Barter: Actions to Confront a Health and Economic Crisis

Por

23 May, 2020

Originally published in Spanish by Eugenia López. Translated by David Milan.

Barter, an ancestral practice for many peoples, consists in the necessity-based exchange of products, knowledge, or services for different ones. The transaction takes place between goods considered of equal value, without using money. It can happen between neighbors, families, communities, or whole peoples.

Historically, barter has given people access to a variety of products that other regions produce but their own lands do not, due to differences in climate and knowledge.

Although its use declined significantly with the introduction of money and the capitalist system, it never went away. Today, with the crisis provoked by the coronavirus pandemic, it’s having a strong resurgence in many parts of the American continent.

Examples of barter are varied: it’s used in rural and urban zones, between individuals, neighborhoods, communities, or even more officially, with the direction of authorities. These practices are allowing thousands of people to survive and resist amid the pandemic.

Ecuador

Just 15 days after the declaration of a state of emergency on March 16, this ancestral form of exchange has become commonplace between communities in the mountain, coastal, and Amazonian regions.

According to a report by the newspaper El Comercio, faced with the lack of money, mountain communities in Bolívar province are exchanging food supplies with neighboring regions. They send onions, potatoes, carrots, parsley, cilantro, and medicinal plants from the mountains, in return for plantains, oranges, and cassava, crops from the subtropical zone.

“The spirit of barter is that it has to be of equal value. There shouldn’t be mistrust or lingering doubts that one person got more and the other less”, commented Medardo Chimbolema, Mayor of Guaranda. A larger food exchange with other provinces is being planned from there, despite fear in the communities of the possible spread of Covid-19.

In Ecuador some barter has also been coordinated through traditional community authorities. This is how the mountain province of Tungurahua has been organizing exchange with the coastal provinces of Guayas, Esmeraldas, and Los Rios. From the mountains come avocados, figs, tomatoes, chard, spinach, and medicinal plants, while people from the coast mainly send limes, rice, cassava, squash, and plantain.

Barter between provinces arose from the increase in prices at the markets and the complexity of the administrative processes for receiving aid.

Argentina

In the Buenos Aires region, barter clubs began in 1995 as a system of moneyless exchange, Federico Rivas Molina told the newspaper El País.

When the 2002 economic crisis hit, leaving hundreds of thousands of Argentinians in poverty, bartering knowledge and networks consolidated into 6,000 barter clubs in a web that reached more than two million people.

*A credit from the barter club network active in Argentina*

Now, under full quarantine, exchange is happening again, as is the case in the small city of Ensenada, populated by lower and middle class families, middle-income workers, and many who live hand to mouth in the informal economy.

Faced with the impossibility of many people meeting in the same place, the participants have had to reinvent things, and so they started using social media. Daniel Branda, who coordinates one of the three barter clubs in the area, says that “in the first phase we shut down everything, thinking we’d be starting back up in two weeks. Later our problem was that people couldn’t gather in the club, because there are 50 participants in each one. So we reactivated barter-by-order”.

Now, members of the group take orders through cell phone messages and deliver them to a meetup point, avoiding gatherings to lower the risk of Covid-19 contagion.

Mexico

In Mexico City, artisans have also fallen back on barter to survive the quarantine, helping each other out. “The situation didn’t allow us to go out and we stayed home during the quarantine, but we couldn’t stay put any longer. We had to go out and find a way to help each other and help other people,” Susana told Efe news agency.

The Mexican craftswoman and her mother commute from Ajusco, where they live in a community of artisans, to the Narvarte neighborhood to offer their crafts woven from palm.

“It’s a simple and humble community where artisans and non-artisans live, but we have all helped each other out. Everything we’re receiving and what we’ve been brought we have shared among the community”, she said.

In San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Chiapas, a space called El Cambalache has been run for the last five years by a group of women who promote moneyless economies through the exchange of knowledge, objects, and services.

*Workshop on food preparation for exchange. Photo: El Cambalache.*

El Cambalache is a space where people can attend many different workshops, from health, to embroidery, to permaculture, as well as solicit services like legal consultation and electronics repair, in addition to the exchange of clothes, food, and other basic necessities.

Faced with the health emergency and in spite of the temporary closure of the physical space, El Cambalache is keeping the exchange network among groups and organizations in Chiapas active. They’re also helping build mutual aid networks for food collection and distribution, mask making and distribution, and giving out information about how to prevent the spread of Covid-19.

Colombia

“The Muiscas used the name ‘Ipsa’ for the markets where Tunebos, Panches, Sutagaos, Muzos, and other indigenous groups met to exchange goods. Some would bring cotton blankets and mounds of salt, others seashells and feathers of exotic birds, a few with loads of coca leaf and hallucinogens like yopo. Those living in the lowlands would bring cotton which would then be woven by adept artisans in the highlands. After hours or days of travel, indigenous people would meet, barter, and return with things that didn’t grow in their lands”, Germán Izquierdo told the Colombian newspaper Semana Rural.

