The morning mist begins to lift from the small rural settlement of Lucio Cabañas, revealing hints—both welcome and ominous—that a clear sunny day lies ahead. Drying his coffee on the basketball court in the center of the community, a Tzeltal Maya man named Cornelius is pleased with the sight of the sun, a promising sign that the coffee-drying process can begin in earnest after an unusual series of January rains. But the blue skies also mean that the thunderous sounds of U.S.-donated “Huey” helicopters will once again reverberate through the settlement as the Mexican military resumes its combing flights of the Chiapas conflict zone.
Coffee is the primary source of income in Lucio Cabañas and the pro-Zapatista autonomous municipality—called 17th of November—in which it is located. “The coffee prices are already low,” says Cornelius, “and this year will be very tough if we can’t dry our harvest.” Tzeltal and Tojolobal campesinos in 17th of November are paid $1.25 per kilo (57 cents a pound) for their dried coffee beans by buyers from the nearby towns of Altamirano and Ocosingo. These prices, says Cornelius, are much better than last year, when disastrously low coffee prices compromised the villagers’ ability to acquire basic subsistence staples such as soap, salt and sugar.
Nestled into the hillside south of the Sierra Corralchen, Lucio Cabañas is situated in a fertile valley deep in the canyons of the Lacandón forest. The land was once used for cattle ranching, coffee growing and hardwood logging under the ownership of a man named Pepe Castellanos, nephew of one of Chiapas’ more notorious ex-governors, Absolón Castellanos. This land was “recovered” after the Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN) uprising in January 1994, and was settled by 36 families from a Tzeltal village a few miles away.
Since then, with support from local and international nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), Lucio Cabañas has carefully crafted its autonomy. The casa grande that was once Pepe Castellanos’ ranch house is now home to a community clinic, the locally run primary school, a visitors’ house and a basketball court. There is a chicken collective, a cooperative horticulture project, and a weaving project in which the older women teach the younger girls to weave the traditional, story-telling patterns of the Tzeltal and Tojolobal people. Castellanos’ old mahogany warehouse has been converted into the community’s Catholic parish. It is run by local catechists who worked with Bishop Samuel Ruiz and is watched over by a mural of the dark-skinned Virgin of Guadalupe, painted on the entranceway.
As in many autonomous municipalities, most of the communities belonging to 17th of November have chosen to reject any sort of government aid. The residents of Lucio Cabañas are completing the installation of a potable water system with technical and material help from a local NGO. The new clean-water holding tank is adorned with a huge likeness of Che Guevara, who villagers say will stare directly at any intruding helicopters, reminding them that the community constructed its water system without any government assistance.
To enforce this virtual boycott against the government, the Zapatistas “punish” villages that solicit or accept government assistance, denying them the right to receive similar projects from the national and international NGOs that work through the autonomous authorities. Those projects are then granted to other villages prioritized by the regional committees. Such was the case with 10th of May, a nearby village that was cut off from further support from local NGOs by the EZLN’s regional authorities for accepting the rural development checks offered by the government.
Even the most tightly organized “new communities” buckle a bit under the pressures of the low intensity war—exemplified both by the low-flying Hueys and by pre-election ruling-party subsidies—that the government is waging against the indigenous communities that support the EZLN. The 27 families now living in Lucio Cabañas form a solid support base for the EZLN, yet the rural subsidy checks offered by the government have created some debate in the community, and three families have left for Jalisco.
Back at the casa grande, the coffee has been swept off the basketball court and the sound of the young girls’ scurrying feet, whooping laughs and shrieks of joy envelop the small Zapatista village. The women are preparing tinctures and the girls are playing basketball. A woman named Juanita explains that what appears to be play is actually practice and organization. “The girls have to carry our history and dignity,” she says. “We can’t oblige anyone but we want to be a model for all of the compañeras, proving to them that collectively, we can build our autonomy.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tim Russo is a freelance radio journalist working in Chiapas.
