4(A). Through Oaxaca | Parada en Oaxaca

The first time I went to Mexico, I stopped in Oaxaca before going to San Cristóbal de las Casas. I chose to follow the same route as in 1994.

The morning I flew out, I was greeted with an email from Emilio. That’s how I learned about the standoff between the protestors and the police in Oaxaca. The demonstration had been going on for months. The demonstrators began clashing with the police. The tension escalated when an American amateur journalist was shot to death amid the chaos. The day before my flight, the federal police descended in the city and shut down the local airport. Concerned about my safety, Emilio suggested that I cancel my trip. Not wanting to forfeit the ticket, I decided to stick with my plan and find out first-hand what’s really going on there.

Clueless if the Oaxaca airport had re-opened, I landed in Mexico City where I would transfer to the city in the South. The international airport was hustling and bustling as always. For a minute I wondered if the news about Oaxaca was accurate. I proceeded to the immigration check point.

“Wait here. I need to make a copy of your passport for my record.”

Going through immigration here was always brisk. I was surprised by the new procedure. The immigration officer took my passport and disappeared into her office, leaving me pondering if things had gotten worse in Oaxaca. I stood there all alone staring at the empty booth feeling the time ticking at snail’s pace as if I was on trial waiting to find out my sentence.

When the immigration officer finally came back, I couldn’t help asking her the reason for the procedure.

“A foreigner was shot in Oaxaca yesterday so we are keeping records of all the visitors who are going there, just in case.” She smiled at me broadly when she finished, as if she was joking.

I returned the smile, pretending that I was taking it all in stride.

Back in 1994, there was also a sit-in by the teachers in the central plaza in this charming town. They asked for a pay increase but the strike was peaceful. I used to sit near the plaza with my back to the demonstrators so I could watch the vendors with their colorful balloons and kids running in front of the church while diners enjoyed the sumptuous Oaxacan specialties. Energy erupted all around me so that I wasn’t sure if I was in an amusement park or an enchanting Spanish colonial town.

This time the teachers’ demonstration had intensified after the governor’s raid on the demonstrators. The teachers were joined by many sympathizers and the left-wing APPO Popular Assembly of the Peoples of Oaxaca. They began calling for the resignation of the governor, Ulise Ruiz Ortiz, who was also accused of corruption and repression.

After waiting for hours in Mexico City, I was finally on my way to Oaxaca. The plane was packed but with only 3 foreigners. No one said a word during the entire flight. I didn’t really know what to expect. It was almost midnight by the time we landed. I looked for a taxi as I walked out of the airport. I got in a share ride with a few strangers. It felt a bit odd, but I was so eager to get to my hotel that I didn’t let it bother me.

The streets were deserted and pitch dark. All the stores were shut. We drove miles without seeing a car but a few barricades and torched cars. The silence was eerie and surreal. To get around the blockades, the driver went through small alleys. There were no lights coming out of any of the houses.
“It is so safe in Oaxaca tonight!” One passenger broke the silence trying to make light of the situation.
The rest of us remained quiet, still too stunned by what we saw.

The hotel that I was supposed to stay at was only a few blocks from the central plaza which had been sealed off by the federal police.
“I have to let you off here. You will have to walk only 10 blocks.” The driver said.

I was Dumbfounded. The police had already shut down the electricity for the entire city. The picture of me toiling a luggage in a war zone at night seemed so wrong and even laughable to me. Fortunately, another passenger intervened and asked the driver to drop me off at a hotel in a safe area. It was a fancy hotel far more expensive than the other hotel but I was just relieved that I had a place to unwind.

In the middle of the night, I could hear the helicopters flying right over my room. Gun shots fired off through the sky intermittently. How is Oaxaca after all these years? I was anxious to know but exhaustion finally put me to sleep.