In the context of the Covid-19 pandemic, barter is becoming important again, especially in rural departments (Colombia’s equivalent of states). In Ubaté, the country’s milk capital, dairy products are being bartered for sugar from the city of Útica. According to Ubaté’s mayor, Jaime Torres, these days most people can’t afford the current price of yogurt. “Moreover, we’re bringing back a lost custom. Many years ago, Zipaquirá and Ubaté exchanged salt for potatoes, milk, and other products”, said Torres.

As Ramiro Lis, from the Association of Ukawe’s’ Nasa C’hab Councils in the department of Cauca, said in an interview with Desinformémonos, “barter is a political alternative for an era like this one (…) Products from different climates are exchanged. Meeting and exchange points are established, in which necessity comes first, not value”.

From the municipal capital of Inzá, also in the Cauca, members of the Juan Tama Association of Councils’ education segment, part of the Regional Indigenous Council of the Cauca (CRIC), discussed the work that had been done to get food to communities of indigenous people who had emigrated to the cities of Cali, Bogotá, and Popayán.

“800 families across eight municipalities organized themselves, communally, to send shipments of cassava, plantains, raw sugar, and other items. 3,200 arrobas (36 tons) left in three trucks and a bus,” explained a man named Delio. In exchange, those living in the city sent hygiene and cleaning products that the communities don’t produce on their own.

Both Ramiro and Delio affirm that barter isn’t just about survival; it challenges the capitalist economy: “Barter is a form of solidarity that allows us to strengthen our own economy”.

Report from Oaxaca: International Women’s Day, without logos or leaders

Por

Samantha Demby

12 March, 2020

Photos by Laura Krasovitzky

This March 8, International Women’s Day, hundreds of protesters took to the streets of downtown Oaxaca City to demand an end to gender violence and the government impunity that reproduces it. More than in previous years, the change in the atmosphere of the Oaxacan capital was palpable, not only during the march that began in the afternoon but also in the preceding months, both in Oaxaca and throughout Mexico.

Under the merciless Lenten sun, small groups gathered in parks and markets: grandmothers mourning their murdered granddaughters, students denouncing their teachers for harassment, members of self-defense collectives. They wore purple huipiles, green bandannas and black hoodies. They carried crosses with painted names, collective care protocols and buckets of wheatpaste solution.

By three in the afternoon larger groups made their way to the General Cemetery, where women of diverse ages and gender expressions chanted slogans and unfurled banners. For many it was their first protest, and they arrived in response to a call launched not by political parties, unions or private organizations, but by “organized and autonomous women… without logos, without spokespersons, without leaders”.

In recent months, an intense movement against gender violence has spread like wildfire throughout the country, fueled by the cases of Ingrid Escamilla, Fátima Cecilia Aldrighetti and so many others. In Oaxaca, long-standing struggles by the families of victims such as Dafne Denisse Carreño Bengochea and María del Sol Cruz Jarquín are growing through the participation of Indigenous and trans women, artists demanding justice for the attack against the saxophonist María Elena Ríos, and students denouncing sexual harassment in their high schools and universities.

When the march passed by the Faculty of Architecture of the Benito Juarez Autonomous University of Oaxaca (UABJO), the anger overflowed. Hooded youth built small fires in the street, broke windows and covered the walls with messages blaming the institution for covering up repeated cases of sexual harassment, threats and physical assaults by professors and university authorities.

These accusations were echoed by students from the Oaxaca State High School System (Cobao), who have in recent weeks denounced cases of sexual harassment at the Tlaxiaco, Huatulco, Pueblo Nuevo and Nazareno campuses. Last week, students from the Nazareno campus confronted a computer teacher whom they accuse of harassing female students via messaging apps and social media. While the teacher was temporarily dismissed in light of the allegations in 2019, he was reinstated this year after promising to improve his behavior. Following the students’ protest he was detained by state police.

For one philosophy student from Oaxaca, this International Women’s Day demonstration was notable for a much larger and more diverse attendance than in previous years: “A lot of sectors of the population have joined in that we didn’t see before …. now there are more women from both the lower and the upper classes”, she said in the city’s central plaza, the final destination of the march.

As a circle of women danced with drums and torches, she added: “I’ve seen many of my friends who used to say, ‘No, feminists are radicals,’ and now they say, ‘machete to the macho’.” She attributes this change to the consciousness-raising work that many collectives have been doing in community spaces and on social media, where they share flyers and videos that highlight common forms of gender-based violence.

Doña Elena, who is attending the March 8 protest for the first time, decided to join because she is tired of fearing for her life each time she walks home late at night from one of her several jobs. She is also motivated by the recent loss of her grandson, an event she describes as “a very difficult situation”: “It is a very big pain that has no explanation. That’s why I like to support”, she adds.

This shared pain rippled across a crowd that stretched for blocks and blocks. But so did the shared commitment to lay the foundation for a society in which women and gender non-conforming people can truly flourish.

As I walked away from the plaza fatigue set in, as did an astonishment at the small world we’d created during one afternoon in downtown Oaxaca City. At first it was shocking to see the men. I felt a strong desire to turn the clock back an hour or two. But just as strong was the feeling that the women around me were accomplices—bearers of a collective energy that would not dissipate with the #8M march or the #9M strike but would keep spreading throughout a city and country that have been irrevocably altered.

