I don't think it's just a threat.   I think he'll let them go through with it.

DANIEL

We've helped Estela, but she's taken things that belong to another comrade. When we wanted to take back what we'd given her, she said we were robbing her, and that's when the trouble started.      She won't admit we'd been helping her.

We even helped her get her house.   I gave her a blank deed that she used to get her house legalized.  She's had it a year and now I've got to take it back so I can pay taxes on my other house.   She's mad.  She thinks I'm hurting her, not helping.

She only sees things from her point of view, as if she's the only one.     But there are other comrades who also need help, and they're as active in our affairs as she is.  So if she's not with us anymore, we'll just have to help the others who are.  It reflects everyone's economic problems.  We've all got to eat, but she thinks that UPREZ is obligated to help just her.       She's been helped, now she's got to help herself.

GUADALUPE

Now all we hear is that Estela is talking about somebody, and that somebody is talking about someone else, who's saying such and such, and on and on.   what's the point of all this?    We're too old to be gossiping like this.       Daniel should stop all this talk.   He should say that gossiping about Estela is the same as gossiping about himself.    You shouldn't pass on rumors.  Just keep them to yourself.  Don't stir things up even more.

It's just about Estela, and that bothers me.     I told Daniel I'm surprised everyone says Estela bad talks him, because I've never heard her say a word about him.      I said that was the last meeting I'll ever go to.  Are we fighting to improve the neighborhood, or just to hear more gossip?      There's a place for rumors, but not here.   We should put up a public notice, "Talk about politics, not about people!  Keep your gossip to yourself!"   I'd like to post that.

ESTELA

We'll keep fighting for the school, but for UPREZ?    I won't keep on with them. For the school, yes, because that's what matters to me.    UPREZ worked well in the beginning, it was well organized, but Daniel was the only one in charge. He wouldn't let others lead.    He was the only one who was right all the time, the only one who could represent the others, to talk at meetings, to do everything.  The only one.

That day we went to the mayor's office, he was the only one who spoke.       He wouldn't let others say a word. Just him.     He talked about every neighborhood in the Valle de Chalco, and didn't let their own representatives say anything. He won't let anyone else express themselves in public.  He's always trying to remove the other comrades.  And that'll never work.  The others must speak up too. He won't live here forever, and he hasn't even moved in to his house yet. He says it's not ready yet, but it looks like he doesn't want to move in at all.       His sister's stuff is in his house. Maybe his sister is coming , not him.

I think a lot of time we need someone from outside to help direct our ideas , just to direct our thinking or to tell us we ought to go here or there to meet and hold protests.  To organize us. They could say, "I'm not from here, so you folks have to act on your own alongside your neighbors.    Go do it, and if I'm not here, do it by yourselves."

But if Daniel doesn't come, he won't let anyone else to anything.     If you call yourself the boss from the very beginning and claim to have the only bra i ns , that won't work here.      He was working on the co-op when we started our school. He just cared about the co-op, and we cared more about the school.   Now that he sees he can get involved in the school, he's trying to influence some of the parents.

I can't say if Daniel is making money off the co-op or not.    But he did take money from the school breakfasts to pay for marches and flyers. If he needed more money, he'd borrow it from the co-op.    But he shouldn't be paying for everything UPREZ does here.  People are beginning to ask where the money is? I'm not in on it, so I don't know. I was active with UPREZ with the other people, but not with the money.   I never got involved with the co-op.   Others say he's trying to get rich, to manipulate people just to take advantage. That's one reason I quit.

Guadalupe's interpretation of Nico's and Hapy's attempt to snatch away UPREZ leadership shifted abruptly after Daniel called a meeting in order to redraw the UPREZ membership list.   After crossing off Guadalupe's name with a dramatic flourish, he added the names of newcomers who never before had been active in community affairs.    This public insult triggered Guadalupe's change of mind about Daniel's value to the neighborhood.

GUADALUPE

Hapy and Nico opened our eyes.   They said we should know what our co-op's accounts really are, and if we've got profits or losses.  But no one ever tells us.    They always say we've got losses, never profits.     But that's just what they say.      And they're asking us to pay an extra 500 pesos every month now to build a workshop behind the co-op so people can work there.    But I don't want to.    If they buy machines, who will own them?  Who's going to manage the profits? I'm pretty disillusioned about the organization now.  I'm thinking of just dropping out.  I'll always fight for the school, but UPREZ, no more.

When Hapy and Nico were thrown out, we stayed on anyway.    Their plan was to restructure UPREZ.           The school was completely stalled when they came in.    They wanted to renew the fight, and after getting what we wanted in the school, then fight the next battle for our electricity, and after that, then fight for our drinking water.

Daniel decided to throw them out. He and his crowd did it on their own, but we stood with the other two. We agreed to fight hard for one thing at a time, and then move on after we'd won- not spread thin and never accomplish anything. Daniel wants to do everything at the same time.     Whenever we go to Toluca, he writes up all our demands on the same paper, and everything gets mixed up. That's what the other two said, that we couldn't win anything that way.

They wanted to open up the co-op's books and let us all see. We'd never known what they were before.      But Carmen stood with Daniel.  She realized things were wrong, but she couldn't admit we were the ones who had fought hardest to get the co-op.       She thought it was just thanks to Daniel.     But it's a public cooperative, and we should know how it works and what the profits are used for. I'm beginning to see things differently now. Since we've lost confidence, a lot are backing away from UPREZ. We've got to stay together and first help each other.

In that meeting, Daniel rewrote the UPREZ membership list.   He said he'd quit if there weren't enough people behind him.   Maybe it would be better if he did quit.  We know how to fight for ourselves now. Estela and I know how to mobilize people.  But Daniel only has Carmen and a few others on his side.

Before we were all working together, every single one of us.    Before, I worked with Estela even though I wasn't too close to her, but since then we've become better friends.       I see her now as a hard working comrade.     I'm not going to lose her over a few rumors.    On the contrary, I'd give her all my support. She's not just a sympathizer.  She's a true militant!

But we're not the same any more.    When we go to meetings now, it's just rumor mongering.  People ignore what's true.  Hapy and Nico wanted us to know the facts.  Now that they're gone, we should still fight for facts.      And demand a change in the co-op . Get a new manager, and reform the committee.       Now it' s just Daniel and Carmen.  As soon as Estela has her baby, we should fight for a new committee that we elect ourselves.

DANIEL

I can't really say what UPREZ's grand plan is for the Valle de Chalco.       There's a lot of suspicion about what we do.., There are high level meetings, we talk about legal problems, land tenure, the food co-ops, government corruption, things like that. There's no chance we'll enter party politics.      Any member is free to do it on their own, but not as an organization.   We're very decentralized in that respect.

People come and go in UPREZ.    They get involved and then drop out, depending on what issue they're fighting for.   For the drinking water system for instance. everyone is with us now, but three months ago everyone was opposed.    Now if we call a meeting, everyone will be there.  There's a strong nucleus of activists.

Our comrades made some problems bigger than they really are.   They see I'm responsible for various things and they figure that since I'm in charge, I must be taking money and using others for myself.    But Estela has everything wrong. A while back she wanted to take over Carmen's job at the co-op, but I said to wait until we started up another project and we'd put her in charge of that. But that's what started it off.

We've got to help the co-op, keep it solvent so we can restock supplies. Everyone thinks I'm running it badly; in fact I keep bailing it out.    But since we're starting up the sewing workshop I can't keep it afloat anymore, and it did run a few deficits.   Now we're thinking of other projects.   In addition to the sewing shop, maybe a garbage service or a bus drivers co-op.   It's only in the planning stage.  I'm already running three food co-ops in other neighborhoods besides this one, so I'm giving jobs to at least three other people.

We're fighting people who, even if they're not corrupt themselves, come here to corrupt others.  You've got to be aware of that.   Because besides being corrupted, everything else changes.  There's never the same confidence.   That 's one of the most important things I've got to keep in mind in my job.

Hapy and Nico were trying to change our course of action.    They wouldn't adapt to our way of doing things.    They wanted to impose themselves.  They brought their experience from other neighborhoods and tried to use it here.   They convinced some people here with lies, and even when we talked to them about what they were doing, they continued to spread misinformation about us.    So we told them they couldn't work with us.  A delegation from UPREZ came and saw what was happening, that what they had been saying about us wasn't true.    They wanted to manage the co-op so they could manipulate it themselves.   And we didn't permit it.

CATARINO

I wouldn't mind if UPREZ had more power, as long as they had better goals. They've taken the name of one of our revolutionary heroes, Emiliano Zapata, so they've accepted a lot of responsibility.   They make a lot of demands on everyone else, but they should be trying to help the people here, not hurt them.  They're against everything we've already accomplished and everything we might accomplish in the future.   That's not helpful, and now the people themselves are rejecting them.

They're an outside influence here.   That 's not to say we don't approve of what they're trying to do, but they should change their strategy and unite with us. Sure, respect what the community has done, help them get public services, and watch out for their interests.   But that's not what they're doing.   Up to now I haven't seen any results from their work here.    If they'd be willing to refocus their work, they're welcome to join with us.

But we won't let them pull our work down with them.    They've gone to the mayor and talked to him, but they just shout and aggravate the situation.     They don't talk with us anymore, and that's no way to get results.          I have no idea what political agenda they've got or who leads them- they're the only ones who know that.  We've never talked to them about these things.   We just know where they stand from their graffiti on the walls here.

Mario Ramon Beteta announced today his resignation as Governor of the State of Mexico.  Beteta read his statement in a grey Oxford suit with a white handkerchief in the breast pocket.    While he spoke calmly and with ease, his supporters seemed preoccupied and nervous. Having entered the room at his side, they all left quickly and avoided interviews with the press.

El Excelsior, September 8, 1989

The new Governor Ignacio Picardo said the country needed an ethics law for public officials that prohibited abuse of power and illegal financial gain.     Promising to govern with austerity and public openness, and without privilege and ostentation, he denied that his new agenda intended to criticize the previous administration. He promised first to visit the Valle de Chalco where immediate government action to provide public services was required.

El Excelsior, September 12, 1989

"No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up"- Oral History of Community Activism in a Mexican Squatter Settlement, Part 2

January 1989

January is a raw month in the Valle de Chalco.    High winds carry stench from Mexico City's largest garbage dump down every street and into every home of Chalco's many impoverished neighborhoods, known here as colonias. Oust devils stir dirt onto clean laundry hanging out to dry.    The roar of traffic on the nearby Mexico City-Puebla highway drowns conversation.  The Valle's only consolation, an unimpeded view of the snow-capped Iztaccihuatl volcano, is completely obscured this time of year by a thick veil of smog.

Through the garbage- littered, open-sewered, and mud-bogged streets of a colonia named Dario Martinez, Guadalupe Rosas carries on with her day. I catch sight of her returning from market, a stooped figure with a thick single braid down her back and a bucket straining from each arm. I call out and she turns to look my way. Her face brightens gradually and then smiles broadly. She invites me to walk home with her.   When we arrive in the neatly swept dirt courtyard of her attractive cinder block house, she asks me in and begins to talk.

She talks mostly about herself, about what caused her to move here, and how she has adjusted to life on the frontier.      Dario Martinez does truly lie in a political limbo land, beyond the Federal District but inside the defacto city limits, where building is unregulated, housing deeds are unrecognized, and all manner of public services are unsupplied.  It is the typical kind of peri-urban frontier that millions of Mexicans call home.

Guadalupe lives on another kind of frontier however. By the personal example she sets in Dario Martinez- as an outspoken woman, concerned mother, and angry homeowner- Guadalupe is influencing the way her community has started to engage in grassroots activism and to unleash their own political power.

A new kind of citizen-activist has emerged from the ashes of one party government and economic boom times in Mexico.   Fiercely independent and proudly defiant, these grassroots leaders in the making might well be the political force of tomorrow.  So it would be wise to listen now to what Guadalupe has to say about things such as community activism, personal motivation, and public leadership.

GUADALUPE

I came here from Tlalpitzahuac. I had been living with my mother and I moved in with my husband's parents when I got married. My father-in-law had a big house and let us move in.   But you know that when you're married, it's always better to live apart from the in-laws.   There are always little problems.   They had their children, I had my own children from before- and you know the saying, my daughter's son is my grandson, but my daughter-in-law's son is a nobody.

My children always had less than the others.    I had problems with my mother-in­ law, and one day we started hitting each other.  So I said I was leaving.     My brother was living here in Dario, and he came to tell me my uncle was selling the land he'd bought next door.      So I bought three lots from him, 'cause I have three children.  That was about nine years ago.

But my husband didn't want to move here right away.    He wanted to move to Guadalajara. So I came by myself with the three kids, 'cause I think you can raise children anywhere.  I figured you had to think first about tomorrow, that's why I bought three lots, so each would get one.  I made the payments myself, 35,000 pesos for each lot.   And then my husband came after all.

I'd stayed in Tlalpitzahuac until that fight with my mother-in-law.     She's a pretty tough woman, and since I was on the skinny side, I figured I'd better move out, 'cause I'd never win where I was.       Even though the house there had everything you'd want, like a toilet and electricity, our room was in the back next to the pig sty, so we were always putting up with that stink.

First my husband said he'd build me a room at the back of my brother's house, but then I began to think.      Why not build my own house?   But there wouldn't be enough money 'til my son could get a job.    And since my husband's truck was wrecked, he couldn't work either. So I started selling carpets.     So we bought whatever materials we could and built two rooms.     When my husband finally started working again, he only made three long hauls and before he got sick and had to quit.

Nothing but bare necessity motivates me to be the way I am and do the things do.    How do I feel when I fight for something and win?   Satisfied, nothing more . What drives me to fight in the first place?     Our needs!  In other colonias, they've already got the basics.   So why don't we?  There are plenty of risks doing what I do- physical threats too.    And especially gossip, gossip from neighbors who say I'm just stirring up trouble.    But it doesn't bother me.

I used to be afraid to speak up even to a primary school teacher.     If one asked me to come talk about my children, I'd be really afraid, because teachers always act superior.       Anyhow, after getting involved around here, first in the school and then in other things, I'm not afraid of anything anymore.   Now I see the authorities just as corrupt no-goods, and in spite of the fact I still consider myself a humble person, when I'm in front of them, I feel superior.

I may not know much, but I do know how to demand things.    And if I'm demanding­, too bad. That's just the way it is.   There's no excuse not to be honest about it.   When people say, "now, now, don't complain about that teacher even if she's doing something wrong, because she's so nice", or, "that councilman is a nice guy because he gave us some free handouts", I don't let them get away with it.

Whatever the community needs most, that's where they screw us most.     When they began selling land here, they knew a lot of people were desperate to buy. We came here because we just couldn't afford the rent in the city. There, even when you could pay, the landlord might say "get out!", and you had to go.

Even though it's pretty ugly here now, maybe later there'll be something for our children.  We've got to be realists.   Let's wake up and not act like sheep all our lives.  We've got to start making demands, because we're paying taxes after all, and we shouldn't even have to do that if they don't give us something in return.

The Secretary of Finance asked state officials to give more information to tax payers, saying that improved service will result in more responsible payment of taxes and asking officials - to make significant and sweeping changes.

The Director of Public Security said the state assembly is considering increased penalties for extortion and abuse of authority for those who break the law and use their position for personal gain.

Uno Mas Uno, February 9

I'm most satisfied when I help others out with their problems.    A lot of women come to me for advice.  I help any way I can, and if I can't, I'll ask others. I'll say, "friends, know what?      It's about such and such.   What do you think? Can we or can't we?"   For example, a woman might need tortilla coupons but doesn't have an ID card, and I'll help her get one.

What I stay out of are marital problems.     It's not a good idea to get involved. Giving that kind of advice is wrong; when you butt into someone's married life for some small problem, bigger problems always follow.

Daniel is of wiry build, with designer eye glasses and a wisp of a moustache. In public he listens and speaks with intensity, but in private he talks to me in a very low voice, choosing his words with care.       He is almost diffident, even when the tape recorder is off.    I take this as reflecting a strong preference to remain in the background whenever outsiders are looking in.

Daniel acts necessarily like the consummate insider, for discrete meetings, careful planning, and selective alliances are vital to his work in Dario Martinez.  As a leftwing organizer sent into the community to guide and encourage grassroots activism, Daniel walks a fine line between leading too much and relinquishing too much.   But being male, much younger and better educated than the others, he inevitably stands above and somewhat apart from his mostly female comrades.

