Another Country

Massive protests, grieving families, a country divided — the Mexico Americans rarely see.

essay and photographs by Joseph Sorrentino

Over the last four years I’ve made three trips to Mexico, primarily to photograph religious ceremonies. Each time I’ve ended up also photographing political protests, and have been struck by two things: the number — and strength — of the protests and the almost complete lack of coverage of this unrest in the U.S.



	March 2001, Mexico City: A truckload of campesinos (above) and a bannered bus (top), part of the Chiapas-to-Mexico City caravan, at the University of Mexico on the last day before heading home.

Trouble first broke out on Jan. 1, 1994, in a civil war between the EZLN (Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional; Zapatista Army of National Liberation) and Mexico in Chiapas, Mexico’s southernmost state. A ceasefire went into effect within two weeks, but the issues that led to the hostilities remained. Last month Subcomandante Marcos, one of the leaders of the EZLN, organized a bus caravan that traveled from Chiapas to Mexico City. The trip’s purpose was to reopen dialogues aimed at finding a permanent solution to this war.

The EZLN had three conditions for reopening dialogue: pullback of the Army from all positions in Chiapas, release of political prisoners and enactment of the Indian rights bill. Vicente Fox, Mexico’s president, ordered the Army back, released most of the Zapatista prisoners and supported the passage of the Indian rights bill. That bill was supposed to guarantee indigenous groups’ autonomy and the right to live in traditional ways.



April 2001, Oaxaca: Rally for a PRI candidate. PRI (Partido Revolucionario Institutional) was the ruling party in Mexico for over 70 years. The election of Vicente Fox, a non-PRI candidate, broke the party’s long hold on the presidency.

But in Marcos’ view, the bill that was passed was severely weakened and unacceptable. Accordingly, he and the EZLN rejected the bill, handing the U.S.-supported Fox a potentially disastrous defeat and underscoring Mexico’s continued political uncertainty and instability.



	April 1999, Oaxaca: The Loxicha family encampment in front of the Governor’s Palace. (The cover photo shows children in the same encampment two years later.)

Throughout all this — from the caravan (met by huge crowds at every stop), to the EZLN’s historic meeting with Mexico’s Congress to Marcos’ blistering rejection of the Indian Rights bill — mainstream U.S. media coverage was scant to non-existent.

Two years ago, I photographed protesters in the zocalo in Mexico City on May Day, including a contingent of 40 or so Zapatistas. Then, as now, people were angry at the government. And then, as now, I saw little coverage in the papers here in spite of the fact that the protesters numbered in the tens (if not hundreds) of thousands. This year I was in Oaxaca to photograph Semana Santa (Holy Week) and there were protests every day of that week, sometimes two or three groups converging on the zocalo there. The different groups were not directly connected to the EZLN, but people I spoke with made it clear they shared the same beliefs and are aligned with them.



April 2001, Oaxaca: Jesus Silva Gayton makes crucifixes and other objects out of palms during Holy Week and sells them in front of churches. It takes months to learn how to make the pieces, using a method that is handed down within families. The crucifixes sell for only a few dollars each.

A group of women from a small village near Oaxaca named Loxicha has been camping in front of the governor’s palace trying to win the release of over 100 political prisoners from their village who were arrested over four years ago. I first photographed them two years ago. They’re still there, although they’ve been moved across the street to make room for souvenir stands. Eighty-two of the men have been released because there was insufficient evidence to keep them jailed, but at least 20 are still imprisoned. Like many other indigenous people in Mexico, the Loxicha residents have been targeted by paramilitary groups and subjected to torture and terrorism. Over 40 people have been murdered in that village.

I’ve exhibited photographs of the EZLN in Philadelphia, and every time I do people ask me who they are and why they’re wearing masks. "Is it because of the pollution?" someone asked once. No. They wear masks (pasamontanas) because they need to hide their identities from the government and paramilitary death squads. In most other countries, Marcos and the EZLN are instantly recognizable. In the U.S. they’re virtually unknown.



	May 1, 1999, May Day Rally, Mexico City: An EZLN member wearing a black mask to hide his identity.

The political situation in Mexico is, of course, complex. There was some anti-EZLN graffiti in Oaxaca (my favorite was "Fox wants us illiterate, Marcos wants us indigenous" in reference to the proposal by Fox, Mexico’s president, to tax books, and Marcos’ fight for indigenous rights). Some in Mexico believe Marcos sold out when the EZLN addressed Congress; others feel it solidified their support. Some believe that there have always been protests in Mexico; others claim it’s an example of rising disenchantment with the government. Marcos’ rejection of the Indian rights bill has been the topic of heated debate in Mexican papers. It is clear from the latest developments that the struggles in Chiapas and Oaxaca are far from over.

What’s at stake in Chiapas, among other things, is the right for indigenous people to live in traditional ways and the control of land they’ve occupied for hundreds or thousands of years; land that is rich in natural resources and coveted by the more developed parts of that country and by U.S. companies. Supporters of the WZLN and indigenous groups still fear for their lives and assassinations are a weekly, if not daily, occurrence. Just before I left Mexico on April 25, eight campesinos were assassinated in Chiapas. It wasn’t clear at the time who was responsible, but the evidence certainly implicated paramilitary forces. In spite of Fox’s claims to the contrary, the violence and the clandestine war continues.

There’s no clear indication what will happen in Mexico now. The most recent communique from Marcos outlining the EZLN rejection of the Indian rights bill calls for "continuing resistance and rebellion" and "civil resistance." One fear is that the war may break out again. If it does, it will catch the U.S. by surprise.

But maybe then, at least, it will finally make the news.



April 2001, Oaxaca: Union activists and indigenous groups rally in the town square for rejection of President Fox’s fiscal reform and approval of the indigenous rights bill.



May 1, 1999, May Day Rally, Mexico City: Protesters with signs denouncing the privatization of electricity and the increase in tuition prices at the University of Mexico.