Spiritual Archive

Eco-evangelical Mayans work for a greener village

Eco-evangelical Mayans work for a greener village

PAXTOCA, Totonicapán, Guatemala – Martin Pedro Toc Sic is an eco-entrepreneur on a mission. Standing amid the green, forested hills of his native village, this young Maya marketing major explained why he left a good-paying job in the city to try and make his mark in his hometown with projects designed to keep those hills green.

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“My father told me a long time ago, ‘Martin, God wants a vocation for you.’ And I always looked for it,” he said. “Then one day, God touched me with fear. I was listening to a radio program about the way the climate is changing and it scared me so bad I ran to my room and hid under the covers and trembled. But then I realized I had to do something about it. Instead of hiding in the house, frightened, it’s time to find solutions.”

Martin is a curious mixture of many things that on the surface don’t seem to blend. He’s a business-minded environmentalist and an evangelical Christian working to revive the Mayan cosmovision. He’s the founder of Projuve, short for Youth Program for Sustainable Development (Programa Juvenil para Desarrollo Sostenible), and his enthusiasm for his subject matter is contagious. A youth leader in his evangelical church, he’s managed to attract nine others to the cause, including Carmina, now his wife-to-be, and they’ve all put their work aside today to meet with me at their new Forestry Center, a small protected plot of tree seedlings they are nurturing for a reforestation project.

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The youths begin with a brief and very professional introduction, each telling me which of the Projuve departments they belong to: environment, programs, fundraising and business development. The young women are dressed in corte tipica, the traditional Quiché Mayan woven skirts and lacy blouses. The young men are all business casual.

“Here it’s normal for the young people to wear their hair long and their T-shirts loose, but we don’t want to do that,” Martin explained to me later. “We want to have the respect of the community, so that’s why we dress this way – formally. We are trying to earn their trust.”

In the year since their founding, they’ve garnered the support of a local cooperative, which has given them the land and supplies for their forestry center. They’ve held a Christian eco-concert, Una Sola Voz por el Planeta (One voice for the Planet) to raise money for their cause.

They’ve established a recycling project in their town; in a place where the idea of recycling was once as far from most minds as the moon, villagers are now separating their plastic, glass, metal and paper from their organic waste and saving it for the Projuve volunteers, who collect them every two weeks and truck them to the recycling center in Xela.
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On an ordinary day, many of this dynamic group can be found hauling bags of rich volcanic soil and mulch from the surrounding forest to mix into the tiny nursery bags for the seedlings in their Forestry Center. Already they’ve got some 8,000 sprouts here, including white pine, oak, cypress and the endangered pinabete, or Guatemalan fir. Their goal is to plant 100,000 in the surrounding deforested areas by the end of the year.
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But this is only the beginning. Their long-range goals include an ecotourism program in the surrounding mountain valley, built around a spectacular waterfall in the forest near here. They’re collecting plastic and glass bottles in a warehouse near here that they plan to use as the base for an adobe Earthship-style ecological house, and they’ve enlisted the aid of a green architect to help them design it.
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The only thing standing between them and the conversion of Paxtoca into an ecovillage, it seems, is money – but they have faith it will come.

We took turns telling our stories, and each of the youths, from 16-year-old Nicolas to 24-year-old Carmina, shared their fears of a devastated planet and their dream for a green future for their children.

Martin and Carmina took me for a breathtaking hike through the village, up through the cornfields surrounding the forest and down a trail through the woods to the waterfall, which they’ve used as the backdrop for their stunning brochure and their power point presentation.
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Then, since the cooperative had loaned them the car for the day, they took me up into the mountains to see another ecological project in the region, the Aprisco Sendero Ecologico, an educational ecocenter in a virgin pine forest near the town of Totonicapan. The hike among the old-growth pines refreshed the spirit while learning stations along the way taught about the endangered birds and trees this forest harbors.

