4 (B). Through Oaxaca

When I woke up the next morning, I found myself drenched in sunlight. I was surprised by the serenity in the room after an adventurous night. I turned on the TV to fill the room with the voice of the news anchor. I didn’t understand much of what was said in Spanish but had a sense that the demonstrators might have left the central plaza under pressure from the police. Eager to find out what was going on, I decided to skip breakfast and head out for the central plaza.

As soon I walked out of the hotel, I changed my plan and took a detour to the Basilica de la Soledad Church. Maybe I was nervous about seeing what Oaxaca had become or maybe I just needed to prepare myself for what I was going to see. The town seemed to come back to life as people and cars passed by me.

The basilica is dedicated to the Virgin of Solitude, Oaxaca’s patron saint. She is believed to have the power to heal and work miracles. There was no one in the courtyard outside the Baroque church as I crossed. The lime-stone church casted a large shadow on the plaza in the chilly morning. I could hear the service inside the church so I sped up and slipped into the pew. The priest was reading from the bible as the Virgin of Solitude looking down on him in her pearl-encrusted vest and gold crown. I was distracted by the frosty breeze that found its way through the open doors into the church, but the singing somehow warmed me up. The elegance of the saint and the tranquility in the church were calming even for a non-believer like me. Before I left, I joined the prayer for peace and safety of the town and the demonstrators.

I strolled down the street towards the center of the old town. Most of the stores were shut, many graffitied with protests against the governor and the president. My heart was sinking. I could hardly recognize the town that had been one of the most beautiful colonial cities in Mexico. As I got closer and closer to the central plaza, more people entered the street as if we were marching together. The crowd worried me. I began to wonder if the confrontation had escalated again. I quickened my pace until I was met with armored police fencing the central plaza and was prevented from entering it. In front of them there was commotion surrounding torched bus and cars as people raced to climbed into them and take pictures. I was relieved that things had not grown worse.

By the second day, the central plaza was re-opened to the public. I wandered around, hoping to find the spot near the main church where I used to sit and watch people. The town center was filled with police and debris from the demonstration. Many policemen who slept in the corridor overnight were sitting on their mattresses chatting with each other. Some chose to read comic books and sizzling magazines with photos of sexy women to recuperate from days of confrontation. Others lined up by the pay phone to call home.

An old man brought a big bag of bread and pastries for the police.

“Thank you for helping us end the protest. Many stores had gone without business for months.” He said to the police.

It was the Day of the Dead. The Oaxacans used to put out elaborate offerings on decorative altars to celebrate the return of their deceased families. Most people feared the dead but the Mexicans seemed to savor their time with the families, dead or alive, with great pleasure. They dressed up skeletons in beautiful colors, adorned the grave yards with a sea of flamboyant flowers and sometimes even played music at the cemeteries, as if we are only alive and truly free when we are dead.

I was disappointed that there was none of that this year. With the debris and flurry of people, it was all too confusing to me. I felt lost looking for my old spot. I paused as the frustration hit me. That’s when I looked up and saw the towering church standing next to the glittering sun. My eyes fluttered. I re-oriented myself and suddenly realized that I was standing at the spot where I used to sit. Since my last trip, they had planted trees in the plaza which used to be wide open. The long line of policemen wrapping around the church waiting for their lunch changed the look and feel of the area.

When I visited Oaxaca in 1994, the campaign for the presidential election was underway. It was the first election after the new electoral laws were passed and the first to have international observers. I remember my conversation with a young man who did not plan to cast his vote.

“The election will be rigged. Even if I went to vote, it would not change the outcome of the election. The ruling party will continue to stay in power.” He shared his pessimism with me.

“You have to vote! Taiwanese were not allowed to vote in presidential elections before, but everything has changed. You have to believe in the power of people. Sometimes change seems like a distant future. Believe it or not, the change can happen.”

I spoke with optimism a few years after the Taiwan government, controlled by Chinese renegades who ruled the country with iron fist, ended the longest martial law period in world history. The National Delegate Assembly with only Chinese-born representatives was dismissed. For the first time, Taiwanese could cast their votes in their own country in presidential elections. Things that had seemed hopeless became reality, thanks to the courage of those who stood up against dictatorship. I was excited and hopeful for the future of Taiwan. I didn’t know if this young man cast his vote, but in 2000, Mexico’s opposition party won their first presidential election, putting an end to 72 years of one-party rule. Coincidentally, Taiwan was also transformed in the same year in the same way.

Much had happened since then. Being here again brought back the hopes that I had for both countries. Both countries experienced an increased number of demonstrations as the countries liberated. Democracy was a long journey. Problems did not go away overnight. In fact, democracy helped surface problems that were unspoken before, often creating an illusion of instability in the short term.

People here were divided on the events that had unfolded in the last few months.

“My sister is a teacher. She makes $500 a month, far more than I do. And yet every year they go on strike and demand a pay raise. This has been going on for more than 20 years.” The waiter in a restaurant where I ordered chicken mole told me. “But I still think that everyone has the right to demonstrate. I just don’t like it being politicized.”

My taxi driver complained, “The months-long demonstration has scared away many tourists. It really affected my business. My children have not been able to go to school for a while now because the teachers are on strike.”

“I heard that the governor is very corrupt. Is there any truth to that?” I asked him.

“I think so. After he became the governor, he built a huge house.” The driver answered.

Yolanda ran a small newspaper. She had a different perspective.

“Inflation has continued to worsen over the year. After privatization, many materials and resources are controlled by a few companies. The monopolies have driven up prices. Things are not as bad here in Oaxaca as they are in the remote areas where things are very tough and people struggle with poverty. I am a single mom. Although the demonstration has affected my business, I think we have to continue to fight for reforms.”

Mexico is blessed with oil, platinum and millionaires, including one of the richest men in the world. And yet the country is plagued with income disparity.

Is Chiapas facing the same challenges?

That night I dreamed of Chiapas again.