Indigenous tribe denounces the destruction of sacred sites to build US-Mexico border wall

Por

Samantha Demby

9 March, 2020

Spanish version ⇒ Indígenas denuncian destrucción de sitios sagrados por el muro fronterizo entre México y EEUU

Leaders of the Tohono O’odham Nation, an Indigenous tribe divided by the US-Mexico border, denounced this week the destruction of their sacred sites to make way for the construction of a new section of the border wall between the states of Arizona and Sonora.

On Wednesday, February 26, tribal leaders from both sides of the border protested at the base of Monument Hill, an ancient burial site where the O’odham used to lay to rest the remains of the Apache warriors they killed in battle. The tribe’s studies also indicate that their ancestors used the site for religious ceremonies.

Not far from the protest, a group of journalists invited by the United States Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) watched a controlled detonation of explosives. A military explosives expert with the US Army Corps of Engineers told reporters that the blastwould prepare the site for the construction a 30 foot steel wall, part of President Donald Trump’s controversial plan to renovate and expand 175 miles of the border barrier.

“To state it clearly, we are enduring crimes against humanity,” said Verlon M. José, the governor of the Tohono O’odham in Mexico. “Tell me where your grandparents are buried and let me dynamite their graves”.

Meanwhile, in Washington D.C., the chair of the Tohono O’odham Nation in the United States, Ned Norris Jr., testified at a congressional hearing entitled, “destroying sacred sites and erasing tribal culture”. “I know in my heart and what our elders have told us and what we have learned—that that area is home to our ancestors”.

Until the 1970s, the Tohono O’odham—called Papagos by Spanish colonizers—crossed freely over the border between the Unites States and Mexico. But in recent decades the O’odham have watched as an increasingly militarized border has split their homeland definitively in two. Today, some 28,000 members of the tribe live on the Tohono O’odham Reservation in Arizona. Another 2,000 live in the northern Mexican state of Sonora, where the Mexican government doesn’t recognize their land rights.

In addition to being part of the O’odham’s historic heritage Monument Hill is located partially within the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, an international biosphere reserve established to protect dozens of endemic plants and animals, including several endangered species.

“It’s heartbreaking to watch them butcher this spectacular national monument and desecrate sacred indigenous lands”, said Laiken Jordahl, an activist with the Center for Biological Diversity, an organization that works to protect endangered species. Since 2017, the Center has been suing the Trump administration for environmental and constitutional violations related to the expansion of the border barrier. And since last year, Jordahl has documented the destruction of saguaro and organ pipe cactuses to make way for the reinforced wall, which Trump is rushing to finish before competing in November’s presidential elections.

Jordahl emphasized that some of the saguaros—a protected species that can live up to 200 years—“have been here longer than the border itself. What right do we think we have to destroy something like that?”

In a press release, the Center for Biological Diversity said that to mix concrete for the bollard fence construction crews are pumping water from an aquifer that nourishes a rare desert oasis. According to the Border Patrol’s own data they are extracting an average of 84,000 gallons of water a day from the aquifer that feeds the Quitobaquito Spring.

The pumping jeopardizes not only the spring but also two endangered species that depend on it for survival: the Sonoyta mud turtle and the Quitobaquito pupfish. The spring has also enabled the survival of the O’odham people for thousands of years. In 2019, construction crews working near the spring found what are believed to be human remainsthat date to the classic Hohokam period, between 300 and 1500 A.D.

The Border Patrol disputed the claims of Indigenous and environmental advocates. In a statement, Border Patrol spokesman John Mennell insisted that “no biological, cultural or historical sites were identified within the project area”. In addition, he said that the work teams had relocated hundreds of cactuses within the park, and were only destroying those “determined not to be in a healthy enough state to be relocated”.

Both the cactuses and the O’odham sacred sites are normally protected by U.S. law. However, the Trump administration has waived dozens of regulations to expedite the construction of the border fence, including those protecting Indigenous territories and endangered species. In 2018, the U.S. Supreme Court refused to hear a lawsuit challenging the administration’s authority to waive these laws.

And so construction is progressing on a section of the wall that is destined to run along the entire southern edge of the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Scientists have no doubt that the barrier will limit the geographic range of critically endangered species. However, its impact on human migration is less certain. In the 2019 fiscal year CBP only reported making 14,265 apprehensions in the Tucson sector, where the National Monument is located, compared to 205,000 apprehensions in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas.

In an opinion column, Rick Smith, a retired Regional Director of the U.S. National Park Service, questioned the logic of a new border fence. “If the effectiveness of the existing barrier and its impacts have not been disclosed to the public, how do we know that a new border wall is necessary?,” he asked. “What we do know is that a wall will threaten the delicate balance of a critical ecosystem. So is building a wall that may not be successful worth impacting national parks and harming threatened and endangered wildlife? It is not.”

Indigenous Communities Win First Battle Against AMLO’s Mayan Train

Por

Eugenia López

26 February, 2020

Translated by voicesinmovement

Spanish version ⇒ indígenas ganan primera batalla contra el tren maya de la 4a transformación

Indigenous communities belonging to the Mayan Peninsular and Ch’ol peoples in the municipality of Calakmul, Campeche, obtained a provisional suspension of the implementation of the Mayan Train project by the Federal Judicial Power on January 14. The communities organized within the Regional Indigenous and Popular Council of Xpujil (CRIPX) had previously submitted a request for protection against the consultation on the Mayan Train project which was carried out by the federal government in November and December 2019.

