Ok, I am back and wonderfully caffeinated. Having spent some time staring at the endless rain here in the jungle, a few thoughts have come to my mind regarding the endless stream of questions posed in the last entry.
Here are some things that have become apparent to me as truths:
1) I am not part of a community in Boone. Though I do have some shallow roots there, which may be deeper by comparison to most other students, they are not sufficient enough to be able to say that I am part of a community.
2) There is not a community in Boone in the first place. At least not a community of people dedicated to environmental and social sustainability.
3) This is a dangerous position to be in due to the number of impending economic, environmental and social crises that are headed our way if not currently unfolding.
4) If we, as citizens of Boone, want to be able to create a new, better, sustainable and just world, and to withstand the afore-mentioned crises, we must create a community of people dedicated to these tasks.
5) This community in and of itself could be a powerful threat to the evil forces of neoliberal capitalism and the state which supports it.
6) It is useful, as a humbling exercise, to compare Boone, NC to the communities of indigenous Mayans in the Zapatista movement. They, after all, are doing what we are not: creating a new world that negates neoliberal capitalism and fosters liberation and humanity.
7) In order to create such a community in Boone, students such as myself must stay in Boone. We must dedicate our lives to the task of creating and sustaining a community there. We must remember that the fact that we have the option to go somewhere else is a product of our privileged status, and that most other people in the world do not have such privileges. Capitalism, with its need to be ever expanding, has planted the idea in our head that there are always greener pastures, that there is always somewhere better we could be. We must get rid of this illusion and see Boone for what it is: a beautiful, abundant place teeming with life and resources, a place perfectly ripe for the building of a dignified, (dare I say) autonomous community.
8) I hope that we can have the humility and clarity to figure out what must be done to sow the seeds of such a community, for right now the road ahead looks quite long and treacherous.
your comments and critiques are strongly encouraged as always.
Much more later. Need more coffee.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
On Community: Part One
In one of the first classes of this program, our professor asked us, “Are you part of a community?”. I immediately nodded my head in response, lovingly recalling my life back in Boone, NC. I though of all of my wonderful friends and relationships with community leaders, of my close relationships with professors, local business owners and long-time locals. I remembered all the wonderful organizations in Boone working diligently to make Boone and the rest of the world a different, better place. Most of all I recalled how on some occasions we all came together and shared resources and connections to make wonderful things happen, such as the International Day of Peace celebrations.
My professor, seeing my face light up, asked me to defend my assertion that I was part of a community in Boone. I described to him and the rest of the class all of the wonderful people I knew and how we are all working towards making Boone and the world beyond a better, more just and sustainable place. He allowed me to go on about how wonderful it was to feel part of something, to feel integrated into a community. Then, with a blank stare, he asked, “Would you die for them?”.
I was speechless. Why was he asking me that? This question had never crossed my mind, and probably would never have if he hadn’t asked me.
My heart sank and the light left my eyes as I realized what my answer was. “Well… no, I guess not. Maybe some of them…?”, I quietly replied, more in question than in answer.
He then asked me, “How long have you lived there? Do you all have a common history? Do you know the history of Boone?”. I explained that I had only been there three years… and no, we didn’t have a common history and no I didn’t know much of the history of the place. My heart sank even further. “Do you all have a common vision of the future and a common understanding of how to make that vision come about?”. No and No.
I started to realize the hole I was falling into. Am I really part of a community in Boone, or do I just know people there? Do we really depend upon each other and trust each other, or just know how to get what we need from each other? How much could I really depend on the supposed “community” of Boone? Did I see myself settling down in Boone? Will I still have the same relationships with the people I know there five, ten, twenty years form now? What about when I return from this trip?
I did not like where this was going one bit. But, I served as an excellent example with which to start a discussion on the true meaning of community.
I started to remember all of the failed projects we have started in Boone, all of the beautifully promising radical ideas that got jump-started and then dumped within weeks. It always seems as if the ideas and the intention are there, but when it comes to action and implementation everything just crumbles. Why?
There is no community to back it up. The community that I described in the beginning of the class doesn’t actually exist. Sure there are tons of people in tons of organizations, groups and clubs working on social and environmental justice and sustainability, but they do not work together nearly as much as they could. Events are scheduled on top of each other, resources are hoarded, stereotypes abound and people tend to only know what they are doing in their group, and not much of the activities of others. The town and the University are at odds, in competition with each other instead of cooperating for their mutual benefit.