I never manage to visit Daniel in his home.    It is still unfinished, totally unfurnished, and he never invites me to see.    Instead we talk in the food co-op's back room, a less than ideal place for a private discussion. We are interrupted many times, but strangely I feel that Daniel prefers it this way.  This way people know he has nothing to hide.

DANIEL

My in-laws live in Ayotla, the nearest town, and that's how I got to know what was going on here- how people were speaking up about the food co-operative and the land tenure situation.

I first became active in the colonia through the co-op.    The ladies came to where I was working and said they wanted to open one up. The idea was to get some public services for the colonia, and I'd help find a suitable site to open up the store and get government subsidies for it.

This work isn't sponsored by anyone on the outside.    People just got together out of need- the same need that first drove them to ask for help from the authorities, with no luck.  We're all in this together, just people that came to live here some time ago.     Most of us have relatives in Ciudad Neza and came here before our houses were even ready to move into.

A lot of the folks here have the same way of doing things they l earned in Ciudad Neza.   They came and didn't have any water or electricity- the exact same problems that they'd had before in Neza.    Take the school for instance­ it' s the same fight they'd had in Neza a long time ago, pressuring the authorities to do something.  But things here are even worse than they were there.

There're two kinds of people here. One kind needed help for so long, the whole time paying taxes and staying quiet, they couldn't keep up and had to sell out. The other kind came here to get what they wanted.       They were activist before and they're activist now. And yes, women here bring a lot of experience that lets them see things as they really are.       After all, they'd already been pushed out of the city.

I'll tell you how I really see things.   What's happening is that everybody here has a lot of family problems and conflicts with neighbors, and so they' ve got to do something different to take their minds off themselves.     So when the chance comes along to help run a food co-op for example, their own problems don't seem so important anymore.  They begin to see the big picture of their neighborhood.     It happens inside.  Even though most don't realize it, they take on a new way of seeing things- not necessarily analytic or scientific, but different than before.

There aren't any written requirements for being an activist. What happens is that slowly you go about transforming yourself in community work.     Your mind and ego both change.   You always run into conceited people around here, but for some reason or another, as soon as they become activists, they take on a new attitude in their everyday life too.

It's almost frightening how much it changes someone, how it's possible for so many people to change so much.    Naturally there are also some who move forward and then slip back, forward and back, up and then down. They're the kind who never really change.

The fact is that everyone in this colonia is potentially an activist, or at least a good 90% are.  Some are more passive, they come and go, listen in now and then, speak their minds only once in a while.   But when the moment comes, they're ready to act up, either for or against.

Catarino is short and compact.  Seated behind a big metal desk in a one­ room office, he assumes an air of guarded officialdom whenever we meet.     His weekend duty is to oversee his party's political activities in the colonia and administer funds and favors.   Erratic office hours makes him difficult to find however. I am told the same by community residents who come repeatedly and unsuccessfully to seek his help.

Catarino's manner of speaking often verges on being a parody of self­ serving doub le-talk and second-hand speechmaking.   What he says to me is never new or unexpected.  He is but an easily replaceable cog in the gigantic wheel which is PRI, the ruling Institutional Revolutionary Party that has governed Mexico continuously and paternalistically since 1923. Catar in o' s nonetheless is the only human voice that Dario Martinez residents ever hear issue from the PRI machine.

CATARINO

I've lived here since 1981.  When I first came I had my suspicions that there'd be some kind of land fraud out here.   But now I've got my deed.  I moved from Ciudad Neza because things were too tense and crowded there.    I'd never done any public service there because I was too busy with my job.     Here I've got a bit more time to contribute- whenever I'm free you'll find me here helping out.

I feel I'm a public servant even though I'm not paid anything officially.    This is a voluntary job that comes through PRI.        It's not a government office we're in.      But it's the only office like it in the neighborhood, so people must come here first whenever they need something.    Then I tell them where to go and who else to see.      Sometimes it's enough just to talk with me.      It depends on what they're after.

There aren't many people like me here.   Most people are too busy looking after themselves to help others.  You need special motivation to devote your time to other people's problems.  I feel I'm part of a big movement, and that's what gives me my satisfaction.

Estela is dark and robust.   She is prone to talk first and ask quest i ons later, a surprising and welcome change for an outsider used to explaining without cease his presence and purpose in the neighborhood.    Her house is as poor and sad as one finds in Dario Martinez- one room hammered from scavenged boards over a dirt floor, sharing its back and side walls with neighbors. A curtained privy stands out front.

Estela makes conversation and friendships with ease, but just as easily she has her feuds and fallings out.      A colorful character, a good talker, and an inveterate gossip, she is the only one of the four on speaking terms with the others.

ESTELA

I'm from Puebla.  I was born there, and then my parents brought me to Mexico City. After my father d i ed, my mother took me to Ciudad Neza where he had left us a building lot and we lived there for 14 years.    From there we went back to Puebla, bought some l and, and I got married and had my kids.     After my husband left me  stayed there a while, but since the s i tuation got harder for us, we came back here.      I've got brothers and sisters nearby, and they helped me a lot when I returned four years ago.

I began to get more active here about two years ago. I went across the high way there to be on the dairy co-op board because I needed milk for my kids back when they were still small.      That's how I met Guadalupe.   But we really became friends when I moved into the neighborhood and she told me about the tortilla coupon program at the co-op here.  And then the school started.    That's when I really got involved.

I feel that more than anything else, I'm motivated from the inside to be an activist in the community.   Never before in my life had I been in the situation I'm in today.  Ever since I was little, I've always minded my own business, keeping to my own housework or going to my own parties.    That's what I' d always thought life should be like.

And now, since taking up the struggle here, it just happened spontaneously.   No one made me do it or promised me something if I did.    I just threw myself in, on my own, fighting against the government that exploits us here every day ­ draining us, lying to us in every sense of the word.     If the government were our true partner, it would always be with us- not like a father from on high, but like a comrade lending a helping hand .

 But not he re. Unfortunately they treat us like we're even lower than we really are. They just want to throw us down and walk all over us- and that' s what we want to defend our dignity against , because we're human beings too.        We've got to pick ourselves out of the mud where the government has us now- because I'm a citizen of this country too!

If we're organized we'll get better schools and public services. No more extortion.    Kick out corruption.

Fight for an education that serves the pub l i c. Demonstrate on March 28.   Meet here.

-Painted Wall Signs

I don' t have connections in politics or in anything else.     I just know how to work and eat and sleep. That's it.   But seeing what's happening- the disorder in everything they do- that' s when we finally say, Okay, why is it so?

I got on the PTA in order to get the school off the ground, because until now there's been hardly any progress . Even though the teachers say they're democratic, they're not- they haven't helped us to anything.     They only teach, they don' t help build the school at all .        So that's what got me- started. I joined in September, at the start of the school year.

The school would not exist if not for the handful of parents who first formed a committee two years ago. Since then it has developed mare formally into a Parents-Teachers Association, with six elected positions, scheduled meetings , a building fund , and, most importantly, its own primary school to oversee.  ·

Open PTA meetings are held on the school grounds before morning cl asses , Orderly discussions often break down and chaos reigns.    PTA members, teachers, and parents talk at once.   Those who most speak most tend to stand at the rear and must shout to be heard.   Neither an agenda nor a chairperson controls the freewheeling discussion.

Despite being out of doors and on their feet, straining to hear and be heard over the drone of traffic, most parents follow the discussion closely. Lately they complain about teachers who lack commitment to building the school and about the PTA president's alleged financial mismanagement.

GUADALUPE

Really, everything here's going to pot.   I don't like side deals being made- here they're all in a plot together, teachers and the PTA both.     They're not acting for the benefit of the neighborhood anymore- instead they're just insulting us.

The PTA should say they're for all the parents.    After all, it was organized by all of us to help the teachers.   We all believed in the teachers.   But for me, kids come before parents and teachers both- their needs are the most important. You think it's right for teachers to let kids roll dice in the school yard?

I told the principal, the PTA, and the teachers- it's not right to ask us to buy more building materials for the school if you're just going to throw them out.     For them it doesn't matter because it's not their money being wasted­, it's ours. Some of us have regular jobs but most of us don't.     We're either garbage pickers or dayworkers. When a job boss needs somebody, you might earn 6,000 pesos that day- but with five or six kids, how can you manage?

It's easy for teachers to ask for contributions to buy something like cement for the schoolroom floors.     But how much?  Five thousand pesos a kid?    Imagine how tough it is for parents to come up with that.    And what for, if the cement mix gets thrown out or rained on?   I just don't think it's right.

If you want to know the truth, my husband told me to quit the PTA and let the school go to the dogs.  He said if I don't like what's happening, I should just accept it and let the others take over- let the teachers run things. have any interest anyway because I don't have school age kids anymore.

I resigned when I started seeing changes I didn't like.    Unfortunately there were things I just couldn't let happen.   I'd already tried to resign three or four times, but the other parents wouldn't let me, and so I had to stay.      I tried to make them understand I just couldn't fix things by myself.

Never before had I been on a committee of any kind- I'd never liked getting involved. And I don't remember just when I decided to take part- I guess it was when people started agreeing with my ideas.    I'd go to a meeting and say something, and people would listen.

But some people are jealous of the PTA- they try anything to get on it. When I was elected, I'd always attend meetings, but when I resigned and stopped going, I got blamed for the problems.

There are many dedicated people in the Valle de Chalco working for the common good.  Their efforts to organize community residents are fraught with problems, however, because too often their work is met with official resistance rather than support.

Uno Mas Uno, September 4

DANIEL

I t's a problem an activist faces when neighbors think she's too much of a busybody, but nobody can resolve that except the individual.    When we're meeting about the school , and one lady insults another, instead of talking back she should say, "Hey listen, we've got to get the school in mot i on, and we' ve got to do this, this, and that.   So what do you say?"              But when people appoint themselves to go it alone, then you know i t' s all over.

According to the circumstances, people will get together in small groups , they'll stimulate others and maybe act up themselves.    And then maybe a leader steps forward.  But most only listen and don't lead.   They just bring up the rear. But in the same situation other people can overcome fear and head up the front lines.

Some things need more input and attention than they get- like planning a meeting.     People say they can't go, not that they'll try to go.    And so we get up in arms.  That's what happened when Guadalupe was PTA president. Everyone said Guadalupe doesn' t do this, doesn't do that. And when she resigned , everyone quieted down.

GUADALUPE

Have you seen how the school is run now?   Terrible! But the real problems were when we just got started and had to take over the lot and build something fast. We grabbed bricks and boards from wherever we could- empty lots, the side of the highway.     Back then, no one ever told me not to help just because I didn't have kids in school.  And back then I didn' t have a good reason to carry even a single brick!

And now they tell me to stay home so they can run things as they want.  It's because I make everyone see what's really going on with the PTA and the teachers.   And they don't like it, because when I'm around, people listen.

The fact is that all this happened since Estela got involved.     She's acting as if she's the only one around. But everyone sees the truth. If you join a group, you've got to work from the inside alongside everyone else instead of doing things in your own interest.

Maybe that's why she does more, but she doesn't really work harder. The others· don't like the way she takes over either.    We're all equal in this.   Estela has her problems, the others have theirs too, just like I've got mine.  We're all poor and abused.

ESTELA

Sure, among neighbors there're rumors and jealousy of the activists, and not just because we activists get to go to marches and protests. A lot of the others feel inferior because even though they got involved in the struggle first, they're still lagging behind. And then people like me came in much later and went straight ta the head of the movement.

I don't know, I can't analyze why, but I don't think it's jealousy exactly. It's more like egotism when you can't see your neighbor is working for the same cause you are. Instead of trying to bring her down, on the contrary, you should say, "listen comrade, I can't go on the march today. But you can, so go ahead". Don't say, "you're going just because you've got a big head- you think you're a real big shot".  No, i t's better to use nice words like, "listen comrade, you can go but I can' t, so please go in my place".

PRI has a lot of egotism too, but theirs is the egotism of money. Poor people might be egotistical without having any money at all.  Often we don't have a thing to eat, and then if just one centavo should fall into our hands- that ' s when we become egotistical- when we keep it and don't loosen our grip.  On another level, egotism is the fault of the individual, because I can be egotistical just by saying, "no, that neighbor is cheating me and I can' t let her beat me."

There are a lot of different kinds of egotism, and we should recognize all of them.  How you perceive your neighbor depends on spotting their egotism.     You have to analyze the situation, know it well, be able to describe it to yourself- how is this, how is that.   Because unfortunately, sometimes we don ' t know what kind of colleagues we're working with.

And at the last minute we realize they're the worst kind we could ever hope to have, and then we realize we've made a lot of mistakes, but by then, how can we put them right?     It's too late, isn't it?   Because the mistakes have already been planted and are beginning to grow.   Then there's no turning back .

 We've seen several problems like this already come up. When we realize we've got a problem, that our colleagues are causing trouble, we try to calm things down as soon as we can, talk to the person making the trouble apart from the others- just let them know we think what they're doing is wrong.

We might say, Listen friend, what's going on?    Why the trouble?  And by talk i ng it out from there, arguing sometimes, more or less you get a handle on what' s the matter and can manage the situation so it doesn't get out of hand.   You've always got to talk first and act later, because by talking you can bring up other things and keep the organization intact .

GUADALUPE

Maybe I'm opposed to their ideas.   They want to do things differently.   When we first started out it was never like this, like meeting in Estela's house. They ought to meet in public, there's no reason to hide from others.

We used to meet twice a week- on Wednesdays to make plans and on Fridays to tell everybody.     Everyone was invited on Wednesday, but usually only the most active ones came.  But now, besides these meetings, there are others on the side.  Friends asked me if I knew meetings were held in Gloria's house on Saturdays , and I had to say no I didn't.   So I asked Daniel what the problem was that they should meet there in secret.    "No problem", he said.  "We just came to talk to Gloria.

So I told him if I wasn't any use to them anymore , they should just tell me, because I didn't like what they were doing.    It isn't right to scheme things up outside the regular meetings.

 Take the other co-op Gloria ran.   Some knew about it and some didn't . Now why was that?  If we're an organization, we all ought to be in on everything.     we only learned about it when Gloria resigned.    Daniel accepted her resignation and so did Estela and all the others.   But I said, "Wait a minute.   Gloria might want to resign, but what about the co-op? It doesn't belong to her, it belongs to all of us."

I don't go to meetings much anymore so I don't know a lot about what's being said.  But if I go and see something that's not right, I'll speak up.     I don' t care even if it's against Daniel himself, I'll tell him so right to his face. But there are so many secret meetings now you don't even know when or where they're held.  And since they don't invite others, I guess there are divisions now. The four of us that used to belong- me, Lucina, Zenobia, and Graciela­ have left, and they don't invite us anymore at all.

Starting with the economic crisis of 1982, and accelerating after the official mishandling of the 1985 earthquake relief, local PRI party bosses have increasingly seen their authority challenged by upstart grassroots activist groups.   A coalition of such groups called the Emiliano Zapata Popular Union (UPREZ), also known simply as "the organization", is most active in the Valle de Chalco.    Daniel works as UPREZ's official organizer in Dario Martinez and both Estela and Guadalupe are among its de facto leaders there, although Estela lately has been taking on a larger role.

ESTELA

We run things in UPREZ on three levels- militants, activists, and participants. Participants are the women who come to meetings and back us up.     Activists are people like Juan Manuel and the woman next door - and Guadalupe, Graciela, and Carmen, just to give you some names.   And militants are the ones who're willing to do any damn thing they have to for the organization.

We're in a small group. mess up the whole thing. It' s a political cell, so if one of us messes up , we I'll tell you who's in it: Jorge, Chucho, Daniel , Don Ramon, and me.  And we're the only ones.   We have meetings to keep on eye on all the organization's problems that start off small.    But for us, they're big problems just the same.

We meet privately and don't want other people to join us.  When we talk out in the open it's so people won't think decisions came already made from our group . We started holding the meetings all the time, but then somebody else said she wanted to come because she didn't trust what we were saying in those meetings . So Daniel said since there was a lot of gossiping about our meetings, we should just call them off.