Fraudulent consultation

In the “amparo” request presented on January 6, 2020, the communities denounced “the simulated and fraudulent indigenous consultation ordered by the federal government and implemented to the detriment of the indigenous peoples of Campeche, Yucatan, Quintana Roo, Tabasco and Chiapas.

They pointed out that the alleged consultation process was carried out without complying with the international standards of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights and, in particular, Convention 169 on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries of the International Labor Organization (ILO).

The ILO agreement establishes that indigenous people, have the right to be consulted in relation to any situation that affects their way of life and the consultation must “give prior notice, be free, informed, in good faith, and culturally appropriate”.

But indigenous groups claim that the consultation was not free, did not give prior notice and was not well informed. “We did not receive detailed information sufficiently in advance, nor was our right to participate respected, since the structure of the forums of the supposed informative phase, dated November 30, 2019, was designed and implemented unilaterally, so its forms and modes were not in accordance with the forms of deliberation and agreement with the communities”.

Likewise, the indigenous communities maintain that “the approval of the project had already been announced through various public channels before the consultation”, and therefore it was not a consultation “in good faith and was not culturally appropriate, given that electoral ballots were distributed to be placed in ballet boxes which does not take into account the forms of organization and decision-making of the community”, they specified.

Responsible parties

In their lawsuit, they hold responsible the President of the Republic, Andrés Manuel López Obrador; the director of The National Tourism Promotion Fund (Fonatur), Rogelio Jiménez Pons; the Secretary of the Interior, Olga Sánchez Cordero, and the General Director of the National Institute of Indigenous Peoples (INPI), Adelfo Regino Montes.

The court grants provisional suspension

In response to the application for amparo, the First District Court in the state of Campeche agreed to grant the provisional suspension.

According to information from the newspaper El Universal, the decision of the First District Court was twofold. Firstly it declared the suspension of the indigenous consultation to be inappropriate because it was already a “done deal”. It also granted the suspension of the railway, real estate and commercial project known as the Mayan Train.

According to the Mexican newspaper, “textually, the agreement with file number 12 / 2020 reads that the suspension was granted so that things remain in the state in which they are, that is, so that the authorities are responsible regardless of the outcome of the consultation conducted in relation to the so-called Mayan Train, refrain from decreeing the approval of such project, or, having been decreed such approval, refrain from acts tending to the implementation of such project”, until it is resolved on the final suspension.

However, Fonatur is denying the existence of the provisional suspension. In a statement, the fund said that it has not been notified of such suspension and that it does not know of any legal procedure that has been taken.

Continued resistance

The communities of Xpujil, Calakmul, celebrated the news and called on the other towns affected by the Mayan Train project to resort to legal means to stop the mega-project. “We are pleased with this decision and we urge other towns in the states of the Republic affected by the Mayan Train to exhaust the jurisdictional path to defend their right to a true consultation, to integrate their lands and territories, and to autonomy and self-determination”.

On the other hand, they reaffirmed their clear intention to continue organizing and resisting to defend their territory.

“We will continue working on legal defense actions, as well as at the organizational level, holding community assemblies in which we provide information related to territory defense. Likewise, we continue to establish alliances with different academic sectors, researchers, social organizations and with the National Assembly of the National Indigenous Congress (CNI) to be held on March 27 and 28 in Xpujil”, they specified.

The next scheduled hearing is set for Friday, February 28.

Tío Bad: Slain Rapper Defended the Mixe-Popoluca Language

Por

Avispa

24 December, 2019

Tío Bad, Veracruzan rapper murdered — Tío Bad rapping in Oaxaca. Photo: Daliri Oropeza

Tío Bad rapping in Oaxaca. Photo: Daliri Oropeza

Translated by David Milan for Avispa Midia. Originally written in Spanish by Daliri Oropeza for Pie de Página.

Tío Bad, a rapper from the village of Sayula de Alemán, Veracruz, Mexico, fought for his people’s Mixe-Popoluca language. Through his art, he denounced the devastation wrought by fracking in the region, the narcostate in Veracruz, murders of journalists, and the displacement of his language. He was found on Tuesday, December 17, 2019, murdered.

Lengua enredada es mi dialecto,
janga yoshuatray Camnik
jemna nipatkajej townik
nikƗrysh dios nikakminga jujnik
nik jej tan agitkap mokuij.
vamos a trabajar a la milpa
a encontrarnos en el camino
agradecerle a dios porque hubo lluvia
porque gracias a eso tenemos maíz.
Song: “Marap”
Written by: TíoBad
Colectivo Altepee ft. Sector 145
Josué Bernardo Marcial Santos, Tío Bad, rapped in Sayulteca, a language that like all indigenous languages in Mexico has been subjugated, silenced, and displaced. He realized that only “the old folks” spoke it. Young people no longer did. He saw everything his community was losing with the displacement of their language.