Perhaps the most glaring obstacle to community in Boone is the constantly transitory population of students. We come to Boone to get a fine education at ASU and then we leave for “bigger and better” places. Boone for us is a stopping ground, a fake place where we can make superficial relationships and connections that we know will end when we all go our separate ways to make a life for ourselves. But can we really be blamed for this?
What opportunities are there in Boone besides working for the University or waiting tables? The jobs and opportunities we want just aren’t there.
So, with half the population of the town only sticking around an average of 4-5 years, how in the world are we supposed to create a viable, sustainable community of people, who support and depend upon each other?
If we want to create and build a movement of people committed to environmental and social justice, we necessarily must have a community of people working together to support it. Not a community in the sense of 30,000 people who happen to live in the same area, but a community that really depends on each other, that recognizes their mutual well-being, a community of people who would die for each other. A community with a common heritage, vision of the future and plan for how to get there.
In fact, the very idea of community is a death sentence for neoliberal capitalism and the authoritarian states that accompany it. Community breeds common understanding, acceptance and love- not the separation and alienation that capitalism feeds upon. A true community is a fierce weapon against the dividing forces of capitalism, for it is the necessary basis from which any anti-capitalist movement must spring. A true community does not need multinational corporations or government “assistance” programs, for it can provide for itself everything that it needs for the well being of every one of its citizens. A true community cannot be bought or sold.
The Zapatistas here in Chiapas are a true community. They give their lives for each other. They have thousands of years of common history and over 500 years of struggle against a common enemy. They have an ancient culture of intersubjective identity and modes of interaction with each other and the natural world of which they are a part. When the government or paramilitaries threaten to take a Zapatista family’s land, they are met by thousands of masked Zapatistas blocking their vain attempt at robbery. When the PRI took over the autonomous municipal government building in San Andres, they were physically removed the very next day by thousands of community members. Their community is the essence of their strength. How else would a few thousand indigenous Mayans be able to capture the eyes of the entire world?
I am feeling an almost-paranoid time imperative on this issue. We cannot afford to wait until it is too late and people are dying and suffering due to environmental, economic and social crisis. And crisis is surely where we are headed at the moment. Communities must be built which can sustain all matter of crisis, such as economic meltdown, nuclear warfare, global warming, corporate neoliberalism, fascist states, etc. etc. Without a strong and largely independent (autonomous) community infrastructure of resources and relationships Boone (and many others) could easily be swallowed up and destroyed by the global forces currently underway.
But is it even feasible to plant the seeds of community now, in this globalized world filled with placeless yet privileged “new social actors” such as myself? Is there any way to build a community that can pose a credible threat to the neoliberal world order? What about the very real processes of globalization? Where do localized communities fit in to the “global village”?
And where does all this leave me? What if I want to leave the shallow roots I have in Boone for somewhere “bigger and better”? What if there really are better opportunities awaiting me somewhere else? How useful is it to compare the college town of Boone to a Zapatista community of indigenous Mayans?
Right now I think need a strong cup of coffee, so I’ll leave the answering of these impossible questions for another day.
Salud.
P.S.- Wikipedia has an entry for "community", and interestingly links the concept to that of identity (a topic which I will focus on at length in future entries).
My professor, seeing my face light up, asked me to defend my assertion that I was part of a community in Boone. I described to him and the rest of the class all of the wonderful people I knew and how we are all working towards making Boone and the world beyond a better, more just and sustainable place. He allowed me to go on about how wonderful it was to feel part of something, to feel integrated into a community. Then, with a blank stare, he asked, “Would you die for them?”.
I was speechless. Why was he asking me that? This question had never crossed my mind, and probably would never have if he hadn’t asked me.
My heart sank and the light left my eyes as I realized what my answer was. “Well… no, I guess not. Maybe some of them…?”, I quietly replied, more in question than in answer.
He then asked me, “How long have you lived there? Do you all have a common history? Do you know the history of Boone?”. I explained that I had only been there three years… and no, we didn’t have a common history and no I didn’t know much of the history of the place. My heart sank even further. “Do you all have a common vision of the future and a common understanding of how to make that vision come about?”. No and No.