But we've started them up again, and this time no one else knows- not because we don't want them to, but because people will take it wrong if they found out. They'd get the wrong idea, that we're insiders with special privileges.    It 's not that so much.  But in order to study things like we do- politics and things like that- we can't have too many other people in on it.

There isn't really any hierarchy around here but people would like there to be one, because some feel superior to others.   I' m saying we all should learn how to speak up to the author i ti es.    If one person's afraid, the rest of us will support her.  It's not necessary for all of us to speak out. But I' ll always be there if needed .

 No one elected me to speak my mind. I just stood up and confronted the naked truth that was here all along.        Now I belong to UPREZ. We're a group of activists fighting to improve the Valle de Chalco.   And because of UPREZ I' m not the same woman I used to be.

Before I was just in the fight for the school and the food co-op.   But not any more.  Now I'm focused on a bigger fight , for everything the whole neighborhood needs.  Now I'm part of the organization, an active member . I consider myself a member of the proletariat. For me, UPREZ is focused on the big struggle, the demands of the entire neighborhood, struggling for people without anything. What I've seen of UPREZ so far is really good.

UPREZ sent some of us to Zacatecas to meet with a lot of other organizations. I can't name them all, but we met with women from all over Mexico who are fighting the same fight we are all over the Valle de Chalco.

That experience helped me because women from all over shared their stories. But when we went to Torreon, the police attacked us. That same day a call came through from Durango that other women there were on a hunger strike and the police broke that up too. So we all went to Durango to show our support for what they were doing.

CATARINO

From our point of view, UPREZ causes a lot of trouble because it leads people astray. It protests equally against both good and bad- it's always on the attack. This isn't to say all unofficial groups are bad.    But for some, the only purpose is to recruit activists and carry out political goals.     They're always demanding things for free and won't accept any improvement in public service if they have to pay for it.

So far we haven't had the chance to talk to UPREZ officially, and we don't see any reason to get in touch with them.      As public servants, our first job is to talk to people- find out what they want and what their goals are.   All UPREZ wants is to attack.  And when someone attacks with their tongue, next thing you know they'll attack with their fists.   So we won't give them the chance to confront us, it'll just lead to trouble. We hope won't happen.     But we'll answer if they want to talk first.

We've only talked to them in a few meetings. They planned confrontations just like they did in Ciudad Neza.   And we can't let this get out of hand, so whenever we're able, we put an end to it.   The police come around very little here even though we've asked for more protection.

The state government offers a subsidized school breakfast program.   Parent delegates pick up the breakfast packets at a central depository and sell them to neighborhood schoolchildren for a token fifty peso price.  Estela has taken charge in Dario Martinez but people complain that she only sells to her friends' children and is too casual in collecting money.    Some mothers even accuse Estela of skimming from the sales for her own benefit.

DANIEL

A permanent hierarchy in our community would turn people off.     Take the school breakfasts. Estela is in charge, but others say she only sells them to her friends.  And in  meetings they'll say it should be Graciela's or Guadalupe's turn to take over the selling.   But then Graciela and Guadalupe say they can't this week, why doesn't someone else?   So people let it pass, but the problems go on.

It's a situation that rules out some things out but allows others.     A system without hierarchy survives only if everyone participates- if everyone works and everyone takes responsibility.    A structure slowly takes shape, for instance with the breakfasts and the school itself, and slowly we're seeing everyone pitch in.

Of course, a situation is more natural if each one analyzes for himself what's happening. I've seen that people don't fit into hierarchies because if there was one, somebody would say, I'm in charge of the breakfasts regardless of what others say, because I'm on top.   I run things, I can sell them just to friends if I please.    And then things get out of hand.

Experience is what matters most.   And it matters who comes and who doesn't come to meetings.  Estela first got us the breakfasts so she's in charge, but it shouldn't be just her alone.   And the same for the school- that isn't just one person's achievement. No, it belongs to everybody.   People finally see they aren't just spectators anymore, but participants, and by participating they really can get results.

Hierarchies fall apart as soon as people realize they don't work.     Recently Estela and Guadalupe had a fight over the breakfasts, and everyone decided Estela shouldn't sell anymore.  So now they've got to find someone else.

Making changes like that is possible only because everyone is in charge- we're all making the decisions together, not just one person.   For example, I'd rather have Estela keep doing the selling.    I said that in three or four meetings, but the others didn't want her any more, so she has to stop.

After a month and a half vacation, more than 2.5 million children in 6,792 schools will return to class.     This year the winter school calendar was changed in order to protect the health of children, teachers, and staff when studies showed that thermal inversions would push pollution levels into the danger zone between December and January.

Uno Mas Uno, January 30

Students returning to their classes yesterday caused a notable increase in air pollution, which worsened again after several days of tolerable air quality.

Uno Mas Uno, February 2

Ozone pollution continued affecting southeastern Mexico City yesterday with a reading of 188, only 12 points below the level considered a Stage One emergency.

Uno Mas Uno, February 9

ESTELA

It's not that I consider myself especially gifted or anything, but I think I know more about things now than others do.    I've got a position inside the organization, and I've learned how to negotiate with the authorities.  I can go before any one of them without being afraid.    I just feel like I'm better prepared than the others.   There are a lot of colleagues that still can't do things- in meetings they always keep their mouths shut.

Whenever we meet, we focus on who can do what.    We try to figure out who will participate and who won't.  That's why we keep some meetings completely closed. No one but us know about our decisions.    First we talk things over, then we call an open meeting and say, "Look, we've got a proposal here- it's such and such". That's how we finally show our cards.

For instance, I might propose something or other.    If the others think it seems any good, they'll think it over. If not, someone else will propose something different, and maybe then a third i ea will come up. That way we've got a lot to talk over and choose from.     My proposal isn't necessarily the one we take. Instead we get a consensus.   That's what we always do.   I don't run the meetings all by myself even though I could if I wanted to. And what I propose doesn't always get voted on.

So you can't say we're all leaders.  We're just a bunch of activists fighting for the sake of the neighborhood.   For us, a leader is like a cacique, someone who dominates others and just tells people what to do.    For us, the word leader is the worst one in the dictionary.    When outsiders show up and ask who's leading us, we all say, "Nobody!"   So who's really leading us?   No one, we don't want a leader!

DANIEL

No one says he's a ''leader" around here.   A leader is someone who's sold out. Everyone here knows leaders only show up to insult and cheat people.     People have learned from experience, so now when you say "leader", it means someone's just come to rob you.

Even the real popular leaders get bought off.    I don't know how it is in other colonias, but here there's a lot of selfish interests created by some people who at first are real community leaders, but then eventually got bought off by PR! and the other parties.

So we've taken up another idea, one that's more closely ti ed to our situation here.  We all have to work together . Let's everybody go on the march and talk to the authorities.    We're learning that in our case, i t's not just a few, i t's everyone that makes a difference.

CATARINO

Here we don' t make any attempt to recruit new PR! members.  I don ' t know i f the other parties are trying either. When PR! does something here, our purpose is not just to recruit people.     The people who accept us freely on their own, those we'll take.  Maybe ten percent are members, and that's not many.

There's more alienated people here, people who won't have anything to do with politics. Even though I'm a PRIista, I think our good governor realizes i t' s a tough situation.  But it's only through our own efforts that we'll be able to resolve it.      I'm serving because of our needs here- if we don't participate directly, it'll be impossible to get any services at all . But our needs have to be funneled through our councilmen, and from them up to town hall.

The ejido lands were reclaimed by the government in 1983 and they distributed building lots out to people in 1985. There were originally about 100 ejidatarios.  The man this colonia was named far died a while back.    I don't know much about him, but his son Juan Martinez is our chief council man, and he keeps working hard for Dario Martinez in spite of all the attacks that groups like UPREZ and their people from the outside make on h i m.

The neighborhood is dark and dangerous at night.    Friends suggest I leave by sunset.   One morning I pass the gutted chassis of a volkswagon microbus which the previous evening it had been someone's brand new pride and joy. The streets are illuminated only by low wattage bulbs wired to illegal transformer boxes. Most people contribute to their block's transformer fund, but some "electricity bosses'' make money off the system.

Officially, the government regards neighborhood electrification as a low priority improvement scheme, simply as an individual's matter of convenience. But for people here it is a question of law and order, perhaps even of life and death one night.   As for Juan Martinez however, electricity is merely another public service subject to his private taxation.

GUADALUPE

Juan Martinez isn't an embarrassment for PRI , because PRI is what made him what he is.  PRI is shameless, and Juan Martinez even more so.    It's not just dirty business, it's disgusting business! That man is living off the poor.

When he brought those transformers in here- even after we told him we wouldn' t put up with any more of his money making schemes!- he told people to talk to me about them, that he had put me in charge of collecting the money!    So I made it clear that I didn't have anything to do with that thief.

I guess Juan Martinez tries to get people to fall into the same traps.     He thinks anyone can be bought, because money corrupts- and he can corrupt anybody. But we're not going to run with his type if it means screwing the community.   We're all equal in our needs.

And I've never spoken to him in pr iv ate.    Never! Everything has been out in the open, in front of the others.  When there've been confrontations, everyone's been there.  Not once have I spoken to him one to one.

 You've got to see things for what they are.    If some politician offers to give you hand outs, it's just so he can make you attend his propaganda meeting, to win your confidence.     We've already been fooled about the electricity and everybody's more suspicious now.

For that they came around asking each person for 150,000 pesos, and 300,000 if you were on the corner lot.      They said they'd put in the electricity right to the house if they got 60% of the installation costs in advance.     Well, we've paid 80%, and where's our lights?

We paid our money to Juan Martinez.   We paid in the town hall, not at the electric company.  We got some receipts that say "Paid to the electric company" and others that say "Donation".   If it's really a donation, it ought to be whatever people can afford to give.   So it's not really a donation it's theft.

The company now says they're not responsible, that they don't even know what's going on, but I doubt they could be in the dark about all this.     Where did the transformers come from then?   I think the fraud is between the company and town hall . And it's high level fraud, because it's not just this neighborhood where it's going on, but all over the Valle de Chalco.

DANIEL

The government finally realized what might happen here.    In five years they might really have a political explosion.    That's why they're investing a lot of money in schools, electricity, water, roads. They've learned from what happened in Ciudad Neza, Arragon, and Ecatepec- places that have already exploded once.

 They've realized what the deal here is because it's obvious from all the noise we're making- especially before the elections.   And everyone they wanted to control d i dn' t vote for them.  They all voted for Cardenas instead . And so the authorities got worried.

President Cardenas- elected by the majority.  Don't let them fool you. Our delegate promised everyone four coupons. It's a lie! Jesus and the Fat One are corrupt.

Neighborhood Graffiti

CATARINO

They have no idea how to obtain public services because they don't know how to work together. It's that way all over our neighborhood.    I have plenty of problems working as a public servant- really, I consider myself their servant­ but more than anything, I'm a neighbor with the same needs as everyone else. But our own neighbors become obstacles, they put themselves in the way for a hundred and one reasons.

Take electrification for example- it's a big issue right now around here. Since 1986 we've been asking the electric company to come in, and the long delay is due entirely to our neighbors.          There're a few things I don't understand.    Our neighbors protest they're not getting some service or another right away, but they refuse to cooperate even a little.

We want total electrification. No more transformer fraud. We want household meters.   No more robbery. No to transformer fraud. No more corrupt electricity bosses.

Neighborhood Graffiti

We made our first payments to the electric company three years ago, each house had to pay 22,500 pesos. Afterwards it went up to 37,500 pesos. All the public servants at town hall intervened with the company for it to charge reasonable prices. And all the payments went directly to the company.

Three groups have to speak up and do their part in order to get public services- the neighborhood, the state government, and then the federal government. But people say 150,000 pesos is too much to pay for electrical hook-ups to their homes.  The hook-ups we've got now are illegal.   We're stealing from the company- plus we have to pay some electricity boss every time we have to repair our own transformer.

The 150,000 pesos the company's charging is based on a study they did.     And they're giving us the chance to pay in installments.    I don't know if the activists will accept that deal, but already about 60% of the others have said yes.  There's also a chance that they'll have to charge us more if everyone doesn't contribute their share. That's why we're asking people to pay- and these are official payments, mind you!

Those payments are considered donations to demonstrate the community's good faith- not to put something over on them.   Donations mean they don't go directly into the treasury, instead they get passed through an intermediary on to the electric company.    That's why they're called donations, because right now they're still unofficial.  Afterwards we'll recognize all these payments. We'll ask people to bring in their receipts that say donations and exchange them for official receipts.

 There are four legal transformers that the company put in, but they don't work because everybody opposed that system.  They think the company charges for more than they use.  Everybody wants household meters, but the company can't afford to put one in each house- so they want to charge everybody an average price. But people here don't understand how the system will work.   They've refused every idea except complete hook-ups to each house.

That's what's got everyone all up in arms with the company. The company just wants to talk to someone who represents the community.   And since we are the community's public servants, we ought to have that role.    No one else.

Relations between Guadalupe and Estela have their regular ups and downs. They dispute who gives more time and effort to community affairs, they vie for the loyalty and confidence of their neighbors, and they complain of each misquoting the other on matters large and small.    The two - women compete for social standing within the neighborhood as much as for political influence within UPREZ.

Neither one is above using personal innuendo to sting the other's reputation.   As a single mother and outspoken feminist, Estela is particularly vulnerable to gossip about her many late night meetings away from home.  Guadalupe meanwhile often delivers not entirely credible sermons about the virtue of being an obedient wife whose only role is to serve her husband.

But regardless of all the small time rivalries, a strong bond between them was forged in the aftermath of the authorities' long anticipated response to the community's expropriation of the two empty lots where the school was built.

GUADALUPE

I had another problem with Estela about a month ago.   She moved into a house that Dona Paz had sold to someone else.   UPREZ was behind her in this.    And when the new owners told her they'd go to the authorities if she didn't leave, Estela told them to get lost.    A big scene started- UPREZ caused the whole problem for no good reason, and then they had to round a lot of people up real fast who would support her.

I wasn't home that day, but when I got back, Estela sent a lady to come tell me about the trouble.  I got pretty mad because nobody had told me this was going on in the first place. She should've said she needed help from the beginning if she was planning to seize a house.   Everyone should be told what's going to happen. If it's a friend, sure we'll help.   But we weren't told anything.

We have a saying here, It's only when you're wounded that you run for help. And I told Estela, "It's only when you got into trouble that you came to me. Don't you realize your neighbors came to help without even knowing what problems you'd cause them?"         You know the authorities here are bastards.   They might grab us all, and we've got children and husbands.    Who knows what trouble this'll cause with our husbands.

I told her, "You should've told us what was going on.”       We could've told our husbands first and maybe figured something out.    And if they took us away, at least they'd know where we were.   If they grab us, my husband's going to ask himself what this is all about.   You've got to think this all through first. Not just do things under the table, it's not right. "What do you think you're doing?", I asked her.

And she said, "No, Dona Guadalupe, the authorities can't come here."     I said, "They can't come in here?   Listen, when they're as rotten as they are, they'17 not only come in, they'll commit all kinds of crimes too.    The devil knows his own work.  I know this and you don't."

 "Yes, Dona Guadalupe", she told me. She got a little mad but not too much . But she's still walking around without realizing you can't do everything by yourself. It's a lie if you think you can do something first and later ask for help. How can one person seize property?   You know what's needed?  Solidarity!

ESTELA

If we can make it happen, we should- in spite of me being a woman and them telling me to stay home and not to call for meetings or tell people how to act up in front of the authorities- because as women, we can do all these things too.     Unfortunately, in this country a woman is considered inferior, like a nothing. But I feel that, if we're all together, we can fight to get benefits for the entire neighborhood.     And that's what we're doing.

A lot of them say just because I don't have a husband, I can come and go as please. But that's not why.  I like to learn new things- just look at my bookshelf! I have books by Lenin, law books- all kinds!    My kids see the fight I'm fighting.  I talk to them about it, about our situation, and give them a proper introduction to things.  My kids all know what kind of focus they should have.

The desire to learn and to show what one has learned is born in the hearts of man.

Benito Juarez

GUADALUPE

There are at least twenty other activists in the neighborhood, and those twenty are fighting for the same things as Estela, and maybe even harder than she is. But they also have responsibilities at home that she doesn't.       Estela might say, "I'm going ta a meeting", and she just goes.    But she doesn't have a husband who says tells her not to go or cares what time she comes back .