Who has heard of Sayulteca, Mixe-Popoluca, Sayula Popoluca, or Tɨkmay? He made it resound on as many stages as he could

He brought back a style of jaranaⁱ playing particular to the people of Sayula de Alemán, where the grandparents were the only ones still singing verses. Tío Bad brought together a healthy group of kids and youth interested in learning and rebuilding the Popoluca culture of Sayula through the jarana.

His rap was a torchbearer for the revival of the Sayulteca or Mixe-Popoluca language. He himself began to speak it through talking with his grandmothers.

He would spend hours sitting in the patio full of trees and flowers, asking them about the words that would later make up his verses. He learned to speak the language that had been denied to him to remind listeners that his people exist.

Josué Marcial Santos, Tío Bad—nicknamed for the love he had for his three nieces—considered himself indigenous. He wore it tattooed on his skin.ⁱⁱ

He usually wore a baseball cap. His favorite, royal blue and emblazoned with the NY Yankees logo, was one he had bought on a jarana tour of the US. In the blazing sun of Sayula, it served him well. It also helped identify him among the different groups of young people there. He wore baggy pants and identified with rap and hip hop culture.

Tío Bad was dedicated to spreading Sayula’s traditional music, through a group that he and a few friends formed called Tzump tuuj (Raindrops, in Sayulteca).

Jarana players at a traditional fandango in Chacalapa, Veracruz. Photo: Daliri Oropeza.

In the last few months, the municipal government had insisted that the group play at patronal celebrations. It had become a reference point for the rescue and popular teaching of the jarana, which is linked to the organizational traditions based in mayordomías of first peoples in the region.

“The fandangoⁱⁱⁱ is the pueblo’s^iv oldest form of organization, for giving thanks or asking for water, rain for the crops. From the person who slaughters the pig, to the one who puts up the tent, makes the tamales, arranges the chairs… All of this is the fandango, a pueblo’s form of organization. Something the pueblos have lost,” he said to an audience of young people participating in the National Indigenous Congress (CNI).

He was an active participant in the Altepee Collective, which is focused on traditional string music as a motivation for political, social, and community participation for young people. Collective members give and receive workshops on string music, instrument-making, audio, video, and rap, which has turned it into an option for youth in a violent area.

Tío Bad served as a delegate to the National Indigenous Congress for his pueblo. He had direct experience with organizational processes that made him conscious of the impositions and threats under which the Popoluca people have lived for hundreds of years.

Tío also knew and practiced the ancient technique of nixtamalization, the process that converts corn into masa flour. He would distribute more than 60 kilos (130 lbs) a day in his village. He rebelled against the migration statistics of youth in Sayula, choosing instead to work on what was intrinsic to his region. In the last few years, he focused more on the cultivation and processing of cacao. That’s what he lived off of.

The violence in Tío Bad’s village

Sayula is a village with serious tears in its social fabric, where aspirations toward city life are always in competition with marginalization. The latter is due to the concentration of economic activity in the nearby petroleum port of Coatzacoalcos. Sayula is divided in half by the trans-isthmus highway, where everything that travels between the ports of Salina Cruz and Coatzacoalcos must pass. In short, it’s been hit hard by drug trafficking. Territorial fighting among cartels has been on the increase since 2013. It would seem that young people in this region have two choices: migrate, or line up with organized crime.

Tío Bad’s village lies in the narrowest part of the country, in the part of the Veracruzan Isthmus that borders Oaxaca’s Isthmus of Tehuantepec.

Tío Bad getting the fire reading to nixtamalize corn. Photo: Daliri Oropeza

The feeling of insecurity in this region is reinforced day in and day out. There’s a newspaper whose copies are sold street by street, advertised through a loudspeaker on a motorcycle. The man riding it wears a mask. He rides through every neighborhood, announcing murders, deaths, robberies. As if everything were happening close by, the region’s murders are shouted out, but they don’t say exactly where.

This was the context for Tío Bad’s own murder. First he was disappeared and his kidnappers demanded a ransom. Then, they killed him and abandoned his body on the highway.

Collectivities

The Altepee Collective allowed Tío Bad to get closer to his own indigenous identity. This empowered his art, string music, and the use of jaranas in traditional celebrations by the peoples of southern Veracruz, where he was sought after to perform in as many parties, gatherings, homages, and fandangos as he could. That’s how he got to know the entire isthmus region.

He enjoyed learning and teaching the tunes and verses of the music. He was a person who always lent a hand to whoever needed one.

Rap workshop in Acayucan, Veracruz, led by Tío Bad. Photo: Daliri Oropeza.

Tío Bad began rapping in the public square in the center of Sayula. He was the youngest rapper there—most were older than 15 and he had just turned 12. They started a crew called Sector 145. That’s how he met the Altepee Collective, after a rap workshop given by Mare Advertencia Lírika, with whom he shared his creations and projects, in Acayucan, the closest city to Sayula. He traveled through Mexico and the United States with this collective, which is dedicated to the preservation of traditional string music from southern Veracruz. Tío Bad asserted that “Hip Hop has changed my life, and it saved me from crime.”

In his village, he was always stigmatized as the “stoner,” since he used marijuana to explore his creative side.