I started to realize the hole I was falling into. Am I really part of a community in Boone, or do I just know people there? Do we really depend upon each other and trust each other, or just know how to get what we need from each other? How much could I really depend on the supposed “community” of Boone? Did I see myself settling down in Boone? Will I still have the same relationships with the people I know there five, ten, twenty years form now? What about when I return from this trip?
I did not like where this was going one bit. But, I served as an excellent example with which to start a discussion on the true meaning of community.
I started to remember all of the failed projects we have started in Boone, all of the beautifully promising radical ideas that got jump-started and then dumped within weeks. It always seems as if the ideas and the intention are there, but when it comes to action and implementation everything just crumbles. Why?
There is no community to back it up. The community that I described in the beginning of the class doesn’t actually exist. Sure there are tons of people in tons of organizations, groups and clubs working on social and environmental justice and sustainability, but they do not work together nearly as much as they could. Events are scheduled on top of each other, resources are hoarded, stereotypes abound and people tend to only know what they are doing in their group, and not much of the activities of others. The town and the University are at odds, in competition with each other instead of cooperating for their mutual benefit.
Perhaps the most glaring obstacle to community in Boone is the constantly transitory population of students. We come to Boone to get a fine education at ASU and then we leave for “bigger and better” places. Boone for us is a stopping ground, a fake place where we can make superficial relationships and connections that we know will end when we all go our separate ways to make a life for ourselves. But can we really be blamed for this?
What opportunities are there in Boone besides working for the University or waiting tables? The jobs and opportunities we want just aren’t there.
So, with half the population of the town only sticking around an average of 4-5 years, how in the world are we supposed to create a viable, sustainable community of people, who support and depend upon each other?
If we want to create and build a movement of people committed to environmental and social justice, we necessarily must have a community of people working together to support it. Not a community in the sense of 30,000 people who happen to live in the same area, but a community that really depends on each other, that recognizes their mutual well-being, a community of people who would die for each other. A community with a common heritage, vision of the future and plan for how to get there.
In fact, the very idea of community is a death sentence for neoliberal capitalism and the authoritarian states that accompany it. Community breeds common understanding, acceptance and love- not the separation and alienation that capitalism feeds upon. A true community is a fierce weapon against the dividing forces of capitalism, for it is the necessary basis from which any anti-capitalist movement must spring. A true community does not need multinational corporations or government “assistance” programs, for it can provide for itself everything that it needs for the well being of every one of its citizens. A true community cannot be bought or sold.
The Zapatistas here in Chiapas are a true community. They give their lives for each other. They have thousands of years of common history and over 500 years of struggle against a common enemy. They have an ancient culture of intersubjective identity and modes of interaction with each other and the natural world of which they are a part. When the government or paramilitaries threaten to take a Zapatista family’s land, they are met by thousands of masked Zapatistas blocking their vain attempt at robbery. When the PRI took over the autonomous municipal government building in San Andres, they were physically removed the very next day by thousands of community members. Their community is the essence of their strength. How else would a few thousand indigenous Mayans be able to capture the eyes of the entire world?
I am feeling an almost-paranoid time imperative on this issue. We cannot afford to wait until it is too late and people are dying and suffering due to environmental, economic and social crisis. And crisis is surely where we are headed at the moment. Communities must be built which can sustain all matter of crisis, such as economic meltdown, nuclear warfare, global warming, corporate neoliberalism, fascist states, etc. etc. Without a strong and largely independent (autonomous) community infrastructure of resources and relationships Boone (and many others) could easily be swallowed up and destroyed by the global forces currently underway.
But is it even feasible to plant the seeds of community now, in this globalized world filled with placeless yet privileged “new social actors” such as myself? Is there any way to build a community that can pose a credible threat to the neoliberal world order? What about the very real processes of globalization? Where do localized communities fit in to the “global village”?
And where does all this leave me? What if I want to leave the shallow roots I have in Boone for somewhere “bigger and better”? What if there really are better opportunities awaiting me somewhere else? How useful is it to compare the college town of Boone to a Zapatista community of indigenous Mayans?
Right now I think need a strong cup of coffee, so I’ll leave the answering of these impossible questions for another day.
Salud.
P.S.- Wikipedia has an entry for "community", and interestingly links the concept to that of identity (a topic which I will focus on at length in future entries).