Since  didn't like working on the PTA anyway, I figured it's better to let other people do it.       Whenever I still can, I see what's going on.    But when can't, it's because I've got a husband and a house to take care of.     If my husband tells me not to go out, I don't.    In Mexico, there's a lot of machismo, and it's here ta stay.  When your husband says you can't go out, you'd better go along. That's what girls learn from their parents.

There's an old saying, When Gad created the earth, he first made Man, not Woman.      If my husband tells me not to do something and I do it, I don' t know what will happen next.  You can cause a lot of trouble by bothering a man.      You bring problems upon yourself, and when you've got a family, just to do that out of rebellion is stupid. You're going to hurt yourself and your kids both. There are lots of things you should think about before ever doing.

Estela finally realized that when she went ta jail.    She really learned a lot that time.  And thank God I never had to go, and I pray to God I'll never have to.    I prize my freedom.   I don't have any idea how I'd feel in there, I'm sure I'd be bitter when I got out, knowing I'd been in there just to support others.

ESTELA

That was a good experience for me.   I learned a lot from it, because I'll tell you something- I was a well-behaved lady before I went to jail. I'd never say anything to anybody. And when I got out of jail, I told our lawyer- pardon my vulgarity- “Now I'm a son-of-a-bitch, so from now on, every landlord around here will have to deal with me.”   Someone moves here and they get poorer, not richer. For revolutionaries, dying for the cause doesn't matter if that 's what's necessary to win the battle.

It' s been a year since the arrests. When we first started the school , we took over some empty lots.  We did it because we needed to, but one of the owners-­ and none of them even live in the neighborhood!- is a friend of the lady who lives there next to the school. And so that lady told the owner what we'd done.

And they went to town hall and complained that three people took over her building lot to live on.   They said the three were Guadalupe, her brother Macedonio, and Daniel. And then one day when we were all in front of the co­ op, the police came to arrest Macedonio.      The two cops said they had a warrant, but they woul dn' t give us the pap er. They wouldn't even show it to us.

So we said we wouldn't let them take anybody just like that.    They'd have to take no one or all of us.   There were about a hundred of us there.   So they backed off a little to see if we'd change our minds.    So we all decided to go to the police station, and that's when they demanded that Guadalupe, Daniel , and Macedonio identify themselves.

We all said no, and went outside to talk it over between ourselves. And we decided that instead of the three they wanted, we'd get three others to go in their place.  That's when the idea came up that I'd go in Guadalupe's place and Alfredo would go in Macedonio's place.   But we wouldn' t let anyone go in Daniel's place because he wasn't there.

We all went back in but the sargeant said only three could enter because only three were under arrest.   We started to explain the situation to the prosecutor, but he was the kind of person who just won't listen.     We said we'd taken the lots because our children needed a school, but he told us, "You've committed a crime.  Don't you see that you've invaded private property?"    And we said, "No!, the lots are for a school, not for us."

Then they grabbed us and said it's not worth arguing anymore.     They were going to take us before the judge to make a statement, but first they put me and Alfredo into cells out in the back and threw the rest out of the building.

Since it was the first time I'd ever been in jail, I really didn't realize what was going on.     And so I asked the guy who had put us in there what time they'd· let us out, and he said, "I don't know lady."    And I said, "that's alright", because I didn't think it would be very long.

They put Alfredo into a cell with a lot of other men and me in a cell by myself. All our friends were outside making a lot of noise, which made the police mad.  They took us out after about an hour and put us into a police car without letting us say anything to our friends.    We asked them where they were taking us and they said to the judge in Chalco, but in fact they took us to the jail there.  That all happened on Saturday.

On Sunday our friends came, Carmen and her husband, and Inocente the school principal. The truth is that I was feeling pretty bad that day. I'd never been in jail before, and Y kids were alone at home. What's worse, they all had chickenpox.  And the judge was nowhere to be found- the whole time we were in jail we didn't see him once.     But our friends told us not to worry because Daniel had hired a lawyer.

On Monday the lawyer came to talk to us before they called us into court to give our statement, and that's when he told us to give our real names and not be afraid, because we'd be getting out soon.  You see, until then they all thought I was Guadalupe and Alfredo was Macedonio.

So Carmen had to go to my sister's house to get my ID cards, because that's where I keep them. But my family didn't know I was in jail- in fact they didn't know I was involved in any of this.         A lot of time they don't agree with what I do, so I just don't tell them.

The new constitution of February 5, 1917 was revolutionary because it totally changed what had gone before.    Example: Afticle 3) Education will be free of charge, obligatory, secular, and democratic.

Wall poster in the new school

To keep the school open, I'd go back to jail in a minute.     I'll do anything for a good cause.  I'm against people who buy land and leave their lots empty. They're just speculators, or they put up cheap construction that's ready to fall down as soon as it's built.   It's dangerous for our kids.

So everything’s been quiet since then, but we'll see what happens when we take over that side street and close it off to make the play ground.   Juan Martinez is dead set against it.   He said he'd rather change his name than let the school stay there.

When he was a ejidatario he sold those lots, that was his first fraud.   And the thing now is, he still thinks he owns everything here.    A big shot!  And since he's the chief councilman he thinks he's got the right to do whatever he wants.

A lot of people are on his side because they think it will benefit them.     He promises people their own building lots if they do what he wants.     But he knows us, because we're the one who always make a lot of noise.    We don't let him rob us like he does others.   But he knows every step we take, and he won't let us win. He wants to keep us all down, but he can't. Things are different now .

He doesn't have anything to do with our neighborhood anymore. He's not logical, trying to get involved in the school like he is.   But last time when he came to check things out, he talked to that lady about the side street, and he told her not to worry.     He said he wouldn't let us close it off.    And that's why she's under his influence.

CATARINO

I think we've got enough schools for the number of school children we've got here. We only need to build a few more classrooms in the schools we've already got. The problem is that kids from other neighborhoods come to our school. We'll support whatever services the community needs, but only in a rational way.  And we won't support land invasions by the landless.

We support land expropriations for new schools only if it's done with the owner's permission. Then we help get compensation from the government.    But since we don't need any more schools, we're against these expropriations.    If we don't act legally, we'll always end up fighting.    Isn't it so?

A lot of the families living here are from the countryside, so they're used to walking for an hour or two to go somewhere anyway.    Our kids only have to walk ten minutes to get to school.   The other kids who come from outside the neighborhood- let them walk!

Don't forget, your neighborhood school isn't far and enrollment for next year begins in February.

Television Advertisement

"The school dropout problem has become a troubling social reality caused by the last several PR! administrations'', sa i d a spokesman for the Popular Socialist Party.

Uno Mas Uno, February 6

Municipal government should look after its people.  We don't deny this, and neither do we accept living conditions as they are now.   And we particularly won't deny our children, because it's not their fault. But we only ask that people from other neighborhoods fight for their own services where they live.

Our school is registered with the state education department, which means they accept our diplomas and pay our teachers, but it's still not officially recognized. For that, we have to show them documents to prove its land has been legally transferred from the original owners, and so far we haven't been able.     It still depends on the owners, and that's why we're keeping out of it. Right now it's strictly up to the parents to convince the former owners to sign it over.

The food co-op is subsidized by a federal program.    They're supposed to charge reasonable prices, but that's not the case here.     They're buying stocks from private suppliers that charge high wholesale prices.  The ca-op is run far political ends by people opposed to us.   And the federal inspectors don ' t come here ta check up, so that's why it's in such trouble.   Far us it's not much help.   There're no price controls here, and since we're not authorized to do it, no one does.

Prior to the community's mobilization to build its own school, the first stirring of grassroots activism was over the creation of a food co­ operative. Through a co-op, people could buy subsidized tortilla coupons, called “tortibonos”. The nearest co-op issuing coupons was in another neighborhood and did not accept outside members.    Guadalupe then spearheaded the move to open a co-op in Dario Martinez.

The state food supply program, CONASUPO, requires neighborhood co-ops to operate under strict guidelines.    Minimum  purchases of full-priced goods are required in order to qualify for subsidized goods like tortillas.   The petition process to reopen this co-op was complicated by its earlier problems even though the previous co-op manager were no longer involved.

Guadalupe was elected to the new co-op's management committee.   Daniel served as its president and a woman named Carmen was its day manager. Lately, disputes over the co-op's weak financial standing have divided the community. Conflicting accounts about a power struggle for the management committee's top positions have begun to circulate.

GUADALUPE

There were a lat of underhanded things done in the food co-op, but not by Carmen, because she's got everybody's support.  Everyone knows she's the most capable person we've got.   Sure, there were a few little problems when the co­-op first got started, but the whole community got involved, and we voted for the people to run it.

But later some guys named Alfredo and Pancho tried to get in on it.     I can't say for sure that Juan Martinez were behind them, but he did make a scene with us, and a few days later Carmen got hassled on the way home from work.     Same guys waiting on the corner started to threaten her.    So Carmen came and told me, and I made an announcement at our next meeting.

Carmen works alone in the co-op now.   Before she always had a helper, but when it started to go downhill we knew something was wrong, so we decided to leave Carmen alone in there.   Alfredo and Pancho disagreed but they didn't say anything in the meeting.  Their idea was to get rid of Carmen and put themselves in charge.  Basically they wanted to take over.

Well, the store really started having problems when Alfredo and Pancho stepped in.    There wasn't anything on the shelves.   But they said it was Carmen's fault and she should get out.   They wanted us to think the store was broke.

But CONASUPO said everything was alright.   And in fact it was CONASUPO's fault for taking so long to resupply us.   Carmen had to buy stock from private suppliers just so we'd have something to sell.    But by then Alfredo was in charge of the funds, and he and Carmen couldn't agree on how much was spent.

That's when I spoke up and asked Alfredo how he'd been able to take over the funds without being voted in as treasurer.        And he said he'd stepped in to fix the shortfall he'd discovered.  None of us was accusing Daniel or Carmen of anything dishonest, so there was no reason for Daniel to ask Alfredo to step in behind our backs.

We knew something wasn't right.   And so from then on I was against Alfredo staying on, and it bothered me even more that Carmen was getting blamed for everything. So in the meeting I said Carmen had been elected by the community, and when the day came she was kicked out, then they'd have to kick me out too.

We should speak up about our demands and protest, not stay quiet.     When Carmen told me what they did to her, I collected signatures.    At the next meeting I said, "We've got names, but it's not just names we need to support her- we need people, people willing to show up and protest what they did to her.     Anybody can write their name, but we want people ."    That's how I brought everyone out to protest about the co-op.   We all wanted it to go back the way it was before, with just Daniel and Carmen in charge.

We aren't going to start over, because putting in new people would be like starting over. Now we see the co-op as community property, not something that belongs to just one person.   If we don't fight for it, we'll all be lost.   The thing is to fight.

ESTELA

Why do I think the co-op committee changed?    Since it first opened, its funds have been embezzled twice.  The first time it happened I don't know how much was missing.   didn't ever spend any time there- I'd just get my coupons and chat a bit with Carmen, then leave.

At the end of last year there was another shortfall of about 400,000 pesos, in addition to what was still owed the CONASUPO supplier.    Then CONASUPO did an audit. There weren't any merchandise in the store, it was completely empty­ not even a pin left- and it was broke to the last peso.

Then Daniel went to the CONASUPO office to straighten things out and start over again. So we reopened the same store with a new registration number, but to do that we had to reform the co-op committee.    We had to get a new manager, because they didn't want Carmen to be both treasurer and manager like she was before.

I guess the shortfall happened because of bad management , but no one real l y knows for sure.   At least now it's a bit better, Daniel is supervising it more . So we had a good reason to change the committee.

No one was looking to stir things up. There was just the problem with the missing money . First CONASUPO wanted to close the store down permanently like they did before.  But Daniel got them to change their mind.   The changes we made aren't meant to accuse anyone, we just want to set things right.     So our new manager is Alfredo.  Daniel is still president, Carmen is treasurer, and Guadalupe... I don't know what she does exactly.

Guadalupe has lately taken on a new fight, but one she is almost sure to lose. She is unhappy about the new school's teachers, feeling they do not conduct classes properly and lack respect for both children and parents. Teachers meanwhile complain that parents, led by Guadalupe, meddle too much in school affairs.   Most have even stopped coming to PTA meetings.

Guadalupe is most angry that, instead of volunteering their labor to improve the school's physical condition, the teachers instead ask parents for more "cooperative fees" as a supplement to their salaries.     In the eighteen months since the school was created, the spirit of solidarity and joint sacrifice has given way to economic self-interest. Parents and teachers are in a tense standoff not likely to be resolved to any part y's satisfaction.

GUADALUPE

Now I'm collecting signatures to complain about the teachers, even though one of them said that even if I got the name of every single person in Dario Martinez, the government still couldn't fire any teachers.      Well, that's a lie, because I know that with enough names, and everyone's support, you can get ri d of not just one teacher, but all of them, and then hire new ones.

I'm not gathering names just for the hell of it.    What good is that?  We want changes because a lot of parents are against the way these teachers do the i r lessons and the way they run their classes.

A lot of parents say they'll take their kids out of this school next year because here it costs them too much. We're constantly asked to give more money to the building fund and the teachers fund.   Better to go to another school where at least the fees are fixed for the whole year.    Here its not like that. We've got to pay money plus give our labor.

Parents always complain about the teachers at PTA meetings.    If we could only talk to the teachers and coordinate things with them.    Instead, they talk and we don't understand.      For instance, they'll tell you white is black, and you know darn well white is white.               Now why would they try to tell you otherwise? That's what I'd like to know.

Sometimes people just accept what gets decided for them at higher level s, even if they know it's wrong. If they complain about a teacher, they're afraid of reprisals against their ki d. That's why they keep their mouths shut .   That's why Mexicans are the way we are, because we don't have the guts to stand up and tell it like it is.  That's what I always tell the teachers they should teach our kids, but look at us!

A person really has to be tough around here.    When I ask myself, Guadalupe, do you want to be the boss?, the answer is No! I just want to carry out the responsibility that I accepted from my neighbors to improve the school.     If we parents have two or three kids, it's a responsibility we' ve got to fight for. We all love our kids- what parent doesn't?- so we've got to work hard for them.

67

“No One Elected Me, I Just Stood Up”- Oral History of Community Activism in a Mexican Squatter Settlement, Part 1

NOTE- I began collecting these oral histories 30 years ago this month in the colonia of Dario Martinez, outside Mexico City on the motorway to Puebla at the overpass known as the Puente Rojo. I was under contract to the Inter-American Foundation to write a prospective oral history in the tradition of anthropologist Oscar Lewis. Over the following 24 months I spent many days there in the company of the four individuals quoted below. I sent copies of my report, written in English as you read it here but doubtful that a monolingual Mexican could understand much, to the two women of the story and kept a brief Spanish correspondence with one of them, but I never returned in person. Late at night on Christmas Eve 2016 in a taxi from Mexico City to Puebla, I asked the driver to tell me when we reached the Puente Rojo. We passed under a white bridge and he said, here we are. I said, but the Red Bridge is now white, and he said, yes, it has been painted over many times.

Chapter Summaries

 Introduction

My purpose and methodology, with background to understand local politics and neighborhood concerns. Author's introduction of the four speakers- Guadalupe, the grandmotherly neighborhood activist and keeper of its collective conscience; Estela, Guadalupe's mercurial and oft- time rival ; Daniel , organizer for the leftwing organization UPREZ, pushing an alien and often misunderstood agenda upon the community; and Catarino, the quintessential PRIista apologist and underling of cacique Juan Martinez, son of the colonia's namesake and founding ejidatario.

January 1989

The four introduce themselves, reveal their values and beliefs, and stake out their respective ideological turf. The stage is set for the book's central drama- the fight to build the neighborhood school- and the minor skirmishes over electrification, water supply, and the food co-operative.

August 1989

Electoral politics and backdoor gossip threaten community solidarity.    A  conflict emerges between fighting for the school and fighting for UPREZ, and a dilemma takes hold between voicing immediate needs and debating the big picture.

February 1990

The government's unilateral decision to build the school, as part of PRI's pork barrel Solidaridad  program, further erodes grassroots cohesion.       Neighbors ask, why fight someone else's war after winning our battle?      Daniel and UPREZ begin to lose their grip on Guadalupe and Estela.