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Aprisco is an initiative of CDRO, the Cooperative for Rural Development of the West, an organization that has been promoting sustainable development in the Western Highlands for a generation. They took me by the organization’s learning center, where I had a chat with Ana Victoria Socop, one of the organization’s directors.

Here are a few comments from each of these young movers and shakers that will stay with me.

Martin:

“Jesus loved nature! Remember the story of how he released the doves from the people who were selling them in the temple? Remember how he said, the birds of the air don’t worry about where they will get their food, but God takes care of them. God gave us dominion over nature so that we would take care of it.”

“Our Maya culture is closely related to nature, but we’ve lost a great deal of that. So why don’t we go back and reclaim what’s ours? The Maya saying is, leave no one behind. This applies to nature, as well.”

“We created the concept, ‘empre-ambiental’ (empresarial plus environmental) because we have to have development, but it doesn’t need to hurt the environment. I said to myself, if they can do this in Xela, why can’t we do it here? Here we have the resources, the natural beauty. We should be able to make it work here.”

“I give talks to the young people and I say, ‘Kids, now is our time, it’s the time for us to show what we are made of.”

“If they support us from outside, that’s great but we also have to learn how to generate our own financing. A lot of times groups will arrive in the villages and the people will say, ‘What are you bringing us?’ We say, ‘what do we have to offer?’ We’re trying to change the paradigm.”

Ana, 20 – “We were seeing that the trash was collecting all around and it was really affecting us. Sometimes the grandfathers cut the trees in the mountains and don’t replant them. So we got together and we said, we have to make the change; if we don’t, nobody will. We want to have a beautiful place to hand down to the little ones when it’s their time.”

Jairo, 21 – “I’d been studying science and thinking already about the way the future is looking and feeling really scared about it. Then one day at church I heard a talk that Martin gave and I said, and I loved the idea, I was delighted to join this team.”

Pablo, 20 – “Now that we’ve been going around picking up the recyclables the people are beginning to trust us. Guatemala is changing and I realized, I wanted to be a part of it – we have to really put out the effort to make it better.”

Nicolas, 16: “Now is the time we can raise up a generation of change. Maybe the last generations believed that you could cut the trees down and they’d come back by themselves, but now we realize they don’t come back by themselves, and without trees there is no life, we can’t breathe.”

Josias, 20: “Sometimes we young people don’t really think about what we’re doing, just throwing trash and such. Now we’re beginning to realize what our environment really needs, and that’s why we’ve started all these projects, which are going to require a lot of work. And since I’m in charge of fundraising, I know we’re going to need some money to make it happen, and I’m not sure how we’re going to do it, but I know we have to.”

Jose, 18: “Up here in the highlands, the sun used to just warm us, but now it burns us. We have to do something for our planet. We can’t fix what’s already been done but what we can do is raise the awareness of our friends and neighbors, saying what are we going to leave our children? We can’t give them a destroyed planet. We want them to be able to have what we enjoyed.”

Carmina, 24: “I had the opportunity to work as a volunteer in an NGO, and I was sharing with many foreigners. I realized that the reality we were living – we went to many places where there were not more trees, the mountains were completely treeless. We saw places where there was extreme poverty. This motivated me to do something, but I didn’t know what to do by myself. I saw how the foreigners came to help, but when they extended a hand to help, the people would reach out and say, give us more.”

“Why do other people come to help our people when we can do it ourselves? But then a friend told me about Projuve, and at first it didn’t really convince me. The third time I said, let me see what they’re doing. Then it was Martin who told me the whole vision of Projuve. Then I said, I think I can contribute something here. So I decided to stay and see what I could do to realize the vision of a green Paxtoca.”


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Rasta Mesa: Earth Care and People Care, Garifuna style

Rasta Mesa: Earth Care and People Care, Garifuna style

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LIVINGSTON, Guatemala – Ecotour options abound in this offbeat Caribbean village; there’s Seven Altars, the spectacular series of waterfalls and pools; Playa Blanca, with its pristine white sands; Lake Izabal, the country’s largest, with a host of wildlife-watching, birding and hiking options.

