TORTURE & TOURISM IN OAXACA

Translations by Grahame Russell, info@rightsaction.org
January 2007

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THE STUDENT OF TORTURE GETS TORTURED
(Testimony, Tlaxiaco, Oaxaca, December 19, 2006)

In the city of Tlaxiaco, one victim of illegal detention and torture later another speaks to our emergency human rights delegation. Some stop in the middle of the hard parts to cry; some listening cry. Hard stories.

Cuitlahuac Santiago Mariscal, a teacher with the SNTE (Sindicato Nacional de
Trabajadores Educativos), stands before us. 'I am doing my thesis at the
UNAM (National Autonomous University of Mexico) on the systemic use of torture by Mexican 'security' forces. Often, I have sat where you are[pointing at our delegation] listening to stories of abuse, now I stand before you, a victim, to give my testimony.'

His story is similar to that of 8 other men illegally pulled off a bus one day in November by Mexican armed forces, while on their way to a legal protest. On the side of highway, they were herded at gun-point into corn fields and were beaten over their bodies and heads, with fists, feet and weapons. Forced to kneel, pistols were placed at their temples and they were told to say their last goodbyes, alone, in the corn field. The good news: no one in their group was killed that day.

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'DESDE ABAJO'

Emiliano Zapata must be rolling angry in his grave, knowing that the Mexican Revolution, of the 1910 era, is long dead, constant rhetoric to the contrary notwithstanding.

After the recent - and on-going - wave of brutal repression in the southern state of Oaxaca, Zapata would know that profound political and economic change is still needed throughout Mexico; Oaxaca is as urgent a startingpoint as anywhere.

Another global struggle 'desde abajo' (from below) is pushing its way into the consciousness of North and South America - this time in a place called Oaxaca. With a population of 3.5 million people (a majority beingIndigenous and Indigenous-descendant), Oaxaca's story of racism, of inequality and greed, ofprotest, rebellion and State repression is alsoMexico's story and of the unjust global order.

Though the short-term focus of the protests is the ouster of the undemocratic and repressive Governor Ulises Ruiz, the movement 'desde abajo'that has come together under the umbrella of APPO (Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca) is broad-based. They are working to change the historic and endemic conditions of a majority of Oaxacans: inequality and racism; an unjust, exploitative and environmentally destructive economic-development model; repression by the State and wealthy elites; and, impunity and a lack of justice and democracy.

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"It is democracy for one day, every four years. If you vote, they call you a citizen. If you exercise your human rights and protest and demand change, they call you 'guerilla' fighters and delinquents." (Pedro Matias testimony,Oaxaca, December 20)

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Why the Oaxacan rebellion has risen this year, as opposed to next or last, is due to factors particular to Oaxaca and Mexico. Some recommended articles are: "Indigenous Rights Groups Meet the 'Law of the Club':Barbarous Oaxaca" (by Mitchell Verter, May 14, 2005); "From Teachers' StrikeTowards Dual Power: The Revolutionary Surge in Oaxaca" (by George Salzman,August 30, 2006); "Calderon Installed by Media and Military: Repression onthe Menu in Mexico" (by John Ross, December 2006).

Whatever the reasons for the timing of the APPO led movement, the Oaxacan struggle needs to be known about and supported, from the most local to global levels.


TORTURE & TOURISM

From December 16-22, I joined an emergency human rights delegation to Oaxaca organized by the Oaxaca Solidarity Network and sponsored by Rights Action. On short notice, 20 North Americans came to Oaxaca, firstly, to be an international presence and listen to testimonies of people tortured and of family members of victims of repression; and, secondly, to return home and work to bring more international attention to the brutal campaign of State terrorism and repression that is strongly backed by the incoming Federal government of President Felipe Calderon.

We listened to testimonies of torture and other atrocities, even as the government of Ulises Ruiz ordered a massive armed force presence to'protect' the huge tourist industry.