November 1990

A bloody land invasion and a fraudulent municipal election explode apart neighborhood loyalties and alliances.      Estela and Guadalupe take different paths to the voting booth, but personal friendship ultimately proves more indelible than ballot ink.

Epilogue

An outsider reflects on the neighborhood's progress and on the strengths and limits of grassroots institution building.

Introduction

He will not go behind his father's saying And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors".

-Robert Frost, from "Mending Wall"

Robert Frost 's New England neighbor had it right but for all the wrong reasons­ at least in the case of Dario Martinez, a low income colonia on the outskirts of Mexico City, where in September 1987 an event took place that was to set the neighborhood on an unparalleled course towards its self-discovery.

What happened there simply was that a few neighbors decided to build a fence. Not a fence for self-protection or separation from others, of the third world kind so often topped with barbed wire and shards of bottle glass, but rather one for group solidarity, designed to bring people together in the spirit of common cause and community activism.

The cause of this humble construction project was near at hand, found beside a small wooden cross at the edge of an industrial drainage ditch.    There, on the previous July 9th, seven year old Ricarda Huayapan had fallen and drowned on her long walk to school.    This happened because Dario Martinez did not have a primary school of its own. Each day its young children had to walk to another neighborhood's school.  And each day parents worried for their children's safety so far from home.

The death of young Ricarda became the community's rallying cry; her tragedy, the grain of sand around which grew a gleaming pearl of hope.      For from this incident emerged a collective consciousness, creating for people a sense of their own destiny- a determination of what they needed, how they would achieve it, and who among them would lead the others.

I was introduced to the people of Dario Martinez quite by chance while there to inspect a local health clinic in the spring of 1987.      I returned in September of that year to collect material for a magazine article on Mexico City's new settlement areas.    It was then, some days before the beginning of the new school year, that I happened upon an informal gathering of concerned parents.

What from afar had seemed an inconclusive meeting, without a chairman or agenda, broke up and sent people scattering- but not back to their own homes. Instead they all set to work.    And in the scramble to collect odd ends of lumber and broken cinder blocks, moving about without visible order, they achieved a most singular effect.     Within the hour they had expropriated and fenced in a vacant, absentee-owned lot.

By the end of the day they had laid the ground work for their own community school.       And what I saw over the next two weeks was even more inspiring. Individual householders in what I had taken to be a dispirited, disjointed community came together and came to life, spontaneously and simultaneously, after what had seemed a long hibernation.

Eight makeshift classrooms were hastily built of discarded planking and roofed with weathered tar paper panels.   Volunteer instructors were recruited from a left-wing faction of the main teachers unions.   Benches and desks were somehow fashioned from scrap wood.   Blackboards were somewhere found or pinched.

All this so that over two hundred students could be welcomed to school on the first day of the school calendar. And it was then that I decided to document- using oral testimonials, neighborhood wall graffiti, and my own diary entries- the evolution of what I felt would become a community-wide movement with a wider, more ambitious grassroots agenda.

My idea was to record the history of events to come, not the least of which I expected to be the colonia's defense of its expropriation of land for education.  More generally, I wanted to document the process by which a community's activist spirit first took shape, spread out, and evolved into something more.  At that early stage, however, there was no way to be certain whether a sustained activist movement would or would not evolve.       I would simply wait and watch.

In order to bring community activism into specific focus, I decided to observe the way in which people related to important, if still emergent, grassroots institutions.            The new school was an obvious first choice of such an institution   Second, I chose to examine - a newly-opened, locally-managed food cooperative of the kind stocked, subsidized, and supervised by the public agency called CONASUPO.

Third, I decided to bring under the spotlight not another institution per se but rather whatever broad-based issues and concerns might arise over time. Accordingly, the community's disputes with the government over household electrification and potable water supply quickly came to my attention.

Of particular interest was the manner in which leaders of these incipient institutions and community-government disputes emerged, gained popular acceptance, and set about formalizing their position.   Success in this, I thought, would be essential if sustained institutional growth and satisfactory dispute resolution were to be achieved.     In Dario Martinez, however, where leaders of any kind are regarded with deep suspicion (the very word lider is considered a personal insult), the question of success was very much in doubt.

My strategy was to focus on what people had to say about their local institutions and the individuals who might head them.   I wanted to illuminate the role played by words alone in the institution-building process.       In brief, I wanted to see if the raw power of words uttered by common but committed people, as opposed to politicians already well-oiled in the practice of public speaking, might uncover the "little truths'' usually overlooked in the rush to record the "big picture".

The early stages of any community movement, when private conversations are more frequent than public demonstrations, receive scant notice from outsiders. Actions still speak louder than words to politicians seeking votes, journalists writing news, and sociologists studying behavior.    But for the people themselves, the most important moment in their formation as an activist community comes when a neighbor simply first begins speaking out to another.

It is understandable that voices newly-raised often make more noise than sense. The right words are not easy to find when people for the very first time verbalize private opinion, propose joint action, and choose common leaders.

Those new to public speaking start and stop in mid-sentence, back up to beg i n again, reverse or contradict themselves, and reiterate time and again the same idea- until inarticulate rhetoric finally gives way to what people see as the truth.

But prior to questions of rhetorical manner and underlying meaning is the more basic mystery of antecedent and first cause.     What first ignites public speaking in a previously quiescent neighborhood?   What are the conditions, necessary if not sufficient in themselves, for then stimulating collective action?

In nearly every neighborhood there is at least one person who might try to enlist others in some purpose or another.   That person might even fight alone if convinced of the common good.              Most however prefer to live behind the self­-made fences separating one home from the next. A new neighbor moves in and an old neighbor moves out, each remaining a stranger to the next.    And on it goes until tragedy strikes, such as the death of a seven year old.

But even then it is easy to block the process of seeing and acting on the common good.       Whenever a neighborhood's order is imposed and controlled by outsiders, grassroots initiatives occur only with great difficulty.    Political co-optation, paternalistic leadership, and bureaucratic procedure lead almost inevitably to community apathy, suspicion, fatalism, and fear.

But perhaps the real reason that successful, broad-based community initiatives are so rarely undertaken in developing countries is that truly compelling collective interests occur so infrequently.    Two neighbors sharing a fence line do not alone lay the foundation for wider joint action.   On nearly every community-wide issue, there are some people, either themselves the most powerful or with access to outside power, who vigorously enforce the status quo.

But on the rare occasion when common interests are broadly and forcefully recognized in the community, who takes the first step?      Who first verbalizes a need, utters an opinion, and acts on a cause?     Who is the first to witness and who is the first to speak?    Who leads at the front and who brings up the rear?

If becoming out-spoken is in fact a precursor to activism, it is also a slippery quality to document.   The half life of public oratory is short.     A speaker's exact words are quickly forgotten or embellished.   And in the tedium of a long meeting, standing on tired feet under a hot sun, it is difficult to follow much less to remember what is said by others.

Recording community oratory presents an outsider with other problems.    The presence of a tape recorder at a neighborhood meeting, even when the person wielding it is considered generally sympathetic to the cause, can have an effect no less inhibiting than a police camera.    On the other hand, some speakers become uncharacteristically uninhibited, in a rhetorical sense, upon seeing a microphone.

I have chose therefore to document words spoken to me alone and in confidence. While private conversation certainly is not the same as community oratory, it does potentially allow people to inch closer toward what they really think and feel- and practice what they will later say openly.    In any case, after having listened extensively to these individuals speak both in private and in public, I am confident that the substance of their remarks is consistent from one place to the next.

However, the problem remains of selecting the individuals who are to represent the neighborhood's collective voice.   Should it be done randomly, purposively, or by the same luck and happenstance that introduce most anthropologists to their key informants?

Mine being a hybridized methodology, borrowing more from new journalism, documentary cinema, and literary pastiche than from the rules of social science research, I have taken liberties with the scientific method.    In choosing whom to interview, for instance, I selected my informants because they were both accessible to me and seemed to be grassroots leaders of one sort or another , rather than because they were "representative" of community opinion or local socio-demographics.

At a glance, these testimonials might resemble the oral histories collected by the anthropologist Oscar Lewis.   But in fact our approach to recording, writing, and editing oral history is quite different both in technique and in the broader purpose which the testimonials are meant to serve.

Lewis's testimonials have the very specific aim of bolstering his theory of "the culture of poverty", a concept redefined over his lifetime which became a lightening rod of controversy from both liberals and conservatives.

Nevertheless, Lewis's best work, The Children of Sanchez and Pedro Martinez, have become popular anthropology's most widely-read classics. Lewis was a pioneer in using oral testimonials for ethnographic study.       He placed great faith in the open microphone, logging hundreds of hours with informants and permitting them to take the conversation in any direction they chose.       With his most trusted informants, interviews became monologues.    His passive role underscored his belief that the poor could act as their own anthropologists, that an uneducated street vendor was more able than a trained social scientist to determine what was relevant in the study of poverty.

In marked contrast, the method used here asks specific questions of each speaker, and then separates and juxtaposes answers in order to point up differences or similarities.     This method exerts more interview control than Lewis's and also requires more intervention during the edit.

Deviating further from Lewis, this oral history does without a theoretical underpinning.   I make no attempt to explain embedded meanings or anticipate sociopolitical outcomes.  Rather, my goal is to step back from the traditional ethnographer's role as middle man.    In line with a growing number of new ethnographies, I have tried to re-position myself between oral history's speakers and listeners, who by necessity become readers.   I aim to enable them to speak to you without relying on me as an interlocutor.

Most of the words that follow are not mine.     They are taken from oral testimonials recorded, translated, and edited with respect for each individual's choice of words and intended meaning.   My only act of composition was to braid four separate interviews into one strand.

Another methodological quirk is to gather what might be termed freeze frame testimonials.   Over a twenty two month period, from January 1989 to November 1990, I made four unannounced visits to the neighborhood, during which I reacquainted myself to the community, updated myself on local news, and re-interviewed the same four people.

Falling somewhere between high-speed time lapse and strobe-light stop action, my approach charts the evolution of key issues by marking both discontinuities and conformities in the informants' past opinion and behavior.      The temporal gaps in the interviews also underscore the shifting alliances, temporary retreats, and strategic redeployments inherent in the conduct and speech of any grassroots leader attempting to control neighborhood change.

The montage effect is heightened by splicing quotations lifted from the ambient media (newspapers, street graffiti, religious sermons, etc.) into the fl ow of spoken text- as in the following two quotations found in Mexico’s newspaper of record, juxtaposed for effect but not invented.

The eastern and northern sector of the State of Mexico [where Dario Martinez is located] will soon become the most populated area in Mexico.        Over the last twenty five years it has grown from the least inhabited part of the country to have the highest growth rate in the world. Meanwhile, a local neighborhood federation stated that at least three million residents there lacked drinking water and faced skyrocketing levels of crime and delinquency.

El Excelsior, February 25

Three million dogs live i n the streets of the eastern sector of the State of Mexico.      The situation is worsened by the thousands of dogs run over by vehicles whose bodies remain on the roadways for days.    Street crews used to cover their carcasses with lime, but this is no longer possible due to service cuts in the poorer neighborhoods.

El Excelsior, February 21

Finally, interspersed prose passages allow an outsider's voice (mine) to be heard, to provide the background for what else is said.           The end result is a · highly manipulated text- artificial perhaps, but one I believe that comes closer to the 'truth as I found it in Dario Martinez than any of the other approaches- descriptive, interpretive, or fictional- I considered. 

This transcription and rearrangement of documentary narrative is not unlike Elena Poniatowska's use of oral reporting in La Noche de Tlatelolco and John Dos Passos's use of the "camera eye" and "newsreel" in his U.S.A. trilogy.    The purpose here is to blend monologual discourse into a polyphonic chorale, to fill out orchestrally four individual voices into the conversational buzz and hum of an entire community.

My aim, finally, is to use tape-recorded passages of neighborhood oratory as raw material for composing what might be called an oratorio of neighbors.          The method is literary and musical to the point, if successful, of being operatic. In this respect it is quite unlike other oral testimonial literature from Central America (eg, I, Rigoberta Menchu and Miguel Marmol) which is political, unmediated, and blunt.

The Setting

I travel to Dario Martinez every day by subway and bus, exiting the underground at Zaragosa Station and boarding a microbus marked "Chalco-Autopista".      Leaving behind Ciudad Neza's endless two- and three-storied sprawl, the bus tops the cerro and passes a women's prison, a garbage dump, and a psychiatric hospital. I get off at the pedestrian-only, street vendor-choked Red Bridge, now overpainted in white but still known as the Puente Rojo.      I cross and enter Dario Martinez.  On a typically trafficked day, a one-way trip from the Zocalo might take an hour and a half.

The unpaved, unseweraged, and unlit streets of Dario Martinez are laid on a grid at a forty five degree angle to the superhighway, as if one takes a half turn upon entering the colonia.       A few blocks in from the Red Bridge is long street with the new school and clinic at one end and the food co-op at the other. Along its length are the mud holes and cesspools I know well.       Walking straight on that street is difficult.

The colonia of Dario Martinez is located in the broad, flat Valle de Chalco in eastern wing of the State of Mexico, on the Federal District's southeastern most fringe.    When Mexico City jumped its federal boundaries to encroach upon surrounding states, it left the outer neighborhoods in a jurisdictional limbo whose needs few public agencies, private advocacy groups, or politicians now serve.

Until the 1920s, much of the Valle de Chalco was covered by the Lago de Chalco. The old Puebla trail wound its way through, so even then the valley was not isolated from Mexico City.          As the lake dried, the land was used for intensive agriculture and pasturage .· The heavily-leached soils deteriorated and pulverized easily, and the region became known for ferocious dust storms during each year's six-month dry season.

The Valle de Chalco is no longer rural but not yet urban.      Once a patchwork of agricultural plots belonging to the Tlalpizahuac, Ayotla, and Tlapacoya ejidos, the valley has now become home to hundreds of thousands of homeowners, renters, and squatters.. Unlike other peri-urban areas, little settlement occurred here through outright land invasions.         But because of fraudulent land transfers by ejidatarios and secondary speculators, no settler has clear title or leasehold to the land they own or rent.

The ejido lands began to break up in the 1970s following construction of the new Puebla superhighway.     By 1982, some 86,500 people were living in the Valle de Chalco on illegally settled ejido land.       By 1987, this population had increased to 147,000, which many experts consider a serious underestimate, but which still represents an astonishing 11% growth rate.      In view of the rapid creation of new colonias and the infilling of existing ones, the Valle's 1991 population could well be in the 300,000 range.

Urban experts see this spontaneous growth phenomenon as a repeat of the planning nightmares and political struggles of nearby Ciudad Nezahualcoyotl which since the 1960s has grown, also from a dry lake bed, into a city of more than three million.     The oral record of battles waged today by a colonia such as Dario Martinez in a similar take-off situation might well reveal a pattern of individual response to rapid urbanization in Mexico.

Most settlers,at least 86% of those surveyed in 1988, moved to the Valle de Chalco from central Mexico City and Ciudad Nezahualcoyotl, where more than half were born.  Only some twelve percent came directly from the rural provinces, principally from the states of Oaxaca, Guerrero, and Vera Cruz.       From the city they came to escape skyrocketing rents and crowded living space, and from the countryside they came in search of jobs and schools for their children.

But whatever their place of origin, simply by having gotten up and moved here, they show themselves to be innovators and pioneers- the sine qua non of a community conscience.          For people such as these, taking the next step- direct group action- is much more likely than it would be for the timid and passive who stayed behind.

Most of the colonias in the Valle belong to the municipality of Chalco, a colonial town that has proudly kept its identity in the shadow of the cap i tal. Dario Martinez, however, is one of three orphan colonias gerrymandered onto the much smaller municipality of Ixtapaluca, which neither asked for nor wants to hear the problems of new colonias.

Lot sizes on average in the Valle are 200 square meters, and over half of the houses are of two or three rooms.         Most homes are built of cement block and roofed with corrugated asbestos or tarpaper panels- just a notch sturdier than the paper carton and scrap wood of more newly-born squatter settlements.       All but a handful of homes here are one story. . A third are served by unimproved latrines, and while fifty percent of respondents claim septic tanks, most in fact are shallow pit latrines.