Sunday, September 21, 2008
An Insurgent Independance Day in Oventik
From San Cristobal de las Casas we drove an hour up through the highlands of Chiapas towards the Zapatista Caracol of Oventik. We wound back and forth through a Mexico few have ever seen or heard of. Slender mountain peaks jutting above blankets of soft mist surrounding small plots of squash, beans and corn. Women carrying bails of alfalfa for their sheep, wrapped in wool shawls to protect against a chilling breeze.
On the way our professor told us that should we be stopped by the police, we should all forget that we speak spanish, for it would be best if we just didn't speak at all. We were, afterall, going to a community that explicitly denies the authority of all external governing bodies associated with the state of Mexico. Upon arrival at the caracol ("snail" in spanish) we were welcomed by a sign that reads "Zapatista Autonomous Rebel Teritory: Here the people rule and the government obeys". We were asked to surrender our passports ans step out of the van into a dimly lit little room in which three Zapatista authorities sat, faces covered with either a black ski-mask or a red bandanna. After taking down some information we were directed to another room where the process was repeated.
Our dorms are rustic cabins with wooden-plank bunks (think shelves for humans), adorned with beautiful murals all celebrating the Zapatista message and spirit. In fact, every building in the Caracol is nearly covered in beautiful mrals, painted by visitors from all over the world.
"Caracol" is the spanish word for snail. Oventik is called a caracol because it is a center for government, health, education and culture for many surrounding Zapatista Communities. The only people who live at the caracol itself are about 150 secondary school students and their ten or so "promotores". The caracol is one of five in Chiapas, and serves as a point of encounter and intersection between the Zapatistas and the world at large. Thus the image of the spiral shaped snail shell is not an accident. We are fortunate enough to be staying at the language center, which holds classes in spanish and the mayan language Tzotzil.
My first morning there I awoke to the sunrise and a thick mist retreating from the valleys. It was the 15th of September, the first day of celebration of Mexican Independance from Spain. The caracol celebrated by having a basketball tournament, followed by a parade, assembly and dance.
Eight of the girls in our group, including myself, formed a team, "las rebeldes", and entered the tournament. We were royally dominated by five little girls. They were shorter, faster and all wearing cheap plastic sandals. One even played in her traditional long, colorful skirt. They wore us out running up and down the court- though to our credit we were not used to the 7,200ft elevation.
After lunch the parade begain. Dark clouds rolling in eluded to violent weather to come, but the parade would go on despite. Students of all ages, from four to twenty four, marched in groups, all wearking masks or bandannas. The skies unleashed and they continued to march through the pouring, cold rain behind their flag, which was accompnied by the Mexican national flag. They chanted the names of those who fought against the Spanish, against dictators and against neoliberal globalization. They chanted viva Mexico! Viva Chiapas! Viva el EZLN! Viva los caracoles! Viva los municipios Autonomos! Viva Ramona! Viva Zapata! Viva!
For over an hour they marched and chanted, through the mist and chilling rain, reminding us all of the sacrifices which must accompany any struggle against a dominating world system.
After a class on Marxism and then dinner, we all headed up to the suditorium where a masked woman recounted the struggles for liberty, justice and land of their fore-fathers, starting with the war for independance gainst the Spanish conquistadors. She recounted the subsequent struggle of the indigenous, and how they were largely if not completely forgotten. She told of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata's popular struggle for land and justice. Even though they were able to wrestle power out of the hands of the oppressive dictator, he was replaced by an equally power-hungry ruler, and the poor and indigenous peoples Mexico continued to be ignored and forgotten.
But then they began to organize against their oppressors, with many movements culminating in the surprise uprising on 1/1/94 when the EZLN took back the land that they needed to survive. The masked woman reminded us that the struggle continues to this day, and that it is up to the Zapatista youth to follow in the footsteps of those before them in the struggle for humanity and against neoliberal globalization.
One of the most poignant things I have heard during my brief stay there was this: The Zapatista resistance is not something new. It begain the day that Christopher Columbus landed in the Americas, and it will continue on until we live in a world where everyone can live lives of dignity.
On the way our professor told us that should we be stopped by the police, we should all forget that we speak spanish, for it would be best if we just didn't speak at all. We were, afterall, going to a community that explicitly denies the authority of all external governing bodies associated with the state of Mexico. Upon arrival at the caracol ("snail" in spanish) we were welcomed by a sign that reads "Zapatista Autonomous Rebel Teritory: Here the people rule and the government obeys". We were asked to surrender our passports ans step out of the van into a dimly lit little room in which three Zapatista authorities sat, faces covered with either a black ski-mask or a red bandanna. After taking down some information we were directed to another room where the process was repeated.
