Toward Understanding

The Arrival

At 5:30 am the plaza outside the San Cristóbal bus station is quiet other than the sound of birds, crickets and the occasional distant motor, as an unseen vehicle turns onto an unknown road. These streets are still wet with the remains of an earlier rain and the smell of the damp mixes with that of the soil and the stone. How is it that stone smells? It seems implausible but there it is. Even the plaster and paint is there and, of course, the poo. Dogs live their perilous lives out here on these streets, cowering in the darkened spaces where safety from some unknown threat seems elusive. As night’s darkness slowly succumbs to the dominance of day’s light, it soon becomes apparent that the writing is on the wall. Down every street, unheard voices speak through the medium of paint. This could be the time when they normally shout silently their words of anger and frustration, but at this moment they’re invisible. What lingers is an echoing of feelings, the traces of a part of society that is disenfranchised and relegated to communicating their message in the dark of night.

Though the graffiti of the streets may speak more directly than the scent of soil, both these experiences, and a myriad more, contribute to a sense of place. They are aesthetic experiences that contribute to a greater understanding, experiences that can help bring one closer to a state of empathy. My hope is, that by being here, I get closer to both these experiences.

Homecoming

Normally, walking down darkened streets can be an unsettling experience. But these streets feel safe somehow—if not for the dogs—at least for me. The shadows and fog bring with them a spirit and an energy, a revitalisation after a long winter in the north that seems to have sapped my strength. Walking this last mile to my destination, I’m happy as I begin to hear a familiar clip-clopping sound. It sounds like a horse, but I’ve been fooled before by this sound, so this time I don’t need to look to know its just a car approaching over the cobblestones. I realise that this is something of a homecoming.

Destination & Departure

San Cristóbal de las Casas is both a destination and a departure point for a journey toward understanding. It is a centre of cultural commerce for the southern Mexican state of Chiapas, and the centre of a long struggle for social justice. The people who come to this place all have their own personal reasons for doing so and traditionally it hasn’t been an easy place to get to, so its rare that someone arrives by accident. And yet all of us who have come to this place have arrived somewhere else. Our own past experiences and our own intentions inform our perception of this place and individualise our experience of it. This will impact each of us in ways that will affect our ability to connect with the place and the people here.

Intention

The objective of this visit to San Cristóbal is to investigate the situation in Chiapas and learn, through first hand experience, about the complexities of the social problem that exists here. The large body of knowledge and documentation that already exists on the subject is invaluable, but a phenomenological approach to understanding is also imperative. The personal experience provides a knowledge that is informed by sensate, emotional and intuitive responses to people, places and things, a knowledge that can’t be attained through solely empirical approaches. Who are the stakeholders in this situation, what are their concerns, and what are exigencies of the problem? These are the immediate questions that come to mind but with time and through the iterative nature of the design process, others will reveal themselves.

Communication

These streets are a mix of economic and political activity. Retail stores, restaurants, internet cafés, art galleries and book stores populate the city just like any other. But look more closely and you’ll see that there is something different about many of these establishments. Propaganda T-shirts are a popular product in both retail spaces and in the markets, many restaurants are meeting places for activism, and flyers in internet cafe’s announce political meetings or documentaries taking place in one of the town’s many underground cinemas. Yet its the bookstore that speaks to the unique nature of this place. Virtually every one is stocked to the ceiling with an incredible selection of knowledge from philosophy and poetry to sociology, anthropology and political science. The vast majority of the material is Spanish language and intended for a local audience rather than the tourist market. This reflects the highly literate and critically engaged nature of the local population, a characteristic that becomes all the more obvious when you speak with them.

This could be one reason why the communication campaign by the Zapatistas is primarily focused on words, it’s the understanding that both San Cristóbal and the larger Mexican community are very sociopolitically literate. In fact it appears that the verbal and written aspect of the Zapatista organisation is almost the only official vehicle for such communication. It is expressed in print through authorised publications of the words of Subcomandante Marcos—these often take the form of poetry, prose or indigenous myth—and by an internet presence through sites such as Radio Insurgente and Enlace Zapatista. Here text, audio, and video files are disseminated to a wider national and international audience, and while images do mix with the words, they take a back seat. Even the ubiquitous socialist red star is slowly disappearing as the symbol for the organisation, as brighter colours and representations of the natural history replace it.

Rhetorical Currency

What is certain though is that, while only a limited amount of official visual communication exists, there is an immense collection of apparently accepted unauthorised material. This takes the form of T-shirts, posters, books, DVDs, and thematic hand-crafted objects, all of which is for sale and most of which appears to be marketed toward the politically engaged tourist. These products are distinctive for their direct attempt to convey messages of support and many of them appear to reflect a growing change in the organization’s policy and identity. Though many of these objects could be considered arts or craft, the fact that they are intended primarily as political messages makes it more difficult to accept them as art08. They can be regarded as rhetorical tools with the specific intention of persuading an audience of a particular belief. The consumer is a participant in this rhetorical communication, as they tend to be supporters of the belief, and their act of displaying or circulating the message is both an extension and contribution to the dissemination of the belief or ideology. Just as a pair of sneakers or designer label help to create a social identity in the wearer, the consumer of these rhetorical devices is also making a public statement regarding their social and political identity.