Average family income has not been well documented there recently, given that the economic crisis of the 1980s meant an overnight nosedive in earning power for the lower class.    In 1988, the most recent year with a reliable survey, unemployment stood at 53%.        Of those with jobs, 80% earned less than 1 1/2 times minimum wage, a rate well below an urban subsistence level which never kept· pace with inflation.    As a point of comparison to the cost of living at the time, some 80% of a month's minimum wage would have been eaten up by the cost of sending children to school.

The Four Speakers

For an outsider seeking an introduction to Dario Martinez, all streets seemingly lead to the house of Guadalupe Rosas Garrido, who lives beside the school. A brown haired, wrinkle-faced, chain-smoking grandmother, Guadalupe on most days is surrounded by a circle of female neighbors seeking advice about home or husbands.     When the occasional stranger finds her way to Guadalupe's door, her problems too are heard.

Guadalupe admits freely that her loud mouth gets her into trouble both with friends and the authorities.        I take her at her word on this, and therefore she and all others have been given pseudonyms.      I depended on Guadalupe for advice, direction, and midday shelter during the course of my interviews.       She served as chief historian of events occurring between my visits and as go-between in my attempts to meet the colonia's key residents.

I did however select the other three speakers without her help or know l edge, although each was i n fact the others' neighbor, known to one another either personally or by reputation.   But throughout, Guadalupe was the link keeping the project together .

Daniel is known to most people as the outsider who bought a house in the neighborhood and helped to establish the local food co-op selling subsidized tortilla coupons.    He is young, married, and soft spoken even when engaging in intense political discussions laced with a Marxist rhetoric bewildering to most people in the community.   Although his house is ready for occupancy, he and h i s wife have not yet left his parents' home in Ciudad Neza.    Although his presence in the community is not constant, he is usually at the co-op at least part of every day.

Daniel's ties to the Emiliano Zapata Popular Revolutionary Union (UPREZ), a popular movement active in the state of Mexico's eastern urban periphery, remain murky to the people of Dario Martinez. Although Daniel sees to it that UPREZ slogans are whitewashed on walls throughout the colonia, few residents know how the organization is structured outside their community or what larger role Daniel plays within it.

UPREZ is a member of the National Coordinating Body of the Urban Popular Movement, known by its Spanish acronym CONAMUP.     A loosely structured grouping of di verse left-leaning, neighborhood-centered organizations that emerged in the post-1968 period of increasing grassroots radicalism, the CONAMUP coalition was born in 1981 to protest the across-the-board cuts in public subsidies at the start of Mexico's abrupt economic downturn.

Throughout the 1980s, CONAMUP's constituent organizations such as UPREZ reaffirmed themselves as independent interest groups capable of successfully pressuring the government through broad-based tactics such as protest rallies, land seizures, road blocks, hunger strikes, and boycotts.     Although now changing, CONAMUP members traditionally avoid electoral party politics in preference for direct pressure and direct action.

By refusing to cut side deals with the government in return for tacit support, CONAMUP broke with the largely discredited labor unions and leftist parties. Having originated in the colonias, and not in the factories where male hierarchies dominate, UPREZ grew to represent women's interests and to analyze community problems through the eyes of mothers, wives, and consumers.

As an unpaid UPREZ organizer, Daniel supports himself on what he earns managing the food co-ops in Dario Martinez and in another nearby colonia.    His wife is a secondary school teacher and works part-time in the co-ops.      Daniel is usually reluctant to talk about his work with UPREZ, but he is candid about how he sees the neighborhood.     I chose to interview him because of his role in organizing the grassroots and raising the community's consciousness.

Estela is a single mother of five, nearing the age of forty.       As a newcomer to the colonia and the family's sole breadwinner, she lacks the extensive social net.works of Guadalupe, developed through her longer residence and more leisure time.  Until recently, she worked too long doing her neighbors' wash and other odd jobs to have sufficient time for making casual visits.

Estela's laundry service tapered off slightly as she has become involved with UPREZ, and lately she has begun to gather her own circle of female friends and confidants.   Although she and Guadalupe maintain good relations in public,   each is quite capable of saying sometimes uncomplimentary things about the other in private.   I chose to interview Estela because I felt that she might possibly emerge as a rival to Guadalupe for the colonia's respect and attention.

Catarino was the Secretary of the Self-Help Council for Dario Martinez, holding the most visible of PRI's neighborhood patronage positions.    But as very few residents know the names of their block captains or even their colonia president- PRI appointees all- Catarino came to my attention because most people mentioned his name when asked to identify the neighborhood's politicians.

Catarino is more exposed to the public than the colonia's other officials because he at least keeps fairly regular hours, Saturdays only, in the council's headquarters.   When I talk with him there on the neighborhood's outskirts, a fifteen minute walk from the central street shared by Guadalupe, Estela, and the food co-op, he usually has male visitors, talking sports, not politics.

Despite the one room office's shabby appearance, it is formal enough for him to choose his words carefully.   Although Catarino is on the lowest rung of a PRI party ladder rising right to the Presidential Palace, with him it seems I am speaking not to a person but to an entire bureaucracy.     Even though asking his opinions on anything but the weather is frustrating, I chose to interview Catarino because, as someone with the opposite analysis of the status quo, he balances the leftist voice of Daniel.

Catarino was admittedly not my first choice as the person to represent Dario Martinez's "establishment''.    That honor fell to Juan Martinez, the notorious and universally despised chief town councilman (primer regidor) of Ixtapaluca, the municipality onto which the neighborhood had been attached.       For nearly everyone I met, Juan Martinez personified the pistol-on-the-hip, belly-peeking-out-shirt sort of caciquismo slowly becoming a thing of the past.

The case of Juan Martinez however gives a new twist to the traditional patron­ client relationship.       Typically enough, he inherited the cacique's mantle from his father Dario Martinez, the powerful ejidatario for whom the colonia was named.      But more modern was Juan Martinez's attempt to balance, however half­-heartedly in the name of reform, his more discrete financial advantages as a PRiista with his ruthless excesses as a landowning overlord.

Juan Martinez's name came to everyone's lips whenever a discussion turned to corruption and violence.  Juan Martinez thus became the man I felt I had to meet.  How, I would ask him, does a political dinosaur explain and justify himself in this era of reform PRIismo?

Not surprisingly, Juan Martinez was reluctant to sit for an interview.    After my first coincidental encounter with him, he missed our next two appointment s in his office in Ixtapaluca 's municipal building.     No one there would tell me where he lived, and I reluctantly saw that to pursue him further might jeopardize   both my contacts i n the community and my own presence there. But even if Juan Martinez would not agree to speak with me, I felt he probably had a way of listening to whomever did.      Dario Martinez was still very much his cacigazgo.

Visiting Dario Martinez

By the time I returned to Dario Martinez i n January 1989, on my first return visit since the inauguration of the new school (its first name was simply Nueva Creacion), I found many things changed in the commuity. The school itself had taken on a semi-permanent appearance, even though three of its eight classes still met outdoors under torn sheets of plastic.     The perimeter of the schoolyard, I noted however, was now protected with an improved fence.

I was surprised to learn that Guadalupe, whom I had met previously through her lead role in expropriating the school property, was no longer formally involved in its affairs.       When I was first there she had been elected president of the school's newly-formed "mesa directiva", a common institution resembling an American-style Parent-Teacher Association; in the meantime she had become a leader of an informal faction of parents unhappy with the school's progress.

Rather than developing as an institutional pathway towards de jure grassroots leadership, the PTA instead was on the verge of becoming a forum only for divisive, personal invective.    The new PTA president was Estela, who had recently moved into the neighborhood and thus lacked the legitimizing credential of having participated in the land expropriation action. It was soon apparent that Estela's philosophy as a leader was that words whispered behind the back spoke louder than acts performed in public.

UPREZ's broader agenda did not at first overlap much with the PTA's more homegrown and practical concerns.           An organization still fairly alien in the neighborhood,   UPREZ had brought with it a decidedly leftist ideology.      Its meetings, called and chaired by Daniel, were an opportunity for people to learn a new language.       While discussing government corruption and essential public services, they became comfortable tossing about such terms as "comrade", "militant", and "activist".

Through Daniel's encouragement and informal recruitment efforts, Guadalupe and Estela had became key URPEZ volunteers.   And although Daniel preferred not to erect a hierarchical membership structure, both women had became de facto UPREZ leaders merely on the strength of their personalities.

Guadalupe's and Estela's contrasting leadership styles became clearer over the course of my four visits.   Guadalupe was reluctant to run for any kind of formal office and she always tried to decline, usually without success, whenever she was elected to some informal role by acclamation.

She preferred to operate in the background, not in order to avoid an office's responsibility, but rather to avoid what she saw as political hypocrisy and personal temptation.         Hers was not any kind of anarchist theory however. Instead, Guadalupe had internalized such disdain for the bogus elections of official bosses and leaders that she could never will herself to enter into the same process.

Estela on the other hand was eager to hold any office that might enhance her access to local power and prestige.       With the PTA as with UPREZ and other high profile activities, she met and received information about the same politicians, party functionaries, and state bureaucrats whom she would later villify before fellow activists.   This ongoing flirtation with power enhanced her reputation with some but disturbed many others.

A striking example of Guadalupe's and Estela's differing attitudes towards the use of power is seen in how each regarded closed meetings.    For Guadalupe, nothing in the common interest should be discussed in private.   She believed in holding open, unchaired meetings even if chaos was the likely result. Afterwards, she would invariably say how much good had been accomplished- how good it was that everyone had heard and spoken for themselves.

Estela was the opposite.   Her preferred meeting place was in the back room; late night was her favorite hour. Perhaps she thought it gave her airs of conspiratorial importance to meet with political cell mates after dark, using the language of Marx and Mao.     But she did seem sincerely to believe that she was in the vanguard and that she was destined to link up with other vanguardists to achieve some greater glory.

A conspiratorial mindset put neighbors on the constant lookout for informers and community saboteurs.     If not the hired spies of Juan Martinez, they might well be people such as Alfredo, Pancho, Hapy, and Nico- albeit with perfectly legitimate reasons to join UPREZ, they were, after all, men without families and regular households.  And because they were recent arrivals in the neighborhood, their real intentions were not yet known.    In the eyes of UPREZ women, these were dangerous men.

Daniel's stature in the neighborhood rose and fell precipitously over the course of my four visits. - Whatever goodwill he earned from his work at the food co-op was gradually sapped away as he took the battle into wider arenas. Once the co-op's survival was assured, people stopped rallying around him whenever he called.

All the personal slights, both perceived and real, that went hand-in-hand with Daniel's political organizing finally began to take their toll.    By trying to build UPREZ with new members, especially the men he asked to join, he alienated many key women.   His split with Estela in a seemingly petty power play over who owned her furniture, really a proxy debate about who should be indebted to whom, was never to be repaired.    Guadalupe meanwhile drifted away from his increasing reliance on personal innuendo as a way of stimulating group action.

What most damaged his influence in Dario Martinez however was his frequent absence from UPREZ meetings that he himself had called.    Residents there expected to be led by example.    They insisted that their leaders earn the right to lead every day.     Upright conduct- and the willingness to make one's own sacrifices before calling upon others to do the same- was one of the few attributes of good leadership open to public scrutiny.    When Daniel began to fail that test, by spending more time outside the community starting a new high school and co-op, and later running a political campaign, he lost his following at home.

Catarino quite frankly remained to me the  most enigmatic of all four with whom I spent time.    Rather than knowing him better from one visit to the next, I felt he became more and more the stranger.   He certainly became more elusive for me to meet.    Many afternoons I ,had to set an ambush at the door of his house in order to make an appointment for the following Saturday.    Many of these he subsequently missed.

Because he did not belong to the same circle as Guadalupe, Estela, and Daniel, and not directly involved in the events that unfolded around it, Catarino's voice seems to float above and apart from those of the others.  Much of what he said was patently untrue and much I felt made little sense on purpose. But what is most striking, and why Catarino is important to the story, is his stubborn, unyielding resistance to what everyone else sees as the winds of change in Dario Martinez.

Major change did come to Dario Martinez over the years I watched the community grow.   Several classes of primary school children graduated on to the next level of study. A new microbus fleet was added to the commuter line connecting the Valle de Chalco with Mexico City and, with it, the distance in between seemed to shrink a bit more.

The residents of Dario Martinez also changed. They changed in the way they looked at things-at what they needed,at what they could still endure,and at what they now insisted must end. And they changed in the way they talked about themselves and others. What follows then are some of their words,and their way of talking,about these people and things.

In the Vale of Swat, Barth's Wali Meets Lear's Akond

Note: An Akond leads a Muslim religious community. The preferred transliteration is Akhund. Walī (Arabic: ولي‎, plural ʾawliyāʾ أولياء) is an Arabic word whose literal meanings include "custodian", "protector", "helper", and "friend". In the vernacular, it is most commonly used by Muslims to indicate an Islamic saint, otherwise referred to by the more literal "friend of God".

WHO, or why, or which, or what,  Is the Akond of Swat? Is he tall or short, or dark or fair? Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or chair,  OR SQUAT? The Akond of Swat?  Is he wise or foolish, young or old? Does he drink his soup or his coffee cold,  OR HOT,  The Akond of Swat?

-Edward Lear

“I must start with the story of my great-grandfather, as it is through him that our family gained all its influence…People came to him and thought he was a Saint, so he was recognized as the Akhund of Swat.”

-Miangul Jahanzeb (1908-1987), Wali of Swat, as quoted in The Last Wali of Swat, An Autobiography, as told to Norwegian anthropologist Fredrik Barth

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk, And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk,  OR TROT, The Akond of Swat? Does he wear a turban, a fez or a hat?   Does he sleep on a matress, a bed, or a mat, OR A COT,  The Akond of Swat? 

“There were no luxuries, such as bungalow houses or expensive clothing, or expensive habits of other kinds. So when they sat down to eat, the servants sat down with them, and they all ate together. In that sense there was no class difference, because perhaps the next day they would be killed together in the tribal fights.”

When he writes a copy in round-hand size, Does he cross his T’s and finish his I’s WITH A DOT, The Akond of Swat?  Can he write a letter concisely clear Without a speck or a smudge or a smear  OR BLOT, The Akond of Swat? 

“There was no education, not even an opportunity for an education, for the few mullahs who could read and write did not encourage education.”

Do his people like him extremely well? Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,  OR PLOT, At the Akond of Swat?  If he catches them then, either old or young, Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, OR SHOT,  The Akond of Swat? 

“They always said that of all the states in the Frontier, that Swat State was the most civilized. That is why so many people from Swat are in America, England, Libya, and Saudi Arabia.”

Do his people prig in the lanes or park?  Or even at times when days are dark,  GARROTTE!  O the Akond of Swat!  Does he study the wants of his own dominion? Or doesn’t he care for public opinion  A JOT, The Akond of Swat? 

“When a murderer is executed for his crime in accordance with Shariat, it is called qissas, and there were many cases settled by qissas in Swat by his order. It was not by force of arms, but by influence and the rule of law from spiritual power (barakat).”

To amuse his mind do the people show him Pictures, or any one’s last new poem,  OR WHAT, For the Akond of Swat?  At night if he suddenly screams and wakes, Do they bring him only a few small cakes, OR A LOT,  For the Akond of Swat?     

“Most of all, people used to fight with their own cousins, or second cousins- what we call tarbur, which means both ‘cousin’ and ‘enemy’ ”.

Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe? Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe, OR A DOT,  The Akond of Swat? Does he like to lie on his back in a boat  Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,  SHALLOTT, The Akond of Swat? 

“I remember living with my mother and going to see my father in the morning.  And at the age of four I was put under a mullah to be taught the Holy Koran.  He was Imam of the Mosque- the grandfather of this man who is now my butler.”

Is he quiet or always making a fuss? Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, OR A SCOT, The Akond of Swat? Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave? Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, OR A GROTT,  The Akond of Swat? 

“My earliest memories are of gunfights between my father and my uncle Shirin Sahib- that is, mainly between their retainers”

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?  OR A POT,  The Akond of Swat?   Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe,  OR ROT,  The Akond of Swat? 

“When you are Ruler, then all around you are either enemies, who are against you, or flatterers, with whom you cannot enjoy any society. When you propose something to them, they say, ‘Yes Sir, yes Sir, that is very good.’”

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends, And tie it neat in a bow with ends, OR A KNOT,  The Akond of Swat? Does he like new cream and hate mince-pies? When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, OR NOT,   The Akond of Swat? 