I wanted to do something that would bring me a little closer to the local inhabitants, in particular the Garifuna people. You can see them everywhere, but to have an interaction that goes beyond “hey baby,” a musical performance or a pitch to have your hair plaited in tiny braids, it takes a little effort.

So when an earnest young man with dreadlocks and a rasta hat approached me in the center, handed me a flyer and invited me to come and check out his cultural center, I took him up on it. “We have cooking classes, vegetarian food, and live music every night,” he said. “OK,” I said.

That’s how I met Eduardo “Mega” Estero, a 20-something Rastafarian with a decidedly different approach to environmental education, and Amanda, his lighthearted, dreadlocked wife. Amanda, from Baltimore, met Mega on the beach in Belize and the two of them have been together ever since. In 2008, Mega decided to return to his native Livingston, and the two of them decided to start their own cultural center in the heart of the Garifuna community.

Here they conduct workshops and classes on traditional Garifuna cooking and art, for tourists and locals alike. They also host a range of activities for local children, teaching them about their culture and about the environment. A sketch of the solid waste cycle hangs on the bright-red wall.

“Our people been throwin’ our wrappers on the ground since the beginning of time, and it’s never been a problem – plantain peels and banana leaves and cassava peels. Now all of a sudden things have changed, but the habits have not,” says Mega. “I try to help them see the difference.

“I tell the kids, ‘It’s not trash until you throw it,’” he says. He teaches them to reuse plastic bottles to make seed planters, baskets, maracas and receptacles for other items.

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I came for vegetarian lunch – Garifuna food was on the menu, but they were out of ingredients, so I got a huge plate of Garifuna-style sushi – an Amanda fusion creation – with plantains, green bananas, pineapple and carrots in the place of crab and avocado.

I ended up signing up for the Garifuna ecotour, which was a daylong adventure with lively commentaries from Mega and Amanda, all for the rock-bottom price of $12. There was a hike and a swim along the coco-palm-lined beach to the neighboring village of Quehueche. There was a tour of the Garifuna temple with a glimpse into the Garifuna religion, a fascinating blend of African animism with Catholicism.

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Then there was a tour of the family farm and a hike through the rainforest, ending up with a back-door entrance to the Seven Altars.

As the grandson of one of the community’s spiritual healers, Mega has grown up learning about the traditions and the various ingredients needed to carry them out. He showed me plants along the way with various healing properties, as well as the ones he uses to make what he calls a “spiritual bath”: an herbal bath which is done for cleansing at the particularly auspicious hour of midnight, when the spirits of the ancestors are available to help with the healing work.

The Garifuna temple was set back from the beach on a hillside. A massive structure with a tall, double-peaked thatch roof, it was unlike any temple I had ever seen. First, there were the hammocks – strung along the front of the building to catch the breeze, and hanging from the rough-hewn rafters inside, as well. When the time comes for a ceremony, people come from all around and the ritual goes on for days, so the hammocks and nearby sleeping facilities provide a place for people to stay, Mega explained.

Greenish light filtered through the fiberglass skylights embedded in the thatch, casting an otherworldly air on the offerings below: Three massive drums, suspended over the floor in the center. On the soft dirt floor, interlaced throughout with the intricate pattern of chicken tracks, was an incense burner, a bowl of dried herbs, a glass of water and coals from a previous fire.

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Mega was telling us about the Garifuna belief in ancestor possession, when the elders come back to remind you of important things you may have forgotten.

“It’s like, you’re not even a fisherman and all of a sudden you’re out on the sea in a boat with a hole in it, catching fish like crazy, and you’re not sinking,” he explains. “That’s ancestor possession.”

He laughs when he tells the story of how it happened to him one time. It was the middle of the night, and he was going door-to-door, waking everyone up and urging them to the temple. Later, when he awoke, he had no recollection of the incident – but his neighbors did.