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"Along with selling its natural resources to foreign investors, the PRI (Partido Revolucionario Institucional) cabal that runs the Oaxacan government gets much of its money from its lucrative tourist industry.Ulises has been converting the governmental palace located in the Zocalo into a commercial center, appealing to local businesses and preventing the public from petitioning the government in view of tourists. Ulises'government severely punishes anything that gets in the way of commerce or detracts from its public image." ("Barbarous Oaxaca" article, by Mitchell Verter)

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If tourists continue to flock to Oaxaca, pumping millions of dollars into the hands of the government and business elites that dominate the economy,then the chances of bringing about real democracy and rule of law in Oaxaca are greatly lessened.


CALCULATED BRUTALITY

Since the recent wave of repression began in Oaxaca in June 2006, at least 20 people have been killed; 350 have been illegally detained (most having been illegally jailed and tortured); and close to 400 wounded.

A particularly brutal night of repression and terror was November 25th. Federal PFP (Policia Federal Preventativa) and State forces spread through the central Zocalo district of Oaxaca attacking anyone they found on the streets, accusing them of being members of APPO (as if this were illegal). Hundreds were illegally detained; most were physically tortured andpsychologically terrorized.

During the week of our visit, much of the activism was focused on securing the release of the illegally detained political prisoners and recording thetestimonies of the victims. We did as much as we could.


AN ARQUITECT WHO "ATTACKED THE P.F.P"
(Testimony, December 24; LaJornada newspaper)

In the safety of a church that is a friend to and an advocate of the poor in Oaxaca, Porfirio Dominguez Munozcano (42 years) sat quietly as we set upcamera and microphone. Then he talked for 40 minutes without stop. I thought he would cry; I thought we would, but on he went. Publicly telling the truth and fighting for justice are some of the best ways of healing(partially) from torture.

Because he was in the streets of the city where he lives on November 25th, Porfirio was almost killed. "I left my house to print some documents, when I saw a bunch of PFP troops running towards me and a group of people I was near. I was left unconscious with the first blow they landed on my head. Two hours later, I came to: my head was wrapped in some sort of cloth and my body and face covered in blood; I had been beaten all over."

"I was in the central Zocalo, face down on the cement with many others. Soldiers kept coming by and kicking us or striking us with the butts of their guns."

Some time later the PFP herded everyone into trucks. Porfirio was put in the back of a pickup truck, face down on the floor; others were piled up on top of him. He thinks there were 5 or 6 other detainees in the same truck, but is not sure. They were not told where there were going. "They said they were going to take us in a helicopter and throw us into the ocean. We were frightened to death, even as they continued kicking us and grinding ourheads and hands with their boots."

"We arrived at the women's CERESO (Centro de Rehabilitacion) Tlacolula jail. It was 2 or 3 in the morning. There, they continued hitting and threatening us. You have to try and imagine the terror that we were feeling."

A few days later, he learned that he - like most of the illegally detained -was being charged with assaulting police, sedition, destruction of publicproperty, and more.

The legal and penal systems are being used in Oaxaca as part of the apparatus of repression.

Due to swollen face and severely damaged left eye, Porfirio was finally taken to the Aurelio Valdivieso hospital where he remained for 7 days under surveillance by armed forces. After having his eye operated on - his vision is mostly restored, though much of the left side of his face remains paralyzed - , he was charged Pesos7000 (US$700) and sent back to jail for another week.

December 15th, Porfirio was released. No one had been told. He was left at the entrance of the jail, on a highway 30 minutes from Oaxaca, no money and no i.d. papers. Including Pesos7000 that he had in his pocket, when knocked unconscious, along with i.d. cards, credit cards, a driver's license,etcetera, nothing has as been returned to him. He hitchhiked to the city. A kind person gave him Pesos50 and he got a taxi ride home.

He continues to pay for his own medical treatment; he has nightmares; he has lost his work; his story has been published in the media and denounced by human rights groups; no charges have been filed against anyone.

Hundreds were illegally detained, jailed, tortured and psychologically tortured in the four weeks following November 25th.