 “His servants and retainers were called sheikhs also. They carried no arms, but when such a sheikh came to a village, he would sit on the bed and the Khans (tribal chiefs) would sit on the ground.”

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake? Does he sail about on an inland lake,  IN A YACHT,  The Akond of Swat.  Some one, or nobody, knows I wot Who or which or why or what Is the Akond of Swat. 

“Sometimes people asked me: ‘Don’t you ever get tired?’ I said, ‘No this is my hobby and my pleasure!’”

Anau Tepe- Troy in Turkmenistan

The Central Asian landscape is defined by two great sand and rock-strewn basins- the Karakum and Kyzilkum Deserts of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan in the west, and the Taklamakan Desert of China in the east- separated by the mountains of Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan.  Rivers from surrounding highlands flow into these basins only to evaporate in summer, run low in drought years, or entirely disappear.  Such streams once fed vast bodies of water in their landlocked interior, like the Aral Sea and China’s Lop Nur salt lake- but they are vast no longer.  Climate change has seen to that.

Dotted around the edges of these desert basins are the signs of ancient settlements, frequently in the form of mounds raised above the surrounding plain as high as 80 feet, called tel in Arabic, tepe in Turkish, and depe in the Turkmen language.  Such mounds are usually located near dried river deltas that form vestigial oases, often where rivers drop from higher elevations.  This fact had long caught the eye of archaeologists.

One of these archaeologists was Raphael Pumpelly, a New York-born mining engineer by profession who prospected for ore in Arizona and surveyed the Gobi Desert during the American Civil War.  Born into an elite Yankee family, his biographer called him a “gentleman geologist of the Gilded Age”.  His foot long beard, rivaling those of many shaggy sheep fleece-hatted Turkmen he traveled among in the early years of the 20th Century, made him look more like Father Time.

The two mounds noticed by Pumpelly in 1903, which he called “time-wasted, wind-and-water carved remnants”, were in southern Turkmenistan- “a cemetery whose graves are the half buried mounds of vanished cities", as he wrote- just down the Kopet Dag Mountains that reach almost 3,000 meters and form the northern edge of the Iranian Plateau.  The area was called TransCaspia in Pumpelly’s day and the mounds, one about fifty feet in height and the other ten feet shorter, were in the village of Anau, located a few kilometers east of the capital Ashgabat.  

Anau is arguably the most important archeological site in all of Central Asia, for it was here that its own Bronze Age civilization first came to light.  Well before the time Western archeologists bothered to look outside the classical study zones of the Nile Valley, the Mediterranean rim, and Mesopotamia, and while Russians were more interested in excavating the Scythian burial mounds of their own southern steppes, Raphael Pumpelly shined a light on a far and unlikely place, and found things that astounded the world.  

In the years before World War II, after which archaeology developed a more scientific footing, the case of Anau as an exemplar of the transition from the Stone Age to the Bronze Age- the so-called Neolithic Revolution- was cited in the same breath as the much more famous sites west to Egypt and east to China.  To the layman, Egypt and China are still known as the cradles of civilization- but Anau has been all but forgotten.

The name of the Bronze Age culture that it represents has been given to another site just east of Anau, Namazga Depe, discovered later and not excavated until the 1960s.  The reason this is so has to do not with the quality of Pumpelly’s work but rather with the vagaries of Western-Soviet relations.

On Pumpelly’s first trip to Asia in 1861 he had seen an old map showing that a race of blue eyed, red haired people had millennia ago lived near the Taklamakan Desert, then a grass land.  This got Pumpelly thinking about how climate change in desert regions might affect human behavior, and he then developed what is known as the oasis theory of civilization.  This eventually became a powerful explanatory tool and the case of Anau, where he returned to excavate in 1904- along with a German archaeologist trained at Troy, a zoologist, a botanist, and a geologist- became a common reference in the study of antiquity.  

His work was cut short after only two months, however, by an invasion of locusts, which filled his dig pits - “a thick and rotting mass that poisoned the air far and wide,” as he wrote- faster than his men could clean them out.  His attempt to return in the following year was blocked by the Russian Revolution of 1905, when unrest spread even to that distant province, and he never saw Anau again.

The oasis theory holds that as the climate dried, the inland seas shrank, and the grassland animals died off, Central Asia’s nomadic hunters were forced to settle where they could find water, in these delta-oases surrounding desert basins.  There they adopted food crops, domestic animals, and the more complex patterns of life.  This theory was just the first of many environmental explanations for the birth of civilization, and it offered an alternative to previous thinking that gave primacy to socio-political influences such as organized religion, population pressure, or power struggles.  

This was later elaborated by Pumpelly’s team member Ellsworth Huntington in his book The Pulse of Asia, who wrote that “climatic changes have been one of the greatest factors determining the course of human progress”, and said that the “geographic basis of history”, along with “changeable facts” like cooling trends and drought, could determine both the progress of human civilization and the formation of a people’s national character. 

In one wide and blunt theory, Huntington thus typecast all Asians as inferior to Europeans simply because of the weather.  As an example, he recounted a conversation he had with a Persian, who said that his people were overly placid because of the country’s extreme heat and dry wind.  When he pointed out that Herodotus had said nearly the opposite thing about their national character, the Persian answered, “Don’t you think that the climate has changed in 2,000 years?”

Russians on the other hand dismissed such ecological theories and preferred more ideological ones- such as class inequality and conflict, often leading to war and forced migration- as the drivers of cultural development.  To examine this, their archaeologists focused on evidence such as rich vs. poor housing patterns and sumptuous vs. simple grave goods, all within the same settlement layer that might point to social and economic differences. 

Thus the Soviets had the habit of excavating horizontally rather than vertically, focused on a settlement’s “space” rather than its “time”, with more of a wide-focus on buildings than a fine-focus on “seeds and beads.”   That is why the Soviets excavated Bronze Age sites to their full extent, up to 100 acres in the cases of Namzga-Depe, while Western archaeologists elsewhere excavated more narrowly in pits, deep shafts, and terraces representing different time levels of habitation.

Pumpelly’s theory lost some of its explanatory power when later research into Central Asia’s climate history did not match his proposed dating for the shrinking of the inland seas and the emergence of village life.  But his scientific field methods, borrowed from his training as a geologist in stratigraphy, by which he was able to define a relative chronology of cultural development based on the ceramics, metal objects, bones, and seeds found in the same sequential layers excavated at different sites outside Central Asia, remain valid even today.   He was also a scrupulous maker of notes, measurements, and drawings.

In addition to the five hundred page report on his findings at Anau, published in 1908 as Explorations in Turkestan, whose subtitle Origins, Growth, and Influence of Environment underscored his focus on climate, Pumpelly made a comparative study of mound accretion in Nile villages during a later trip to Egypt, examined relevant museum objects in Tashkent and Tbilisi, and discussed the recent finds from Susa with his fellow geologist-turned-archaeologist Jacques de Morgan. 

After that, Pumpelly the geologist seemed to fade from the annals of archeology- that is, until a graduate student named Fredrik Hiebert revived interest in his work eighty years later.  Hiebert had worked on some Central Asian digs as a guest of Soviet sponsors in the 1980s, the first American to do so, but the authorities refused him permission even to visit Anau.  A few years later after Turkmenistan’s independence, he was allowed finally to excavate there, and what he discovered in Pumpelly’s notes and published reports was a kind of Rosetta Stone capable of correlation with later Soviet research. 

Since Pumpelly’s day, Central Asian archaeology seen from a Western perspective had essentially disappeared down a rabbit hole.  The Russian Revolution and the tightening of Soviet control disallowed direct access to outsiders, research could only be found in obscure Russian language journals and unpublished reports that rarely reached the West, and Russian field methods did not mesh with those outside the Eastern Bloc. 

The Soviets however dedicated many resources to the study of prehistory.  Its main institutes in Moscow and Leningrad employed almost as many archaeologists as all those in American universities combined, and they sent permanent field teams to specific regions, such as the South Turkmenistan Archeological Expedition to the Kopet Dag foothills and plain.  In the post-war years, these teams unearthed hundreds of  Bronze Age settlements, including Gonur Depe near Merv where Hiebert first worked under the Greek-Russian archaeologist Viktor Sarianidi, who defined what is called the Bactria-Margiana Archaeological Complex, an advanced Middle Bronze Age culture contiguous with the mountains of the upper Oxus River valleys farther east 

Thus what Hiebert found in Pumpelly’s published report must have seemed like the bottom-most layer of one of these ancient settlements, sturdy enough intellectually to build upon again. The ability to excavate at Anau, he wrote, would be “an unprecedented opportunity to pierce the heart of a prehistoric village in Central Asia.”

But trying to find Pumpelly’s collected objects and samples, several tons of them and including one thousand pounds of animal bones, was not easy, for they had been dispersed across Russia, Europe and the United States.  As Pumpelly wrote, “the interest these objects aroused was that they lay far distant from the sites of classical civilization”- and then he sent them to equally far distant museums to be forgotten. 

His report’s laboratory analyses, however, had interesting results- proving the transition from wild to domesticated animals, shown in the lower bone densities typical of barn-raised animals, and the existence of barley and bread wheat grains in the Neolithic strata.  This discovery of early wheat is commemorated in a newly opened museum there, clad in flamboyantly gleaming marble with gilded highlights and built in the shape of bundled sheaf with a single spike towering overhead, and the renaming of Anau’s district to Ak Bugday, or “white wheat” in the Turkmen language.

Pumpelly’s great grandchildren told Hiebert about a stash of expedition photographs at the Huntington Library in California, and gave him permission to dig in the foundations of their burned-out New Hampshire family home for other possible records once kept in strongboxes in the basement.  He found nothing in the ashes, but in the possession of a former neighbor he turned up a trunk with the unpublished correspondence between his field team members.

When Hiebert finally returned to Anau with his own team, joined by Turkmen colleague Kakamurad Kurbansakhatov who had done his own excavations there in the 1970s, he was the first Westerner to do so since Pumpelly. Their joint report A Central Asian Village at the Dawn of Civilization (2003) synthesizes these two previously divergent strains in archaeology, the Soviet model and the Western model, and returned Pumpelly’s name to the history of archaeology. 

In the years after Pumpelly left TransCaspia, Soviet excavation methods and theories about the Central Asian deserts, on the one hand, and those of Western archaeologists working on the Iranian plateau, on the other, became distinct.  But Anau, situated on the Kopet Dag piedmont between the two, remained a place where synthesis was possible.  This Hiebert called “the Kopet Dag way of life”- a cultural signature of small settlements frequently abandoned and rebuilt with fortified architecture, certain precious stones (carnelian, lapis, turquoise), and arsenic-rich copper alloys.

One thing that Pumpelly, Hiebert, and most of their Soviet colleagues did agree on was that Central Asia’s Bronze Age, although occurring later than in Egypt and Mesopotamia, was largely home-grown, or at least locally determined, and not a fully formed import from the outside.  One could say with confidence that a unique Bronze Age civilization did exist there, separate and distinct from neighboring regions in the Indus Valley and Iranian Plateau, and even those more distant like the Mediterranean and China.

As Hiebert notes, “Central Asia had its own local precursors to civilization, and Anau’s mounds represent a microcosm of the development of Central Asia from the earliest settlement (5th millennia BCE) through the period of urbanization (3rd millennia BCE) and up to its transformation into a node on the medieval Silk Road.”  Pumpelly’s words from ninety years earlier were less specific but more emphatic- “What we see in this view of a long buried and long forgotten people is a true picture of what has never been seen before- the actual transition of man from barbarism to civilization.”

In fact, there was more to Anau than buried mounds.  Its nearby village has the remains of fine 15th Century Sayyid Jamal al-Din mosque, destroyed in the 1948 earthquake that also leveled Ashgabat and killed an estimated 176,000 people, after Pumpelly had described it as a complete gem.  The 1st Century BCE Greek geographer Isidorus of Charax referred to Anau by the name Gathar in his Parthian Stations, a listing of the Silk Road’s towns and wayside inns between the Euphrates and Afghanistan. 

Pumpelly had also been preceded at Anau in 1886 by the Russian general A.V. Komarov, something of an amateur archaeologist himself who had previously dug at Merv, Meshad, and the nearby Parthian capital of Nisa.  When he saw Anau’s mounds, he thought they might be gold-laden burial mounds, or kurgans, like the Scythian sites on the steppes of his homeland.  He also probably chose to dig there because it was located conveniently just steps from the newly built TransCaspian Railway.   The cross-sectional trench opened by his untrained soldiers across one of them revealed deer bones and cave bear teeth, but no gold.

It is fitting then, one hundred years after Komarov came up empty and Pumpelly found his ceramics, bones and seeds, that a real treasure- not gold but a stamp seal made of a stone called black jet, or lignite, and of even greater value to an archaeologist- did turn up on Hiebert’s watch.  What Central Asia’s Bronze Age had lacked until then was evidence of a writing system, but this seal’s markings resemble those of China’s western Han dynasty from the 1st Century that were found in the Taklamakan Desert. 

This creates something of a dating mystery.  The Anau seal, with reddish pigment staining its inscriptions, was found at a level corresponding to 2300 BCE, and indicates that, yes, its hour glass and trident shaped incisions are probably an early form of writing.  Such seals were used by sophisticated cultures elsewhere for marking precious goods in palaces and temples, thus indicating an evolved level of elite society there too.  But how to explain the two millennia gap between the Anau and the Han seals? 

Did Anau’s writing system directly influence the Han dynasty?  But if so, where are other seals from intervening periods that provide the link?  Or instead, was there a disturbance in Anau’s intermediate time strata, so that its seal and those of the Han in fact date from the same period?  Hiebert asks half jokingly if maybe a mouse moved his seal two thousand years into the past. 

When first told of the discovery of the Anau seal, Hiebert’s senior colleague said to him, Great, now go find one hundred more like it- in order to confirm that it truly belongs where it was excavated.  “Such is archaeology,” he says with a shrug, acknowledging its many uncertainties even when field work is by the book.  But with this single seal, Anau still shows us that it has yet more to say about Central Asia’s past.

The Oasis is Always Open

“Welcome, welcome, a thousand times welcome," he had sput­tered. "But who are you, and how on earth did you get here?" I'll always remember the farmer's warm greeting as I arrived on his door­step, a tired and bedraggled 25-year-old total stranger.

Now, almost 20 years later, I'm back in his neighborhood. The Great Pyramid looms again out  of  the  yellow  murk  as I drive down the Giza road past the bor­der post of what once marked the end of the  known world.  I'm  heading  inland  to the four oases Herodotus called "the Islands of the Blest ," on the long and sandy route to Luxor. A new road makes it easier than it was for ancient Greeks or '70s vagabonds to make the trip through the heart of the Western Desert. The 800- mile journey is a chance to clear  my head of urban debris, get one of earth's best geology lessons along the way and , especially, to see my old friend, the far­mer who welcomed me to his oasis.

Back then , even in broken Arabic, it had been easy enough to convince him that, yes, I did have an invitation  to be his guest. His son Muhammad , a fellow student I'd met in a Cairo coffeehouse a few weeks earlier, had  freely extended an offer to visit. And so I arrived in the remote village of Gharghour, having bounced my way seven hours by train down the Nile Valley to Asyut, then four hours by taxi to the Kharga Oasis, an­ other five hours west by bus to Dakhla Oasis' main town of Mu t, and a final eternity by donkey cart.  All  this simply to redeem an invitation to sleep in a stranger's house.

"I am the friend of your son Muham­mad," I said. "Then my home is your home," replied my host, waving me into his guest quarters . "Your journey has been long, and you must drink." From   a long-necked pitcher he decanted the wo rld's freshest-tasting water- a mem­ory tastier by the minute as I push deeper into the sprawling desert.

There is nothing in front of me now but a bone-dry wilderness of rock and sand . Flaking oysterbanks, marine fos­sils and chunks of petrified wood are everywhere. So are melon-shaped lime­stones, mushrooms of chalk and ancient termite nests. And then there's the sand itself, dissolving and regathering in the shifting wind, claiming the horizon with dunes named for their distinctive shapes- crescent, sword and star. It's difficult to believe that almost 100,000 people make this desert their home. They are oasis dwellers of Bedouin stock , whose challenge is to farm this parched country.