Such occurrences happen for a reason, he believes. “It’s to remind us that we’re connected to them,” he says. “Sometimes they’ll come to us when we’re not living the right way, just to show us that this is what life is about – to remind us, to get the bad energy out.“

But it’s not just about possession, he clarifies – one honors the ancestors by inviting them into one’s life. One does that by living according to tradition – cooking, playing music, planting in the traditional ways.

“When you’re cooking the cassava, you’re reenacting their lives, using the tools they gave us,” he said, referring to the tools he shows us in the kitchen – the giant wooden mortar and pestle, used for mashing plantain; the wooden grater, embedded with sharp stones, used to grate the cassava; the large wooden tray, used to roll out the cassava bread.

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“Playing music is a spiritual thing, so you want to get in touch with the ancestors before you do it,” he explained. “Their souls are not separated from this life. I can see that; you can see that in the temple. We don’t just give gratitude to Jesus; we also give gratitude to our ancestors.”

At the back of the temple, in an enclave set off from the rest with a lace curtain, was a room where two candles burned in front of a crucifix with a black Jesus. “We have a lot of respect for Jesus – he was a good example for us.”

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We visited with the temple caretakers and got a tour of the cooking hut, with its traditional implements and giant wood cookstove designed to feed hundreds of faithful. We learned about some of the many plants surrounding the temple, grown for their curative properties as well as to feed the faithful. Noni, a fruit now in vogue in health food stores, has been grown and prepared in juices here for generations for its healing properties. There’s basil and sweet potato and jackass bitters, used to prepare Gifiti,– sometimes served as a tea, sometimes as a rum tonic, but always with a potent kick.

The tour wound its way up a lush jungle path through massive palms, hanging vines, birds of paradise and ficus trees to the family farm, 500 acres divided among uncles and cousins. They opened out into a milpa, or a field of corn, furrowing the hillside to our right and the field to our left. This was a cash crop, as the Garifuna don’t traditionally eat corn, Mega explained. Cassava and yams, beans and squash, pineapple and plantain grew here in abundance, and we stopped for awhile at the local “bar” – a cluster of thatch huts where the Maya farmworkers live – to order a glass of fermented corn “wine” and relax in the shade under the drying laundry. The tangy white fluid was definitely alcoholic, but there the wine resemblance ended.

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The farm was full of life. A Maya mother and daughter headed across the field with plastic buckets to fetch water, while a boy trudged down the path with a bundle of firewood on his back. A cow grazed on lush grass while a sow nursed her tiny newborn piglets. The path meandered back into the forest and down the creek to Siete Altares, the Seven Altars. We were at the end of the dry season, so the normally spectacular waterfalls were not running. Still, the mossy green platforms leading down into darkly mysterious pools were peaceful and picturesque in a different sort of way.

The trip home was an exhilarating, bone-soaking, white-knuckle boat ride up the coast by one of Mega’s uncles. Dinner was traditional Garifuna Hudut, a mashed plantain dish served with a rich coconut broth, rice and chicken. The night included a cooking demonstration, a little shopping among Garifuna and Maya jewelry and clothing in the gallery, and a three-generation musical performance with traditional drumming and a punta dance performance by little Candy, Mega’s youngest sister.
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It was just another day at Rasta Mesa. But for me, it was a 12-hour trip to another planet – a full-fledged Garifuna immersion.

Rasta Mesa is a must-see stop on your Livingston tour. It’s a bit out of the way, but well worth the walk. Ask for directions to the cemetery and walk a few paces more, and you’ll see it on your right. Besides providing a full lineup of economical tours, classes and activities, nutritious traditional meals and live music at night, many take advantage of the volunteer opportunities and stay for awhile. There are rooms for rent, as well.

The couple supports the center and their work with the Garifuna community through sales of their crafts and the fees of volunteers. Learn more at Discover Izabal and at Rasta Mesa’s web page, and contact them through their Facebook page or at rastamesa@gmail.com.