SANTA CLAUS's GIFT LIST
(LaJornada, December 23)

"Dear Santa: This Christmas, I am not asking you for toys, I am only asking for the immediate liberty of my Papi." Derwin Coache Rivera - 8-year oldson of political prisoner Marcelino Coache Verano (a member of APPO) -participates in all the marches being organized by COFADAPPO (Comite deFamiliares de Presos, Detenidos y Desaparecidos de Oaxaca). Marcelino was illegally detained and jailed on December 4. Derwin wants to get Papi out"from that place where he is living that is so ugly."
Derwin visited his Papi in a jail in Cosalapa, Oaxaca, near the border with Veracruz. "Ihugged him and we cried. I said: 'Papi, I love you very much. I don't want to be separated from you'."


WOMEN WITH "A HIGHLY DANGEROUS PROFILE"
(LaJornada, December 21)

Mercedes Cumplido Pantoja (47 years) and Ruth Cabrera Vazquez (48) wereillegally detained and tortured physically and psychologically by the PFP(Policia Federal Preventiva) on November 25th. Mercedes: "They told me theywere going to kill me. They touched my legs, they hit me, they spoke to me in a most vile way, they said to me 'you are going to die, you are a bitch,an idiot, an asshole. Who paid you to be in the city center? How much did they pay you'?"

Ruth: While PFP agents were hitting her, "they were saying that I was too old to be involved in such bullshit, that we had no ethical values to destroy a beautiful city like Oaxaca." After she was illegally detained by the PFP on November 25, she was put in the back of a truck with 11 women."They threw us on the floor and took photos of us while they continued insulting us. They threatened us, not letting us know
where they were taking us. They finally took us to the CERESO (Centro de Rehabilitacion)jail in Miahuatlan."

"I told them I had nothing to declare because I had done nothing other than help people with coca-cola and vinagre who had been asphyxiated with the tear-gas (shot by the PFP). Is this a crime?"

"My hand was really swollen and painful [from the beatings]. I asked to go to the infirmary. An hour later, they told us that we were going. I was happy, thinking they were going to liberate us, so I was surprised when I learned they were taking us to who knows where, all hand-cuffed, forced to look at the ground, like some vile and bloody delinquents."

Members of our delegation have hours of filmed and taped testimony, some of which will be reproduced and distributed on Rights Action's list-serv, and elsewhere. Listening to the many testimonies, it is easy to confuse the stories - they are systematically brutal and head-achingly repetitive. Listening, it is sometimes too sad to continue to taking notes ... "They put blankets against our bodies, before kicking us, so as not to leave marks."

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"Torture is the government's preferred method of collecting information,extracting confessions, and gaining political concessions.(Yessica Sanchez Maya, Liga Mexicana de Derechos Humanos- LIMEDDH)

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WEDDING INTERRUPTED
(Testimony, December 21)

In front of the women's CERESO Tlacolula jail we spoke with 19-year old Mariela who has been waiting for days to see if her boyfriend would be released. Using the legal and penal systems as part of the apparatus of repression, the authorities don't tell anyone when they are releasing the people that they have illegally detained and most
probably tortured physically and psychologically.

In early November, Mariela's boyfriend came from Baja California to ask for her hand in marriage. They had planned to marry in early January;repression got in the way. Illegally detained on November 25, he was disappeared for a week - part of the terrorization tactic.

Mariela went from hospital to morgue trying to find her boyfriend. She learned that hundreds of people were detained in jails so she started visiting the jails. Finally arriving at the women's CERESO Tlacolula jail, that the government had emptied so as to fill with the political prisoners, she met other family members of the detained and disappeared; since that time they have worked together to find their loved ones and to help free all the political prisoners. They formed COFADAPPO (Comite de Familiares de Presos, Detenidos y Desaparecidos de Oaxaca).

She hopes today is the day her boyfriend will be released ... and then he will start to tell his stories.


