BLOG 5

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I am in the midst of a revolution. La Senora knocked on my door. This is unusual. It is ten to eight. Breakfast is at eight. At the same time my phone beeps. A text message has arrived. It is from the teacher. ÄVOID THE STRIKE AREA. MAESTROS ARE BEING EVICTED, TEAR GAS, BILLY CLUBS, ETC. THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO BE CURIOUS! Since I arrived three weeks ago the maestros have been protesting and demonstrating by camping out in the main town square, the Zocalo. Their plastic eggshell blue tarps clog the streets, the thin ropes they use to hold up their tents stretch like spider webs across the streets. Walking down what is normally a wide open avenue is now like dodging laser alarms in a Tom Cruise action-adventure movie. So far, the state police have let them protest. Apparently they are well-organized and know how far to go without crossing the line into illegality. Four days ago the maestros held a march down Benito Juarez and along Independencia, thousands of marchers with signs, pinatas of the governor whom they dislike as a donkey, or one could say, an ass, and megaphones, chanting ¨solo la revoluccion, dara la soluccion.¨It was two hours worth of people walking and chanting. I had to cut across them to get home that night. When the march was over many building along the route, including Teatro Juarez, had been graffitied. Thousands of pesos worth of damage. It seems they crossed the line that day. It could have been other things, too. Now, my Senora is asking me if I´m going to school. The Institute is a twenty minute walk away. Although the school is way above the Zocalao, my roommate and I must walk past the Zocalao to get there. The Senora is concered. I tell her I don't know. My phone buzzes again. STAY HOME UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THIS IS SERIOUS!!! CLASSES CANCELLED TODAY WAIT FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. ´No voy a la escuela hoy,´I tell her. She looks relieved. ´Bueno,´ she says as we move into the kitchen for breakfast. Breakfast, of course, is delicious. Fresh orange juice, coffee, fresh watermelon slices, oaxacan cheese quesadilla, and of course, all we´re doing is talking about the maestros. She tells me that at three this morning the state police went in to evict the maestros using tear gas, waterhoses (which is weird since Oaxaca has a water shortage), billy clubs, but apparently the maestros are still there. It´s not the Federales. People here that I talk to aren´t sympathetic to the maestros. They feel the maestros don´t have much to complain about- they are well paid, gets lots of paid vacations, have medical coverage and social security. There are many people in Mexico who work under a lot worse conditions and yet others who can´t find work at all. Some people say if anyone should strike it should be the obreros, the workers, not the teachers. Other people I talk to say it´s not about wages, but about politics. The maestros are striking for money for their schools. They say they don´t have proper classrooms, enough food to feed the children lunches, enough supplies and current textbooks so the students can learn properly. I don´t know anything about it. All I know is that is keeps intensifying as the July 2nd elections draw near. And of course as a tourist I would prefer the Zocalo to be absent the maestros so I could really see it properly. My phone rings again. EVERYONE STAY HOME UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. NO CLASSES UNTIL YOU GET AN ALL CLEAR MSG. It is now 8:13a.m.. We are still around the breakfast table talking about the situation when I get word at 8:45 that the Institute is open. Those who live near the center can go. Word is that North neighborhoods seem to be o.k. I am not a North neighborhood, but I want to go. After all, I am here to learn and I want to hear what´s going on in English, so I can be sure I am understanding the details. La Senora is doubtful that it is safe to walk and I can tell she would rather I remain at home. I call the Institute for advice. I hear that it is safe, but to avoid crowds so as to avoid being gased. Wow. We reach a compromise. We are going to call a cab. The cab driver is afraid to come down here. That settles it. We stay here. Later we find out the police are burning the blue tarps. The smoke drifts over to us and our eyes and nose burn. Several blue and white police helicopters buzz overhead. I´m starting to have Rodney King riot flashbacks. The houses are all walled here, with interior courtyards, but no windows that look out onto the street. I´m starting to feel very isolated. Finally we receive word that we can go to the school. The streets are safe. It is 10:30 at night. We went to school for afternoon classes. Things seemed calmer, but there were people walking around with sticks, pipes, and large pieces of wood. When I walked home around 7ish the streets were unusually full. Small groups were hanging out talking about today. There were piles of abandonned sticks propped up against building corners. Strange. Our Senora just called us. She´s with her daughter outside the city. She´s heard there is something going on in the city tonight and she wants us to be sure to stay inside. She doesn´t want us to go to school tomorrow. I´m writing this ´tomorrow´ and although the maestros are still here and the issues are not settled, the city seems to be calm.

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