Culture

Other objects of art and craft exist here too. Pieces that reflect the culture of various indigenous communities that live in San Cristóbal and throughout Chiapas. In many respects these objects appear more authentic than those whose original intention is to communicate a political message. They are personal expressions, and as such, bring us closer to the lives of the people who create them. Through encounters with these cultural artefacts and conversations with local people in the community, an understanding can begin to develop that sheds light on the social and cultural foundations that inform, not just their thinking and beliefs, but also their ways of seeing.

Another Destination

It’s a new day—it’s almost hot—and for the first time I can wear a t-shirt and shorts. I’m hanging out my laundry to dry on the roof of the family home where I’m staying. The city I’ve been experiencing for the past week or so is all around me but I’m being beckoned by the mountains in the distance and the unknown that lies beyond them. I realise that to get a greater understanding of the larger problems behind this movement, I need to go there. So tomorrow, a friend and I will hop into the VW and quite literally head for the hills.

We’ve dropped off my friend’s children at school and are driving into the mountains toward the small community of Oventic. This village is a central figure in the Zapatista movement and I hope to learn more about the issues directly from those at the heart of this struggle.

The drive from San Cristóbal to Oventic takes about an hour as the road winds through hills and valleys that reflect the rugged landscape of Chiapas and its often difficult living conditions. This short trip also foreshadows many of the concerns that will be expressed by the people of Oventic. The land, from an agricultural perspective is often marginal at best, and shelter is basic—mud floors, scraps of wood, and metal sheeting are the common construction material—a cinder block home is almost a luxury. Corn, the staple crop for all of Mexico and an historical link to traditional Mayan cultivation and culture, is growing in the smallest of gullies and the steepest of slopes. In one of the valley bottoms a horribly polluted river wends its way through a families garden while children bathe in it’s apparent chemical contamination. No one needs to be told what the problems are here, it’s apparent everywhere you look. The landscape is at times very beautiful but in its current state, sadly, it provides only a very marginal existence for the people of the region.

At the entrance to Oventic the air is still and the sun beats down on the road where a heavy gate blocks further access to the community. A man guarding the gate wears a black balaclava to mask his individual identity, this also defines his collective identity as a member of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation. We’ve come to meet with local officials and community members and, after conferring with others nearby, the guard allows us to pass and arrangements are made for us to meet with the “bien gobierno”, or good government council.

Walking down the steep road to the office, we pass brilliantly coloured murals on clapboard buildings, paintings promoting the movements ideological message. They reflect a Mexican tradition of using art as a vehicle for communicating ideas, a tradition exemplified in the work of artists such as Diego Riviera and David Alfaro Siquieros, but something about these murals seems surreal. Every space is occupied by these paintings as if there is some frenetic rush to cover over the past, but it also feels unreal in it’s excess. We would later learn that all the murals were painted by visiting volunteers from other parts of Mexico and the world—these are not the expressive creations of the people who live their lives here. At first this visual rhetoric overshadows the substantive characteristics of the village, such as the health care facility with ambulance outside or the school yard in the distance, complete with basketball court.

After a few minutes we’re escorted into a windowless room and were directed to sit before 2 men and a woman who were also wearing the same black balaclavas. After introductions one of them begins to slowly and quietly explain the history of their struggle for greater social well being and security. As the man describes the problems that plague their communities his speech becomes broken and his eyes and voice well up with emotion. He’s describing a life experienced as constant fear and uncertainty. Food, shelter, health and security are daily concerns and it had been that way for as long as he or the others can remember.

The meeting revealed that many of the problems we’d seen earlier are representative of the concerns these people have; health, sanitation, housing, education, security and yet the most abstract concern is also their foremost demand—justice. As we visit the rest of the community it’s apparent that things have improved in Oventic. The school is busy with at least six classrooms filled with active and enthusiastic students, farmers are coming back from the fields for lunch and sitting down with some men who’ve been erecting a new building, a meeting between community representatives and international volunteers is just getting underway, and four men are carrying an old woman on stretcher to the health facility we’d seen earlier just up the hill. This place has the feel and appearance of a vibrant and seemingly healthy community. It seems they are on the path to a better life. This is a model community, an expression of Zapatista will and ideology, a model to show the world what the movement can do for the people of Chiapas.

Hiking back up the hill to leave Oventic I feel a chill against the back of my neck that causes me to turn. A fog has begun to settle in the valley. Looking back over the town as the sun disappears, the cold begins to lay down upon the homes and I realise that, in many respects, this town is a mirage. Clearly it’s seeing real changes, but this is just one town and there are hundreds of others throughout Chiapas that are truly struggling. It seems that, for this movement and at this moment at least, real progress is elusive.