THE 'MODUS OPERANDI' OF REPRESSION AND TERROR

The "errors and mistakes" argument is showing up in the media these days, as testimonies of torture emerge - inside Mexico and internationally. Yet, the illegal detentions, psychological and physical torture and dozens of killings in Oaxaca, are not "errors and mistakes" committed by "bad apples"in the various security forces.

"The objective of this counter-insurgency campaign is to totally finish off with social organizations and unions and, in general, with all opposition so as to implement the economic plans of the rich sectors. . These are projects that result in poor communities losing their lands, the forced displacement of 'colonos', misery and hunger." (APPO statement, Noticias, December 20,18A)


STATE OF FEAR & "PROTECTION" OF WHAT?

Friday, December 22: Our delegation has ended. A few of us spend the next days doing follow-up interviews. At least 1000 heavily armed forces occupy every entrance to the Zocalo center of Oaxaca. All day, thousands of Mexicans and tourists come and go, walking by the rows of armed forces and barricades blocking every entrance to the Zocalo.

APPO is having yet another march, so government forces prevent them from entering the Zocalo where most tourists go and where the reknown "Noche de los Rabanos" (Night of the Radishes) celebrations take place on December 23. APPO takes its peaceful protest in another direction, and holds a meeting with thousands - courageously strengthening their movement.


THE RE-DETENTION, RE-BEATING, RE-RELEASE OF PEDRO GARCIA
(Testimony,December 18; LaJornada)

Midday on December 18, teacher Pedro Garcia gave testimony to our delegation. On October 1st, he had been shot at, pistol-whipped, taken'incomunicado' to the Tlacolula CERESO jail, suffered beatings, forced to sign false declarations denouncing this and that person, and the like; standard operating procedures. He was released due to activism mainly fromother members of APPO.

The story of his first detention and torture were hard enough. In the middle of our meetings that same night, we got a text message: Pedro had just been re-detained, along with Florentino Lopez (APPO spokesperson) and Otalo Padilla. Pedro was re-beaten and re-tortured and later re-released.

Florentino: "[the men who detained us] said: 'we are a death squad. You now know us and now you will know what it is like to go to hell.' They kept saying they were going to kill us." Pedro, Florentino and Otalo identified Alejandro Barrita Ortiz, director of the State Policia Auxiliar Bancaria, Industrial y Commercial (PABIC) as being one of the men.

Interviewed at the inauguration of the hastily convened and widely rejected "Reform of the State" process, Governor Ulises Ruiz was asked - referringspecifically to these three men - whether it was the right time to initiate this 'Reform the State' process when government forces were arbitrarily detaining and torturing people.

Ulises Ruiz: "I understand that there was no detention, there was no legal process, they were not in the procuraderia ." (Noticias, December 20, p13A). The next day, the Noticias newspaper published photos of the three men -clearly beaten in their faces.

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"On the one hand, they call for "reconciliation and dialogue", on the other they continue with arbitrary detentions, assassinations and disappearances."(APPO, Noticias newspaper, December 20)

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After attending the well-attended-by-high-society inauguration of the "Reform of the State" process in the Palacio del Gobierno, governor Ruiz went to the Terranova restaurant in the Zocalo, owned by the family of the Secretary of Tourism, and had coffee with business leaders. They were surrounded by a detail of heavily armed "security" forces.

One of the businessmen who attended governor Ruiz's Reform the State show was Jose Escovar, president of the COPARMEX Oaxaca business coalition. We had formally asked him to meet with our delegation, but were told by his assistant he was away from Oaxaca until early January. (Neither would the State Attorney General's Office meet with us).


SHOOT THE MESSENGER

After Iraq, Mexico has the highest levels of repression against journalists,according to the Mexican Comision Especial para dar Seguimiento a las Agresions a Periodistas y medios de Comunicaion. Over the past 6 years in Mexico, 30 journalists have been assassinated; 3 remain disappeared. Recently in Oaxaca, killer's bullets have ended the lives of Mexican Raul Marcial Perez and American Brad Will.