Our dorms are rustic cabins with wooden-plank bunks (think shelves for humans), adorned with beautiful murals all celebrating the Zapatista message and spirit. In fact, every building in the Caracol is nearly covered in beautiful mrals, painted by visitors from all over the world.
"Caracol" is the spanish word for snail. Oventik is called a caracol because it is a center for government, health, education and culture for many surrounding Zapatista Communities. The only people who live at the caracol itself are about 150 secondary school students and their ten or so "promotores". The caracol is one of five in Chiapas, and serves as a point of encounter and intersection between the Zapatistas and the world at large. Thus the image of the spiral shaped snail shell is not an accident. We are fortunate enough to be staying at the language center, which holds classes in spanish and the mayan language Tzotzil.
My first morning there I awoke to the sunrise and a thick mist retreating from the valleys. It was the 15th of September, the first day of celebration of Mexican Independance from Spain. The caracol celebrated by having a basketball tournament, followed by a parade, assembly and dance.
Eight of the girls in our group, including myself, formed a team, "las rebeldes", and entered the tournament. We were royally dominated by five little girls. They were shorter, faster and all wearing cheap plastic sandals. One even played in her traditional long, colorful skirt. They wore us out running up and down the court- though to our credit we were not used to the 7,200ft elevation.
After lunch the parade begain. Dark clouds rolling in eluded to violent weather to come, but the parade would go on despite. Students of all ages, from four to twenty four, marched in groups, all wearking masks or bandannas. The skies unleashed and they continued to march through the pouring, cold rain behind their flag, which was accompnied by the Mexican national flag. They chanted the names of those who fought against the Spanish, against dictators and against neoliberal globalization. They chanted viva Mexico! Viva Chiapas! Viva el EZLN! Viva los caracoles! Viva los municipios Autonomos! Viva Ramona! Viva Zapata! Viva!
For over an hour they marched and chanted, through the mist and chilling rain, reminding us all of the sacrifices which must accompany any struggle against a dominating world system.
After a class on Marxism and then dinner, we all headed up to the suditorium where a masked woman recounted the struggles for liberty, justice and land of their fore-fathers, starting with the war for independance gainst the Spanish conquistadors. She recounted the subsequent struggle of the indigenous, and how they were largely if not completely forgotten. She told of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata's popular struggle for land and justice. Even though they were able to wrestle power out of the hands of the oppressive dictator, he was replaced by an equally power-hungry ruler, and the poor and indigenous peoples Mexico continued to be ignored and forgotten.
But then they began to organize against their oppressors, with many movements culminating in the surprise uprising on 1/1/94 when the EZLN took back the land that they needed to survive. The masked woman reminded us that the struggle continues to this day, and that it is up to the Zapatista youth to follow in the footsteps of those before them in the struggle for humanity and against neoliberal globalization.
One of the most poignant things I have heard during my brief stay there was this: The Zapatista resistance is not something new. It begain the day that Christopher Columbus landed in the Americas, and it will continue on until we live in a world where everyone can live lives of dignity.
Friday, September 19, 2008
San Cristobal de las Casas (poem)
San Cristobal de las Casas
A lingering Struggle
Hangs like the fog
In the morning air.
It’s hard to see
Or hear
For there are no more bombs falling
Or boots marching.
Hunched and wrinkled indians sell figurines
Of their liberators
The EZLN.
Here one can purchase
Their own little piece
Of the revolution.
25 pesos for a beer at Café Revolucion
on Avenida Insurgente
across from the Burger King.
A lingering Struggle
Hangs like the fog
In the morning air.
It’s hard to see
Or hear
For there are no more bombs falling
Or boots marching.
Hunched and wrinkled indians sell figurines
Of their liberators
The EZLN.
Here one can purchase
Their own little piece
Of the revolution.
25 pesos for a beer at Café Revolucion
on Avenida Insurgente
across from the Burger King.
