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.