DETAINING & TORTURING CANNOT KEEP THE GOOD PEOPLE DOWN

December 23, Noche de los Rabanos: Struggling for a decent and just society is also about singing, dancing and reciting poetry. After hundreds of heavily armed forces closed the Santo Domingo park area, where APPO was going to have its alternative Noche de los Rabanos celebration, the festival was held in a smaller outdoor space - armed forces at either end of the pedestrian-only street.

After 6 months of struggle, after weeks of illegal detentions, physical and psychological torture, a thousand or more came out to celebrate. One of the main singers and speakers was none other than the twice detained and tortured Pedro Garcia.


NO CONCLUSION - SUPPORT & GET INVOLVED

The struggle in Oaxaca is happening right now; the reactionary repression and State terrorism is happening right now; the mainstream media cover-up (not addressing the underlying issues; obfuscating the repression) is happening right now; the wealthy sectors of Oaxaca are maintaining their long-term relations with the wealthy and powerful of Mexico, Canada and the USA right now.

Rodrigo, Indigenous campesino from western Oaxaca - also illegally detained and beaten - told us: "We know that they can kill us at any time but we knowthat our struggle is just."

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"If you have come to help me, please go away. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, let us work together." (Lila Watson, Indigenous activist)

"There are no magic answers, no miraculous methods to overcome the problems we face, just the familiar ones: search for understanding, education,organization, action ... and the kind of commitment that will persist despite the temptations of disillusionment, despite many failures and only limited successes, inspired by the hope of a brighter future." (Noam Chomsky)

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FOR MORE INFO: about the on-going situation in Oaxaca and to learn of future delegations: oaxacasolidaritynetwork@gmail.com

FUNDS NEEDED: Rights Action is raising funds to support the humanitarian
relief needs of victims of torture and family members of victims of repression. For more info visit: www.rightsaction.org

A Chronicle of the October 29 PFP Invasion of Oaxaca: Another Angle of the Events Before and During the Advance of Federal Forces into the City of Oa

By Jacob Muller

Special to The Narco News Bulletin
November 13, 2006

What follows is a description of events on October 28-30 in Oaxaca, Mexico as experienced by this journalist. This marked the imminent advance of the Federal Preventive Police (PFP), sent by President Vicente Fox to purportedly restore order to Oaxaca. Fox´s decision to send in the PFP—long awaited and welcomed by illegitimate governor Ulises Ruiz¬—was no doubt in response to the attacks and assassinations of 4 people on October 27, including a U.S. journalist, by state-sponsored gunmen in civilian clothes.

Saturday, October 28, 9 a.m.: Wanting to get a feel for the mood of the people, I walk up to some people sitting around the Zocalo. It is a cool, clear morning and the city’s center square is looking ragged and worn. Remains of burning tires from the previous nights´ watch posts are smoldering, and the walls are covered with graffiti and posters protesting the government and its repression in the State.

I strike up conversations with people, asking what’s going on, what they think will happen. Everyone I speak with is expecting the worst. And everyone is determined to continue resisting. Most express the importance of remaining non-violent. There are a couple of young men, 18-20 years-old, who have bent thick pieces of wire into handles for slingshots. We talk as they attach the surgical tubing that will launch stones to the roughshod handles. I ask them how they can possibly defend themselves against tanks of the elite and the heavily-equipped PFP. “We have to do something. We don’t have a choice,” one of them explained, “We’re an example of resistance for many others.”

This matter-of-fact attitude in the face of the impending strike is echoed by many gathered at the Zocalo this morning.

I walk by a makeshift medical station that’s been erected. Inside, I recognize one of Oaxaca’s better-known artists, Hugo Tovar, sitting on a stool and having blood drawn from his arm. I notice that there is not the usual tube or vial connected to the needle in his vein. Instead, he’s holding an empty plastic water bottle, which is slowly filling with his blood. A short while later, Tovar thanks the nurse as she removes the needle, then he stands and walks out into the Zocalo. His compañera is waiting with some small paint brushes and several large sheets of paper from a sketch pad.

