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
... read more