San Cristobal de las Casas
San Cristobal de las Casas is a city of staggering beauty, anciently complex history and exploding political tension. Wandering her streets one will find all on the same block barefoot elderly Mayan women selling handcrafts, a Burger King, a makeshift bike-powered taco stand, a man selling lychees, a bakery and a bar called “Café Revolucion”. Buildings are painted brightly and illuminated by lights at night. The local fare is delicious and cheap.
I can see why so many “politically minded” foreigners flock here (myself included). This city is the cultural center of the state of Chiapas, where in 1994 the Zapatista National Liberation Army came down from the mountains and reclaimed land for thousands of indigenous peasants. The city is home to a fleet of NGOs who are working with the Zapatistas to ensure their longevity and continued liberation. The sense of change, of reclaiming dignity, of revolution, is enough to lift you off your feet and carry you away at times. Enough to make you never want to return to your life at the university or behind a desk at an NGO. Here things are happening… right now. Things that awaken in us all the affirmation of life and freedom and dignity and the rejection of all that limits and oppresses us.
The smell of hard-won liberation wafts through the air, so that one can’t help but want to be a part of it. It’s everywhere- Indigenous women’s collectives, radical info-shops and an independent cinema. Marcos T-shirts and EZLN commando boots. The tourist market is filled with beautiful handcrafts being sold by mostly indigenous women and men adorned in their traditional colorful dress.
But a small scratch under the surface reveals an entirely different world. The city is wrought with racism. Those who are sympathetic to the rebellion are equally matched in number by ultra conservative evangelicals sympathetic to the PRI, which also runs the local government. The tourist market is dominated by one specific indigenous community that has very close ties to the PRI, and those who have stalls there are the most wealthy even of that community. Most of the items for sale there are not handmade by the vendors but shipped from Guatemala where they were produced in factories. There is a reason why one will only find tourists and hustlers at Café Revolucion.
Revolution is seductive. We all feel the inherent idiocy and destructiveness of the current system for the few and against the many. We all know in our hearts that “to be” is much more than just “to have”. We all feel the alienation from our work, our neighbors, ourselves. We all feel that there must be something of value other than gaining for gaining’s sake.
But what is there to do?
I have come here, like hoards before me, to attempt to answer that very question. The answer is not at café Revolucion nor the infoshop selling Marcos shirts. It’s not even in books like “Pedagogy of the Oppressed” or Marx’s “Capital”. Perhaps I will find some clues at my next destination: The Zapatista Caracol at Oventik.
I can see why so many “politically minded” foreigners flock here (myself included). This city is the cultural center of the state of Chiapas, where in 1994 the Zapatista National Liberation Army came down from the mountains and reclaimed land for thousands of indigenous peasants. The city is home to a fleet of NGOs who are working with the Zapatistas to ensure their longevity and continued liberation. The sense of change, of reclaiming dignity, of revolution, is enough to lift you off your feet and carry you away at times. Enough to make you never want to return to your life at the university or behind a desk at an NGO. Here things are happening… right now. Things that awaken in us all the affirmation of life and freedom and dignity and the rejection of all that limits and oppresses us.
The smell of hard-won liberation wafts through the air, so that one can’t help but want to be a part of it. It’s everywhere- Indigenous women’s collectives, radical info-shops and an independent cinema. Marcos T-shirts and EZLN commando boots. The tourist market is filled with beautiful handcrafts being sold by mostly indigenous women and men adorned in their traditional colorful dress.
But a small scratch under the surface reveals an entirely different world. The city is wrought with racism. Those who are sympathetic to the rebellion are equally matched in number by ultra conservative evangelicals sympathetic to the PRI, which also runs the local government. The tourist market is dominated by one specific indigenous community that has very close ties to the PRI, and those who have stalls there are the most wealthy even of that community. Most of the items for sale there are not handmade by the vendors but shipped from Guatemala where they were produced in factories. There is a reason why one will only find tourists and hustlers at Café Revolucion.
Revolution is seductive. We all feel the inherent idiocy and destructiveness of the current system for the few and against the many. We all know in our hearts that “to be” is much more than just “to have”. We all feel the alienation from our work, our neighbors, ourselves. We all feel that there must be something of value other than gaining for gaining’s sake.
But what is there to do?
I have come here, like hoards before me, to attempt to answer that very question. The answer is not at café Revolucion nor the infoshop selling Marcos shirts. It’s not even in books like “Pedagogy of the Oppressed” or Marx’s “Capital”. Perhaps I will find some clues at my next destination: The Zapatista Caracol at Oventik.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Salutations!