I head for the first of the four oases­- Bahariya, past pharaonic tombs  and  a set of mosques a thousand years old. Amid these echoes, I hear the gentler rhythms of today- a creaking ox-pow­ered waterwheel, raucous cries of boys climbing date palms at harvest and the whispered thanks to Allah when break­ing farm bread- in Arabic, 'aish shamsi , or "sun life ."  The road descends through a patch of thermal springs before reach­ing the oasis itself. The main garden  lies in a depression where artesian water  is so abundant that  rice  is  grown.  Nearby is the recently excavated temple of Alex­ander the Great , who returned this way after having consulted an oracle that called him a god.

Another ancient Greek, the geogra­pher Strabo, described the oases as "spots on a leopard ," but they're actually closer to the fruit on a tree . Lying atop a course of aquifers, the oases bring  alfalfa , blood oranges and clusters of oversize dates to life in an otherwise arid void.

Outside these green islands , the landscape turns  to rock and dust again. A hundred miles outside of Farafra, the westernmost oasis, I pass through the White Desert , where wind-sculptured chunks of rock called "mud lions" raise their craggy heads to greet me. A single palm tree is the lone sign of life . Getting out to examine this hardy specimen, I find tracks of fennec fox and camel con­verging in its midday shade.

Just beyond Farafra lies the Great Sand Sea, a maze of interlocking barchan dunes covering several thousand square miles. Standing guard on the Libyan bor­der, the summits rise  500  feet  above the desert floor. The dunes are constantly shaped and reshaped by the wind, ebbing and flowing like the sea. From a high ridge I watch with swells roll all the way into Libya, just 60 miles west. As I stop and scramble atop th em, their crests and troughs chop like waves in  a squall.  In all directions the surface is devoid of landmarks - including my feet, sunk beneath the sand.

Rolling deeper south , I finally reach signs of life in the sleepy hamlet of Gharghour. At first glance, the village is much as I recall, quiet and peaceful, still nestled in thick palm groves. But I find  the waterwheel upturned,  replaced  by an electric pump , and many new homes obscure my mental map of the one-lane village it once was. I search the faces for my impromptu  host  of  two decades ago. I would recognize the twinkle in his eye anywhere, but I do have a slight prob­lem: I've forgotten his name! The scour­ing sands of New York life  have  wiped it clean from my memory.

So all I can go by is the layout of his guest quarters , where I idled away my days in languid conversation  with  his son Muhammad and their country cousins. Silently I run down the list of common Muslim names- Muhammad , Ahmad, Hamdy, Hamouda - but none strike my inner ear as being his. The next plan is to ask everyone I meet a ridic­ulous question- ''Do you  know  me,  and do you know who  among  you hosted me in his home 20 years ago?" All  of them shrug. Clueless but curious, the y trail behind  me  in   an  ever-expanding entourage . Then l get a bite.

"l know you," says a man in a dirt­-caked robe, or galabiyya. '·You were here once before , were  you  not?  You stayed in the house of Al Hajj Mahmoud." Al Hajj Mahmoud,” I repeat. Yes, I remember that name. My hose was proud of his rare status in Gharghour as a Mecca pildrim, thus the honorific Al Hajj.

I am led to an alfalfa field where an old farmer is methodically cutting a sickle blade across the  green  shoots . Al Hajj Mahmoud-I would recognize those eyes anywhere. A callused hand squeezes mine, and his face beams. Ahlan wa sahlan ("[My] people and [Your] ease"), he says..

No need for re-introductions. He re­members me as if I had come yester­day, and still saves the letter  of  thanks I had written him-one of the very few letters of an y sort he has received all his life. We walk back to his house hand in hand. The old majlis, or guest quar­ters , is as I remember. But the palm in the courtyard is now so burdened with dates that its head bows.

"My family has grown big and pros­perous," my host updates me, as we enter a newly built majlis. What  must be all of Gharghour's menfolk over the age of 12 follow behind. We launch into an endless round of formulaic saluta­tions- "May God be praised for your safe arrival," "May God keep you," "Peace be upon you." By chance, this is  the  eve of the Islamic feast Eid Al Fitr, marking the last of the lunar month of Ramadan and the end of daylight fasting. I am treated to his kitchen's full bounty­ pickled eggplant, dried olives , wet­-pressed dates, and the thick-crusted farm bread I remember so well.

After dining, Mahmoud takes me to his farm 's most beautiful acre-the shaded orchard of fig, mango and olive trees watered by a murmuring sluiceway. I note that the adjacent dune, though towering  above , has  not moved. Like  the  Dutch  boy's finger  in the dike, these thin trees are keeping an entire desert at bay.

"Without those tamarisk, " says Al Hajj, "that dune would eat us as surely as the sun rises in the morning. Thanks be to God, the trees remain healthy."

Shared meals, conversations and vis­ its to the people and places of Ghar­ghour fly like sand in a desert wind. After a day and a half, it is time to take my leave. Al Hajj regales me with anoth­er round of stories about the  village, the land, his family. Another minute becomes another  hour.  We  promise to correspond so that I will never again forget his name. He also makes  me vow that another 20 years will not pass before I re­turn. "If you wait so long again," says Al Hajj , nodding toward the village ceme­tery, "you will find me lying there, next to Al Hajja," indicating his late wife. I promise once more- there's nothing like an open invitation to an oasis.

The road back to Luxor ushers  me into the fourth and final oasis, Kharga­ where the road curls in endless dead ends of mountainous sand. And then on through the lonely ruins of Dush, Kharga 's southernmost  settlement,  a place where Roman temples and gar­isons once housed caravans of gold.

Behind me the desert suddenly seems distant again, though still close at heart. Those numberless hills that fade into one another, they have been my road to an oasis in a very sandy world, leading me into the generous hands of one Al Hajj Mahmoud, a man who never forgets a friend.

Trump's Presidency as Mel Brooks' The Producers

Fading loudmouthed impresario Max Bialystock’s nebbish accountant Leo Bloom said it first, you can win more by losing. And Trump thought he could too- by running for president, endearing himself to the “poorly educated” (his words, not mine), then losing the vote but winning big where it mattered more- with his empty brand, his dumb customers, a new ghost-written book and fake reality show. So he put together a campaign designed to fail, staffed by characters straight from the movie- Nazi propagandists and pin-up Fox girls and wives (exs- and current), clueless hipster wanna-be policy wonks and cowardly bagmen- and then was more surprised than anyone when he came out on top and actually had to make it work.

And just as loudmouth Bialystock’s Trump, nebbish Bloom’s Allen Weisselberg, and the unshaven Nazi Springtime for Hitler scriptwriter Franz Liebkind’s Steve Bannon should end up behind bars- where they will soon meet the vain director Roger De Bris’s ostrich leather-coat wearing campaign manager Paul Manafort, so too we can hope to hear no more from the sing-song secretary Ulla Inga’s long-legged, empty-headed doppelgänger Melania (only she could turn Ulla’s sweet-natured come-on God dag på dig into the mean-spirited I really don’t care, do U?), idiot New Age-marinated Lorenzo St. DuBois (LSD)’s stand-in Jared Kushner to appeal to the campaign’s hipper (sic) voters, and the always on stage Eva Braun’s Kellyanne Conway. I can only guess who the Trump Presidency twin might be for the sharply accented “common-law assistant” Carmen Ghia (played by the Khartoum-born Greek Andreas Voutsinas)- maybe flatly ccented Reince Priebus, whose mother too was a Khartoum-born Greek?

An Unanswered Letter's Unintended Consequences

Might an unanswered letter, from one mercurial leader of a proud nation to another, lead to territorial invasion, massive casualties, and ignominious downfall? Don't tell Bush 43 nor former Iranian President Ahmadinejad about a most curious episode involving Emperor Theodore of Ethiopia and the lack of response his personal missive to Queen Victoria received, with such an unintended consequence.

 The parallels are striking. Like Iran during the second Bush years, Ethiopia then was opening to the West after a time of isolation. Enamored of technology, Theodore had invited foreign engineers to modernize his nation. Like Ahmadinejad, he was struggling to consolidate power from rivals. Like Iran now, squeezed presently between American armies on both sides, Ethiopia then was surrounded by the expansive power of khedival Egypt. Under its assertive foreign policy, a reaction to Napoleon's attack on home soil (akin, for Bush as for most Americans to al­-Qaeda's strikes on the US), Cairo considered the African Red Sea coast and Sudanese Nile Valley to be their essential security buffers.

 By writing a letter of greetings in 1862 to Queen Victoria that began with the religious invocation, "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God in Trinity", Theodore sought common cause with someone whom his British advisor had told him, as Head of the Church of England and "a great Christian Queen who loves all Christians", would always protect the one true religion. This was a role close to his own heart, for he saw himself as a lone bulwark against Islam. "See how Islam oppresses the Christian", he lamented, finding "Turks" everywhere he looked. "I have told them to leave the land of my ancestors," he wrote. "They refuse. I am now going to wrestle with them."

 For a British monarch and her diplomatic corps, it was simply too presumptuous that a mere African chief should invoke the divine right of kings and consider himself, as Theodore's letter introduced himself, "Chosen by God, King of Kings, Theodore of Ethiopia".  So for two years the letter sat in the Queen’s inbox unacknowledged, until the day she found it in her interests to write back.

 Ahmadinejad's letter to Bush similarly invoked religion from the opening line. If in his case he wrote as an observant Muslim, he still sought common monotheistic ground. He began with the bismillah, invoked the name of Jesus with standard formulaic blessings, and posted what is the most unusual complimentary close in the history of diplomatic correspondence- Vasa/am ala man ataba'al hoda, or And peace to those who obey the guidance.

 The purpose of Theodore's letter was not readily apparent. He greeted the Queen, gloated on his victories over obscure enemies, and gave both thanks for presents received and excuses for those not sent. It seems he wanted most to announce his importance to the outside world. Calling himself "King of Kings", he pulled rank on a mere Queen.

 One also wonders what prompted Ahmadinejad to write to Bush. Some think he wished to seize the high ground in this dance between antagonists, not yet on speaking terms but, with help from internationalists like Henry Kissinger and Javier Solana, inching ever closer. Perhaps he was appealing to his own constituents, as part of a chess match with local players. More cynically, he may merely have wanted to upstage Osama bin Laden, whose widely distributed scoldings of the West had captured the imagination of Muslims worldwide.

On May 26, 1864, Queen Victoria finally saw fit to answer the Emperor, addressing him as "Our Good Friend Theodore, King of Abyssinia".  What had spurred her to action was that Theodore. in a fit of pique for his letter having been ignored for so long, had thrown a number of her subjects and other Europeans into chains. The story became a press potboiler, thanks in part to New York Herald correspondent Henry Morton Stanley, and British public opinion finally stirred.

 Hormuzd Rassam, the Queen's chosen courier, was a character from central casting- an Iraqi Christian and naturalized Briton, former aide to British archaeologist Sir Austen Layard of Sumer fame, bearing two cases of fine curaçao liqueur as a gift for the tej-loving sovereign. Rassam waited a year for Theodore's permission to approach the court, and upon arrival was promptly thrown into prison alongside the others.

 More letters were exchanged, Queen Victoria continuing to call Theodore "Our good friend", Theodore continuing alternately to harangue and to flatter. Four years passed. As Alan Moorehead wrote in The Blue Nile, "It was one of those dilemmas which are the agony of responsibility. What was the British government to do? They were unwilling to invade, threats were dangerous, and negotiation was leading nowhere. The only alternative was to do nothing and hope the situation would resolve itself." If this sounds familiar, it should.

 In 1868, the Queen’s final ultimatum to the emperor went ignored and a British invasion force of 32,000 men and 55,000 animals, including 44 Indian elephants, massed on the Red Sea coast under the command of Sir Robert Napier. They were to face what might be considered Africa's first weapon of mass destruction- a seventy ton mortar built by Theodore's German engineers.

 By no surprise, the campaign was short and the casualties one-sided. Two British soldiers and untold thousands of Ethiopians died in battle. Theodore killed himself, his stronghold at Magdala was taken, and Napier decamped.  He left behind a  bloody war of succession fueled  by abandoned British weapons and took home with him treasures from plundered monasteries, some still on display in the V&A, and a £9 million war bill.

 As Ahmadinejad ended his own letter, "Those in power... will be constantly judged in the immediate and distant futures. The people will scrutinize our presidencies. Did we manage to bring peace, security and prosperity to the people, or insecurity and unemployment ... The question here is what has the hundreds of billions of dollars,  spent every year on the Iraqi campaign, produced for the citizens?" In retrospect, the Magdala campaign seems like a bargain, but still a steep price to pay for an unanswered letter.

New Arithmetic on the Old Frontier

A great and glorious thing it is To learn, for seven years or so,/The Lord knows what of that and this, Ere reckoned fit to face the foe-/The flying bullet down the Pass, That whistles clear: " All flesh is grass."

-from "Arithmetic on the Frontier", Kipling

In this year marking our eighteenth anniversary in Afghanistan, the old calculation of America's War on Terror no longer seems to sum. Our war planners should have read Rudyard Kipling's poem "Arithmetic on the Frontier" about the 2nd Anglo-Afghan War. If so, they will learn that, even back then almost 200 years ago, the math just did not add up. Kipling knew that the cost of training a British soldier- "for seven years or so"- compared to the cost of a Pashtun tribesman's life- shooting a "ten-rupee jezail" (an old flintlock rifle)- was a bad deal for their Empire. As even a poet counted, "The odds are on the cheaper man".

 The estimated cost to train, equip, and transport a US Army private to the field is about $40,000. To support that same soldier in field combat for a year and then muster him out of service costs about ten times more. On the ledger’s other side, whether he be Pashtun or Saudi, an insurgent comes from a country whose unemployment rate is well above America’s. As Kipling noted, "The troopships bring us one by one/At great expense oftime and steam/To slay Afridis where they run."

 Kipling's cost of a British soldier on duty in the subcontinent- "Three hundred pounds per annum spent/On making brain and body meeter/For all the murderous intent"- did not justify a policy of "force protection" that is the top operative aim in the American military today. In his day, "No proposition Euclid wrote/No formulae the text-books know/Will tum a bullet from your coat." But Pentagon accountants now know that the alternative policy of "civilian protection", if it were to endanger soldiers, will cost a lot more.

 The continuing news of Afghan civilian deaths from US airstrikes go straight into America's debit column- but with higher moral costs, as it turns out, than monetary. The lives of a fixed number of US soldiers, trained at great expense, are threatened, so the homes of an unknown number of civilians, maybe twenty, maybe one hundre, get bombed..

Eleven years ago, after NATO's notorious bombing of the town of Azizabad in Herat Province, the US outlined a new policy aimed to lessen the ill will caused by dickering over civilian body counts. We agreed to pay compensation first- roughly $2,500 per person- based on the number of casualties reported locally, and to investigate and confirm the facts second.

 But in an active war zone, even local reporting can be clumsy. In one incident in Lashkar Gah, 18 bodies had been pulled out of the rubble and another 12 were feared to be underneath . The Azizabad strike was said by Afghan officials to have killed 90 civilians. The US first estimated the civilian toll to be "5 to 7", with "more than 30 insurgents", but after a UN site visit confirmed the higher toll, the US estimate was revised officially upwards to "more than 30".

 Besides the cost of lives lost , Kipling added the cost of pilferage- "One sword-knot stolen from the camp/Will pay for all the school expenses/Of any Kurrum Valley scamp". Yet this petty thievery pales in comparison to the not-so-petty profiteering off today's wars. A charge made against a top fundraiser for John McCain, who won fuel contracts for US forces in Iraq even though the highest bidder, and made a $210 million profit- seven times more than if the contracts had gone  to the under bidder, proves that a savvy player can net a lot more than the price of a "sword-knot".

 And what, after almost two decades, has this long war accomplished? Kipling answered best, "And after?- Ask the Yusufzaies/What comes of all our 'ologies". The same might be asked of the economic "'-isms" and political "'-ocracies" that Americans peddle overseas. Such words are incomprehensible Greek and Latin to Yusufzai tribesmen , who live by their own rules called the Pashtunwali. It is no wonder that Washington's once favorite slogans "Hearts and Minds", "Tehran next", and "The road to Jerusalem runs through Baghdad" were quickly put on the sale shelf, destined for the trash heap until a chicken hawk politician needs them next.

http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poems_arith.htm