Through modes of narrating and sharing emancipation, with the simplicity of a beat that guides or challenges one's rhythm, Tío Bad’s rap became a nascent expression in public spaces and gatherings. That’s what the youth in his village, as well as among the mestizo elite, liked about it. Through the messages in his songs, Tío helped empower the recovery of indigenous pueblos—his own just as much as wherever he sang. He kept the demands of the EZLN (Zapatista National Liberation Army) and the CNI close at hand. He read the entirety of the San Andrés Accords and the Zapatista communiqués derived from them. In Tío Bad’s life, rap was first—making rhymes, making a crew—and then, giving voice to protest. Just like hip hop’s origins in the Bronx.

Walking through the winding streets of his village, he would always sing out loud.

“Through music, we try to hold these values, above all to unite people, so that from there we can defend the land, we can inform people. That is our work.”

—Tío Bad

Tío Bad had no choice but to experience firsthand the fear for the continued existence of indigenous peoples in Mexico. He was a participant in the discussion, and that’s why he presented himself as a Popoluca from Sayula. How to place value… how to make sure the language would not be forgotten, he wondered.

Tío wrote about topics relevant to communities around him, like fracking. This message got across well to young people—it was easily transmissible through rap, because the medium is interesting. The theme of the Sayulteca language was always present in these spaces.

“Over there in Veracruz, the violence is finishing us off, as are the megaprojects. We asked, ‘how do we confront this with music?’ That’s where rap comes in: it describes it just like it is, very directly. As the compañero said, what they’re doing with full dominion ownership destroys the ejido.^v They buy people off to frack the land. 224 wells, and more are coming—it’s worrying because the people don’t know; the TV, the newspaper, the radio don’t talk about it, so we said, well, we gotta write a song about fracking so that people know what it is,” Tío Bad said in a CNI meeting in Chilpancingo.

This is the song he composed against fracking, for which he was censured and kicked out of the Sayula Technical Secondary School [Translator: lyrics left in Spanish to avoid doing injustice to Tío Bad’s rap]:

Fracking, palabra que va a conocer el pueblo
Fracking es abrir la tierra para acercarnos al infierno
y si no me equivoco un proyecto de gringos locos
y si no me equivoco un proyecto de gringos locos
que ya tienen al planeta tan caliente como un foco
No te lo dijeron, no te lo comentaron
quieren nuestro petróleo porque el suyo se lo acabaron,
consumen tanto, pues nunca se imaginaron
que se les iba a acabar, solo porque tienen el baro
2010, geofísica, tucu tu tu tum tum, se que escuchan explosiones
estaban empezando, eran exploraciones,
tres meses después y ¡que se vienen los temblores!
Pónganse a pensar, eso apenas es el comienzo
no somos mensos y nos pusimos a investigar y vimos que…
al pueblo nunca se le ha hecho un consenso y
en México esta práctica la están por licitar,
El Estado involucrado dispuestos a tratar
unas tierras a las cual no las habido el trabajo
para enamorar gran dinero te han de dar
pero no quieren tu terreno, quieren lo que hay debajo
debajo
hay oro negro, y lo quieren a costa de todo
no importa que nos vean revolcados en el lodo
o que todititos nuestros paisanos quedemos muertos
Fracking es fractura hidráulica y quieren fracturar la tierra
es por eso que con gráfica decidimos hacerles la guerra
gases que se fugan por las grietas nos contaminan el aire,
es por eso que con métrica explicamos lo que no te explica nadie
750 sustancias químicas contaminan el agua,
es por eso que con lírica defendemos lo que más hace falta
Fracking es fractura hidráulica y quieren fracturar la tierra
es por eso que mediante el Hip Hop venimos a ponerte alerta
Analizando nos preguntamos ¿Cómo carajo
van a perforar la tierra 3 mil metros para abajo?
11 mil pozos asignados a Veracruz,
esa cifra la hizo decir ¡Jesús!
Y es que por pozo, se necesitan dos hectáreas,
¿acaso todas esas tierras serán necesarias?
llevando la vida diaria, poquito a poquito
pues por pozo se ocuparán 29 millones de litros
de agua y de agua sufrimos un desbasto
los ríos se están secando, no creas que es un mito,
todos debajo se contaminarán los mantos friáticos
y por arriba se prenderá el agua que sale por tu grifo,
Compañero te soy sincero, la verdad no sé si me explico…
lo único seguro es que nuestro futuro está en manos de unos cuantos ricos…
pero todo eso cambia si nos informamos,
pero todo eso cambia si nos organizamos,
pero todo eso cambia si como pueblos nos juntamos.

i Translator: a traditional string instrument from Veracruz that looks like a small guitar.

ii Translator: Definitions, delimitations, and self-identifications around indigeneity can be considerably different in Mexico from how they are often conceived or discussed in Anglo America.

iii Translator: “In Veracruz, Mexico, a fandango is a party where people get together to dance, to play and to sing in a community setting.” (Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fandango).

iv Translator: Pueblo doesn’t have a very good English equivalent. It often means people just as much as it means village or place. In these cases, I have elected to leave it in Spanish.

v Translator: Ejidos are an important part of land use and ownership law in Mexico. They are a form of collective property that has been threatened in the last few decades by NAFTA, international mining interests, and other capitalist projects.