Tovar spreads out and begins sketching a series of faces with charcoal. Then he mixes his blood with water and begins painting the faces. He adds detail with more blood, this time from a syringe. He finishes his public art work by writing, “Not one more drop of blood. No to the repression!” A crowd of 30 or so people has gathered around. Only a few soft whispers break the pervasive silence.

In the afternoon, I decide to go to Radio Universidad, the university’s broadcast system that students have taken over and put it to use for the people’s popular movement. They’re a sharp thorn in the side of the powers-that-be in Oaxaca, and taking away their “voice” will probably be one of the first priorities of the PFP. They’re an indispensable part of the popular struggle, not only in terms of giving voice to people who normally aren’t heard, but also by getting vital logistical information and breaking news to people on the streets and “in the trenches.”

After having my press credentials carefully checked, I’m allowed to enter the area outside the radio station. Twenty or so people are working to beef up–using wooden posts, bricks and parts of cars–the barricades that have already been put up. The atmosphere is very tense, and there’s a mix of fear, determination and exhaustion on people’s faces.

On the ground in front of Radio Universidad is a milk crate filled with Molotov cocktails, some traditional firecracker rockets, and some roughshod wooden clubs. I point to the homemade weapons and ask, “Are those really going to help if the PFP breaks through the barricade here?” The young student who’s been showing me around answers, “Not much, really. If the PFP comes in here, they’re going to fuck us. There’s only two ways we’ll be leaving here: dead or detained,” he says matter-of-factly. “But we have to resist, there’s no other option. And if they take us, the struggle won’t be over. The struggle will continue somehow, in one form or another. The people are fed up. The poverty, the corruption, the repression; we can’t take anymore.”

As I’m leaving, several people ask for news about what’s happening outside. I tell them I’ve just come from the Zocalo, and that the hundreds of people who have been occupying the town center for the past five months were absent, and that I’d been told that they have been mobilized to protect the barricades at all the major entrances of the city. That leaves the radio station vulnerable, and they’re clearly worried. I wish them luck and tell them to take care. “And you too. Be very careful,” one woman says, “You know they killed a journalist like you yesterday—one of your compañeros. It wasn’t like the media reports it; he wasn’t caught in crossfire. He was shot in cold blood by plain-clothed police.”

She was referring to Brad Will, a U.S. journalist with Indymedia who was killed in the neighborhood of Santa Lucia on the morning of October 27. Her words would soon be confirmed by photographs taken by journalists at the scene: Will was shot in the chest while videotaping a confrontation between government-sponsored agitators and local residents manning a local barricade. The photos of Will’s assassins identified them as local authorities and police in civilian clothes. Many people, myself included, assumed that Will’s murder was accidental. Killing U.S. journalists usually isn’t worth the political and economic repercussions, but several Oaxacan human rights workers and political analysts have suggested that Will’s murder was deliberate.

“Ulises Ruiz (URO) has been asking President Fox to send the Federal Preventative Police to Oaxaca to crush the popular movement for months now. And in spite of at least a dozen deaths that have taken place since the conflict started, Fox announced that he was sending in the PFP the very next day following Will’s death,” one investigator told me. “It’s very possible that URO created the situation for Will’s death, knowing that Fox would have to respond with force. Will was fairly high-profile; he was present at a press conference with the controversial former governor, and reportedly was collecting information about one of the murders. We’ll probably never know the truth, but if URO did stage the assassination, clearly it was a successful strategy.

Sunday, October 29, 8:30 a.m.: The neighborhood barricades of Vigueras are rumored to be among the most heavily fortified. The highway from Mexico City leads into Vigueras, and many of the 4000 PFP forces will be coming in from that direction.
I arrive at one of the barricades—a pile of bricks, rocks, large tree branches and a few burned out vehicles—and there’s a crowd of neighbors gathered in anticipation of the PFP’s arrival. I note the worry, and the defiance, on their faces. They are talking about what to do.

“We need to make this barricade stronger, let’s move that bus over here!” A group of thirty men and women run over to a burned-out school bus. I doubt they can move it, but heaving and sweating, they manage to lift it a little bit at a time and move it crossways into the middle of the highway.