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Evo Morales: A Plurinational President

Evo Morales: A Plurinational President

Forget Barak Obama – he’s so 2009. Evo Morales is the new rock star president, as I learned in Coyoacan this weekend. A sea of enthusiastic people of every ethnicity waited for hours in the hot sun to hear his plea for a more just society, one that provides a dignified life for all and respects the rights of the Pachamama, Mother Earth. His rousing speech was preceded with performances by indigenous dancers and musicians and a Four Directions ceremony.

Here are a few scenes from the rally on Sunday.


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At home with the Subcoyote

At home with the Subcoyote

Outside in the darkness, up in the hills not far from here, a chorus of coyotes is greeting the coming of the dawn. How appropriate, I think with a smile. Here in Huehuecoyotl, place of the old, old coyote, I’ve just bid farewell to the greatest coyote of all, Subcoyote Alberto Ruz Buenfil, who is letting me use his home as a base for a few days. Now it’s his time to head into Mexico City, where he is taking the lessons of the Rainbow Caravan for Peace into the barrios of that other place of coyotes, Coyoacán.

I’ve come to Huehuecoyotl to meet his family and some of the people who form this core group of world-changers. I’ve come to break bread, share stories, and glean advice for the journey ahead. Alberto has been in a whirlwind of activity since I arrived – he’s playing a lead role in a film about Fellini’s spiritual journey through Mexico, and the ghost-spirit of the great Italian filmmaker was just here to supervise from another dimension the shooting of some scenes; longtime friend Jose Arguelles, author and visionary, just spent some time here. During my two days here he’s just finished another book and sent it out to the reviewers, underwent a root canal and many hours of community meetings and obligations, and bid farewell to his daughter who is on her way back to Spain; now he’s preparing for a thousand-drum salute and fundraiser for the people of Haiti and a visit from Bolivian President Evo Morales, but still he took time to show me around, orient me to the solar shower and the composting toilet, share photos and reminisce about the incredible 13-year nomadic ecovillage whose trail I now follow, from Mexico to Patagonia.

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An old legend tells of a time when the Earth is in crisis, and life itself is in danger. In these times, the legend goes, a new type of warrior will arise: a tribe of all races, creeds and nationalities who will be known by the universal symbol of the rainbow, and driven by love, their mission will be to save the planet from extinction.

So writes Alberto in his book, “Los Guerreros del Arcoiris.” (Rainbow Nation Without Borders-Bear & Company publishers)-Alberto has dedicated his life to nurturing this tribe, leading the Rainbow Caravan of Peace on an epic journey through Mexico, Central and South America. This nomadic ecovillage traveled from country to country, led by Alberto’s old schoolbus, La Mazorca, colorfully painted to resemble the iconic ear of corn. The ever-changing tribe sought to connect groups active in resistance to the destructive corporate model. They set up camp in jungles and mountains, in indigenous villages and urban ghettos, sharing music, theater and seeds of practical eco-wisdom: green building techniques, simple alternative technologies, natural healing techniques and more. At the same time, they gathered up bits of local lore and wisdom and connected the disparate groups into a hemispheric network. In August of 2009, the tribe finally disbanded, each dispersing to different parts of the continent to continue the consuming work of social change.

Alberto returned to Huehuecoyotl, the picturesque ecovillage established in 1982 in the mountains near Tepoztlan by Alberto and his community of rainbow warriors. He is letting me use his home as a base for a few days as I organize myself for the next phase of my journey. The beautiful adobe-brick home is filled with light from the arching windows that look out upon the grassy valley below; out the front door, past a tall green row of fragrant hoja santa plants, limestone cliffs tower protectively beyond the beautiful home of his son Odin, a musician and one of Mexico’s leading permaculture practitioners.

I will see Alberto once again before I go, when he hosts Bolivian President Evo Morales for a brief visit to the city on Sunday. Meanwhile, here is a short interview I did with him recently, at his office in the Casa de Cultura Reyes Heroles in Coyoacán. His warning comes as a coyote howl in the fading moonlight.

“Like the Mayan Zapatistas said, we have had a long time to dream. Now is the time to wake up. Because any dream we don’t manifest becomes a nightmare, made by somebody else.”