The Case of Indigenous Yaqui Land Defender and Political Prisoner, Fidencio Aldama Pérez

Por

Aldo Santiago

11 December, 2019

This audio comes from Maria del Carmen García Vázquez, the partner of
Indigenous Yaqui land defender and political prisoner, Fidencio Aldama Pérez.
It speaks to the context of Fidencio's arrest, his current legal situation and
the necessity of solidarity in helping free Fidencio Aldama Pérez. The text of
the audio in both English and Spanish are below.

Hi Everyone.

My name is Maria del Carmen García Vázquez. My husband is Fidencio Aldama. He is a political prisoner of the Yaqui Tribe, from the town of Loma de Bácum, Sonora. We, the town of Loma de Bácum, are opposed to a gas pipeline that the government of the State of Sonora—the government of Claudia Pavlovich Arellano—wants to build.

On October 21st, Yaquis from the eight Yaqui towns arrived in our community. These Yaquis receive money and new cars from the government and from the pipeline company, Sempra Energy. These Yaquis came to attack our traditional guard, and to attack our community, as a means to impose their authority and move forward with the gas pipeline project. For unknown reasons, we as Yaquis and as Catholics, we say it is metaphysical; that day October 21st, they arrived and attacked our traditional guard and our community. Unfortunately, in that conflict, Cruz Huitimea Piña was shot and killed. As the result of bad luck, or due to destiny, Fidencio Aldama Pérez was accused of the murder. That day Fidencio Aldama Pérez was working as part of the traditional guard, what they call community security or community police in other Indigenous communities. He had a 45-caliber weapon. Cruz was assassinated with a 22-caliber weapon. You all can see the difference there. Fidencio had a 45-caliber weapon and Cruz was killed with a 22-caliber weapon.

On October 27th, 2016, a week after, or six days after, the prosecutor’s office asked our Indigenous authorities permission to interview or take statements from the people that were there part of the traditional guard the day of the conflict. They asked to speak with Fidencio. At the moment Fidencio got into the automobile, darkness took over. They took Fidencio, alongside the compañera, Anabella Carlon, and a lawyer named Merardo, to Obregon. There he was taken to the attorney general’s office, where they made him sign papers and where he was given an arrest warrant. At that moment, Fidencio said he wondered why his arrest warrant wasn’t given to him in front of the traditional guard, in front of the traditional authorities and the people of the community. He asked why he had to sign the papers. The investigating state police told him that everything would be fine. He thus signed because he didn’t have any other option.

After Fidencio signed the paperwork, he was taken to prison in Ciudad Obregon. Since October 27th, he has been there, deprived of his freedom, innocent. After four months, Fidencio had a hearing. There, witnesses were present who said he is guilty. A year later, the trial was held. During the trial, the witnesses they brought forward were people they had paid off. They were the same people who arrived and attacked our town on October 21st. They brought these witnesses as a means to keep Fidencio in prison. This would help to pressure the authorities to sign the passage of the gas pipeline. Fidencio was eventually sentenced to fifteen years and six months in prison.

Fidencio remains in prison. His words support and nourish us. He tells us to stay together, to continue fighting for our territory. He says if he has to be there imprisoned, that is not important. What is important is that we continue the struggle. However, there are days that he says to me, when I talk to him or visit him in prison, he says to me that he can’t continue there, that he doesn’t want to be there. “I want to leave, I want to be with my children. I want to be in my home,” he says. I want this all to end, but what can I do. All of this makes me very sad, but I can’t do anything.

Right now the lawyer, David Guadalupe Valenzuela, has submitted an appeal in the Court of Hermosillo, Sonora. They have three months or ninety days to resolve the appeal. Those three months end in June. Supposedly the lawyer also went to talk with the federal government—with the secretary of government—because there was the possibility of the Senator Nestora Salgado helping release political prisoners. However, it turned out that the case of Fidencio is in the hands of the Ministry of Interior Affairs; they have the case of Fidencio.

Just yesterday, the lawyer, David Guadalupe Vanzuela, sent me a message saying that the president’s office was going to take a look at Fidencio’s case. The president’s office has solicited all of the paperwork related to the case of Fidencio saying they were going to give priority to the case. We don’t know how honest that is.

I only ask those that listen to this audio, that you help me to get Fidencio free. If you can share this audio, or if you can help us with this struggle, I would be so grateful.

His children need a father. The pain is so powerful that sometimes it is impossible to endure. Either way, we are here and we continue the struggle. Thank you all for the support and hopefully you can share this audio to help free Fidencio Aldama. I send you all greetings and blessings. ESPAÑOL:

Hola a todos,

Mi nombre es Maria del Carmen Garcia Vazquez. Soy esposa de Fidencio Aldama preso político de la tribu yaqui del pueblo de Loma de Bácum . Nuestro pueblo de Loma de Bacum se opone y nos oponemos a un gasoducto que nos quieren poner el gobierno del Estado de Sonora, el gobierno de Claudia Pavlovich Arellano.