A group of women is talking nearby, “Remember, no violence. We don’t want a war. If we provoke them, they’ll use it as a pretext to strike back hard,” says one woman with a child in her arms.

“Yes, our fight is non-violent. We need to show them that,” echoes a slight woman in a faded t-shirt and worn jeans. “Why don’t we walk up to them with white flowers? Or we could paint our palms white and hold them up to the PFP.” Many in the Vigueras crowd did both. Unfortunately, the image of the women holding flowers up to the PFP was manipulated in many of the local and national commercial media that claimed the white flowers were a greeting to the PFP, thanking them for coming to Oaxaca to “restore order.”

Several people say they’ve already seen the PFP passing by in commercial buses, heading for the Zocalo. Hearing this news, I decide to return to the city center to see if it’s true. The Zocalo will be a primary target for the PFP; it is a center point for the movement, as the town squares are traditionally seen as the heart of a town or city and are frequently used for staging protests when the government isn’t listening to the peoples’ voices. Since the occupation of the Zocalo began in mid-May, hundreds of people have been camped out there. There are posters, banners and graffiti everywhere you look, most denouncing the governor’s corruption and repression and demanding that he renounce his seat.

10:00 a.m.: When I arrive the Zocalo it is calm, and more or less empty. Everyone is at the barricades hoping to keep the PFP from coming in the city. In front of the cathedral I see Hugo Tovar, the artist who’d done the political painting in the Zocalo the day before. I tell him I’ve just come from Vigueras and mention the woman who suggested confronting the federal police with outstretched palms painted white.
“That’s a great idea. Let’s do it,” Tovar says. We take a brisk walk to his studio for a bucket of white paint and then we’re off to Vigueras. Public transportation is frozen today, so we take a variety of impromptu “taxis,” pickup trucks and personal vehicles driven by local entrepreneurs seizing the moment to make a few pesos. When we get closer to the small army of PFP waiting to enter, the makeshift taxis dissapear, so we walk and, when we can, hitch rides on passing motorcycles.

11:30 a.m., Vigueras: We arrive at the “front line.” There’s a crowd of 100-150 people facing many hundreds of police in full riot gear, clubs, gas masks, and tear gas guns at the ready. On the highway that comes in from Mexico City are at least fifteen tanks lined up three wide. They have bulldozer blades in front to clear the barricades, video cameras on turrets, and water canons. Behind them—as far as my eyes can see—are hundreds of more PFP troops and vehicles.

The crowd caries signs while chanting, talking and pleading, “You are the people. Your job is to protect us, not repress us! Oaxaca is not Atenco! This is our home. You don’t understand what’s happening here. Don’t protect this governor, the rich businesses. This city belongs to all the people of Oaxaca. We’re fucked, day and night, by the poverty!” The police stare straight ahead.

I’ve been photographing the police—protected like turtles in their armor, behind their shields, with their clubs, gas masks, tear gas and tanks—and turn away toward the crowd gathered to confront them. There’s a wall of white palms held up toward the police. Hugo Tovar has been busy, his palms wet with white paint, offering it to a sea of palms held out by the crowd. Someone from the crowd walks up to a pair of painted palms and is writing something on each one: “PAZ”—“PEACE,” in black letters begins to appear one by one on each of the protestors’ painted hands.

Suddenly the crowd begins to part from behind. An ambulance from the Autonomous University of Benito Juarez appears and slowly makes its way to the front line. A wizened nurse with silver hair gets out, and asks some of the crowd to make space so the police to see what’s about to take place. She takes from the ambulance a small plastic stool. Hugo Tovar sits down and rolls up his sleeve. The nurse inserts a needle into a vein, and blood begins to flow down his arm.