So this is the first entry in my new blog, which is intended to relay communiques about my coming semester studying social movements in Mexico. I am relatively new to blogging, and so I apologize if I abuse the established formats and social graces of this medium. I figure it is a good skill to have, and also allows me to keep interested people updated on my travels. I am also trying to hone my writing skills, so forgive me for using this as practice space. Any and all critique or input is highly encouraged.
The program I will be participating in is run by the Mexico- U.S. Solidarity Network, and is accredited through the Metropolitan Autonomous University in Mexico. We will be traveling to San Cristobal de las Casas and Oventic , both Zapatista Territory in the state of Chiapas. We will also be traveling to Tlaxcala, Mexico City and Ciudad Juarez.
The program is perfect for what I am studying in school, which I describe as revolutionary politics and social theory. I am fortunate enough to be able to design my own interdisciplinary undergrad major at Appalachian State University.
I have long been fascinated by the Zapatistas and their struggle for autonomy and liberty in Mexico and beyond. I’ll spare you an explanation of their movement and instead direct you to the Wikipedia article about them, though it is in no way comprehensive. Suffice to say that in my opinion theirs is one of the most unique and successful revolutionary movements currently in progress. For the overly curious reader, I have written an essay on the Zapatistas and the permaculture movement and their place in radical politics today. It is a bit rough on the edges and needs much fine tuning, but in essence sums up my current ideas about what a successful revolutionary movement should look like. You can read it here.
My main focus in the area of revolutionary politics and social theory is identity. Not necessarily identity politics, but more so how individual and group identity influence social movements towards liberation. Again, I'll post more on this later.
So basically I am journeying to Mexico to study revolutionary social movements, not as simply a subject of interest to me, but as a subject that is foundational to my existential reality. I want to be on the front lines, wherever that may be. I want to be a part of the revolutionary project for human liberation which is currently unfolding. My time in Mexico will be spent analyzing movements there with the intention of one day applying lessons learned to movements here in the United States. For though this country has become a gross bastardization of its founding principles it is still my home, and the place that I know best. Therefore it is the place where I can be the most relevant in terms of revolutionary social movements.
So, needless to say, the rest of my posts will be on the topics of radical activism, revolutionary social movements, liberation, autonomy and, especially, identity within such subjects.
That’s all for now… over and out.
The program I will be participating in is run by the Mexico- U.S. Solidarity Network, and is accredited through the Metropolitan Autonomous University in Mexico. We will be traveling to San Cristobal de las Casas and Oventic , both Zapatista Territory in the state of Chiapas. We will also be traveling to Tlaxcala, Mexico City and Ciudad Juarez.
The program is perfect for what I am studying in school, which I describe as revolutionary politics and social theory. I am fortunate enough to be able to design my own interdisciplinary undergrad major at Appalachian State University.
I have long been fascinated by the Zapatistas and their struggle for autonomy and liberty in Mexico and beyond. I’ll spare you an explanation of their movement and instead direct you to the Wikipedia article about them, though it is in no way comprehensive. Suffice to say that in my opinion theirs is one of the most unique and successful revolutionary movements currently in progress. For the overly curious reader, I have written an essay on the Zapatistas and the permaculture movement and their place in radical politics today. It is a bit rough on the edges and needs much fine tuning, but in essence sums up my current ideas about what a successful revolutionary movement should look like. You can read it here.
My main focus in the area of revolutionary politics and social theory is identity. Not necessarily identity politics, but more so how individual and group identity influence social movements towards liberation. Again, I'll post more on this later.
So basically I am journeying to Mexico to study revolutionary social movements, not as simply a subject of interest to me, but as a subject that is foundational to my existential reality. I want to be on the front lines, wherever that may be. I want to be a part of the revolutionary project for human liberation which is currently unfolding. My time in Mexico will be spent analyzing movements there with the intention of one day applying lessons learned to movements here in the United States. For though this country has become a gross bastardization of its founding principles it is still my home, and the place that I know best. Therefore it is the place where I can be the most relevant in terms of revolutionary social movements.
So, needless to say, the rest of my posts will be on the topics of radical activism, revolutionary social movements, liberation, autonomy and, especially, identity within such subjects.
That’s all for now… over and out.
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