El día 21 de octubre llegan yaquis de los ocho pueblos a los cuales el gobierno les dio dinero, la empresa del gasoducto, Sempra Energy. Les compro carros nuevos , ellos llegan a atacar nuestra guardia tradicional, a nuestra comunidad para poder imponer su autoridad y que esa autoridad firmará el paso del gasoducto. Pero por causas que desconocemos y que nosotros como yaquis que somos y como católicos que somos…nosotros decimos que es un milagro .Ese día el 21 de octubre, ellos llegan, atacan nuestras guardia tradicional y nuestra comunidad y pues desgraciadamente en ese conflicto asesinan y le disparan a Cruz Huitimea Piña y pues por mala suerte o por cosas del destino pues….Fidencio Aldama Pérez lo culpan de ese asesinato. Ese día Fidencio Aldama Pérez le tocada la guardia tradicional, como dicen le tocaba la vigilancia o policía comunitaria , como ustedes le llaman en otros pueblos indígenas, y pues traía un calibre 45, y a Cruz lo asesinan con un calibre 22 entonces como ustedes pueden ver es mucha la diferencia, un calibre 22 a un calibre 45.

El 27 de octubre de 2016, una semana después, 6 días después, nuestra autoridad le pide la fiscaleria que vengan hacer entrevistas no declaraciones a esa personas que estaban ahí en la guardia a las personas que estuvieron el día que fue el conflicto del 21. Le mandan hablar a Fidencio. Al momento que Fidencio sube, a un (Auto)móvil que se llama Hercules, apagan las luces y apagan todo y se lo llevan con la compa Anabella Carlon y con un abogado se llama Merardo, se los llevan en Obregon bajan a la abogada a la compa Anabella y al abogado Merardo de ahí se lo llevan a la procuraría de justicia en donde lo hacen que firme papeles y le dan la orden de aprensión. En ese momento, Fidencio dice que el piensa por que esta orden de aprensión no me le dieron en la guardia tradicional, enfrente de mi autoridad tradicional enfrente de la gente de la comunidad, pero el solo lo piensa, no lo dice. Lo que si les dice el es que por que firma esos papeles, y lo que le dicen esos agentes de la PI, de la Policía Estatal investigadora es que todo va a estar bien. que firme y que todo va a estar bien, pues el firma por que no le quedo de otra.

Ya que firma y todo, le hacen ese papeleo lo llevan al reclusorio, Cuidad Obregony desde el 27 de octubre ahí esta recluido, privado de su libertad, siendo inocente. A los 4 meses le hace la audiencia a Fidencio Aldama, y ahí es por donde llegan los testigos, y reiteran que el es el culpable. Al año, se le hace el juicio, y en el juicio igual los testigos que ellos llevan son testigos que ellos mismos compraron. Los que llegaron y los atacaron el 21 de octubre. Ellos los compraron para que Fidencio estuviera recluido ahí privado de su libertad y para que esto ayudara para presionar a la autoridad para firmar el paso del gasoducto. Entonces lo sentencian, a 15 años y 6 meses.

Fidencio sigue ahí, el dice y nos da apoyo a nosotros, nos da aliento. El nos dice que no nos dejemos, y sigamos en la lucha ,y sigamos luchando por nuestro territorio, que si el tiene que estar ahí recluido privado de su libertad que no importa pero que nosotros sigamos luchando, pero si hay días que el me dice cuando me hablo cuando voy a visitarlo, el me dice que ya no puedo, ya no quiero estar aquí. Yo quiero irme, quiero estar con mis hijos yo quiero estar en nuestra casa. Yo quiero que ya se acabe todo esto, pero yo que puedo hacer. Me da mucha tristeza todo eso pero no puede hacer nada yo. Ahorita el abogado que se llama David Guadalupe Valenzuela el metió un amparo en del Colegiado de Hermosillo Sonora. Le dieron 3 meses, 90 días para la resolución del amparo, ahorita esos 3 meses terminan ahora en junio parece que si en junio. Y se suponen que también el abogado fue con el gobierno federal, con el secretario de gobierno, por que también paso un caso de que la senadora Nestora Salgado, ella saco a presos políticos, entonces dio una lista, en esa lista esta Fidencio Aldama Pérez, pero resulta el caso de Fidencio lo paso la secretaria de gobernación entonces ahorita esta en la secretaria de gobernación el caso de Fidencio.

Ayer exactamente ayer, el abogado David Guadalupe Valenzuela me mando whats diciendo que ya iban a empezar a ver el caso de Fidencio en presidencia. La presidencia mando pedir el caso Fidencio a todos los papeles para verlo por que ya le van a dar prioridad a el. Pero sabes si será cierto o no.

Yo solo le pido a los que escuchen esta audio que me apoyen con la libertad para Fidencio. Que si pueden difundir que si nos pueden ayudar con eso les daría todo las gracias del mundo.

Por que le hace falta el papa a sus hijos. Es algo muy fuerte entonces que a veces no se puede aguantar pues ni modo aquí estamos seguimos en la lucha. Yo le doy gracias a todos para el apoyo que nos dan y ojalá que puedan difundir este audio para pueden ayudar a Fidencio Aldama con su libertad. Les mando muchos saludos y bendiciones.

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