Three people come forward from the crowd. “Yes, me too!” they are saying. The first is a woman of maybe 25 years. “I’m a mother, I have two daughters. I want them to have a future, to live in peace,” she shouts toward the police, “here’s my blood. If you want my blood, here it is… but don’t take it with violence. Please!”
A heavy set man sits down defiantly, and offers his arm. The nurse inserts a needle, and soon blood is flowing down his arm. “Help me, pull off my t-shirt,” he asks Tovar. Bare-chested, he gathers a handful of the blood dripping down his forearm. Slowly, deliberately he writes the letters “URO,” the governor’s initials, on his chest. “How many more have to die?” he shouts.

A large man who towers above the crowd sits down on the chair. Again, the needle and the blood. He stands up and begins screaming with bursts of emotion toward the police. “I’m a campesino. I work the land. I’m from Oaxaca. You aren’t from here, so you don’t know, but we’re dying here. We die from the poverty, and the governor’s men are killing us as well.” He continues moving closer to the police, on the verge of tears, saying, “My brother is with the police too. I understand that necessity makes you do it. But he’s a good man. Please understand, you’re being used. We are all `the people.’ Don’t hurt your own. No more violence!”

Suddenly a Mexican flag appears in his hands. By now there’s a steady stream of blood dripping down his arm onto the black pavement. He takes the flag and wipes it across his arm. He begins to wave the flag, stained with his own blood, through the air. Then he begins to sing the Mexican national anthem, tears streaming down his face. The crowd soon joins him. Many faces are wet with tears.

Not much later, as sirens sound, the police move into action. They part, making room for the entrance of the armored vehicles. In unison they rap their batons against their shields and, along with the tanks, begin moving forward toward the crowd. People begin chanting. “El pueblo unido jamas sera vencido!” — “The people united, will never be defeated!”

Through my camera lens I see several people grab the bulldozer blades of one of the tanks. They’re pushing, hopelessly, against the tank to keep it from moving forward. I see movement on the pavement below, and when I lower my camera I see three people on the ground. The tank is slowly, steadily moving forward, but the people aren’t moving. A wave of journalists rushes in to capture the action. I see the tank’s blade drop, and my heart sinks. I turn away for a moment, and then look back toward the scene. Several compañeros have pulled the protestors back from the approaching tank… just in time.

I feel someone tugging strongly on one of my sleeves. I look down and see a small, grey-haired woman of maybe sixty years, tears flowing, “This is how our government treats its people, with repression,” she implores, “my God, what shame. How is this possible? What is happening to us?”

The tanks and the police pick up their pace, and the crowd moves back. Some people are running, clearly afraid, but most are retreating calmly. Some in the crowd are even shouting for people to slow down. The tanks begin firing their high-pressure water canons, knocking some people to the ground. The people try to put more distance between themselves and the approaching forces, running, tripping—a strange, controlled havoc.

I get a call on my cell phone, telling me I should get to the Zocalo. Police are going to be entering there soon. There are no buses or taxis to be seen as they’ve all left long ago. I begin walking quickly and before long I see a motorcycle passing by. I flag him down and ask for a ride. “You’re a journalist, no?” I nod. “Vamonos. Where do you want to go?” As close as I can get to the Zocalo, I explain, and then we’re off, dodging through the barricades of burning trees and tires and hollowed-out cars and buses.

We pass several confrontations between the people and the police. Tanks are using their water canons against the crowd and many are throwing bricks and small boulders at the tanks, helicopters are circling overhead dropping tear gas, and smoke rises from burning tires and vehicles.

We weave through the scenes and arrive at the Zocalo. As I get off the motorcycle, the driver reaches out to shake my hand. “Be careful,” he says, “They killed an American journalist the other day.” Another reference to Brad Will.
The Zocalo is mostly deserted. A few journalist pace around, busy talking on cell phones. Everywhere—on the sides of building, on trees, on sidewalks—there are posters, banners and graffiti scorning URO: “Ulises-Assassin,” “URO-Coward Rat” and “Ulises has already fallen.”

It’s getting dark, and smoke from the smoldering barricades floats around the zocalo. It’s quiet—eerily so. The calm before another coming storm.
To be continued…

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