Guadalajara Guerreros: Fighting for a better world

Guadalajara Guerreros: Fighting for a better world

Today I awoke in the verdant mountains near Tepoztlán in Central Mexico, far from the commotion of city life in Guadalajara. Before I move on, I want to take a few moments to acknowledge the work of 24 extremely dedicated, talented and creative people I met during my time in that city, people who touched my life and gave me hope for a better future.

To read about them, please visit Guerreros de Guadalajara, a bilingual entry in my Flickr account.

La Minerva, warrior woman of old and symbol of modern-day Guadalajara, photo courtesy of TheLittleTx, Flickr Creative Commons.

Hope prevails through a bitter winter in Bancos de San Hipólito

Hope prevails through a bitter winter in Bancos de San Hipólito

We arrived in the fog-draped settlement of Buenos Aires, Durango, just after 9 a.m. It had been a hard night’s drive through a pouring rain, enlivened only by the stories of my tireless travel companion, human rights lawyer Carlos Chávez of the Jalisco Association in Support of Indigenous People (AJAGI, by its Spanish acronym).

We still had nearly three hours to go before we reached Bancos, but meanwhile, a group of comuneros from Buenos Aires awaited a ride in the back of his pickup truck. Chávez jumped out from behind the wheel he’d manned since 10 p.m. the night before, greeting a shivering cluster of men with good cheer and a round of hearty handshakes. A breakfast invitation followed, and Nora, Cristian and Yaser, three other AJAGI members, joined us as we were led through what looked like a refugee camp. Nora and Cristian had passed the night in the back of the truck; Yaser was less fortunate, having passed the stormy night in Buenos Aires.

A bitter windstorm had ripped through the village, stripping the tin roofs from many of the mud-brick homes in the middle of the night as the residents slept. The unrelenting rains and near-freezing temperatures compounded the misery as residents tried to piece their lives back together.

Nonetheless, a visit from Carlos Chávez and the folks from AJAGI was more than reason enough for a gathering. One family with a sheltered outdoor kitchen still in good working order invited us to huddle together underneath as the rains began again, and steaming freshly ground tortillas came off the grill one by one to envelop home-grown scrambled eggs and savory pork-seasoned beans and potatoes. Family members clustered around to beam at us and urge us to eat more as we wolfed down what was likely their sole daily portion. But to decline would have been an insult, so we obliged.

The strange winds, the unseasonable rains, and the unthinkable snowstorm of two weeks prior were recurring themes in our visit. The summer rains didn’t come in time to water the harvest, and much of the corn crop dried on the stalk. Of what survived, much succumbed to fungus when the rains arrived late. And then, month upon month of winter rains – and now the tornado-like windstorm that has just descended upon them, the likes of which they’ve never seen.

Climate change is not a theory for the Wixaritari, the tribal people named Huichol by the Spaniards for easier pronunciation. They are convinced that they are living it every day, and they are seeing it in shorter growing seasons and strange weather patterns. They don’t know the reasons, but it worries them.

There’s no time to dwell on it, however. There’s firewood to be gathered, roofs to fix, children to feed – and, for some, a regional assembly to attend down in the valley in Bancos.

Attorney Santos De La Cruz Carillo, community members Nazario Navarrete Lara and Fabian Carillo Aguilar, technical advisors Yaser Ventura and Cristian Chávez, and community members Don Jesús Ramírez and Prudencio Ramírez Navarrete, left to right - and still enough room for me.

Spirits were high as we clambered into the back of Chávez’ well-worn and mud-caked Toyota pickup truck. Bancos is in a sheltered valley, and considerably warmer than Buenos Aires, up in the mountaintops some 7,000 feet above sea level. Also, most of these families originally lived in Bancos. The residents of Buenos Aires are modern-day pioneers engaged in the act of resettling and at the same time reforesting the land ravaged by timber poachers from the neighboring mestizo communities.

The resettlement is all a part of a larger strategy, devised by Huichol community leaders hand-in-hand with Carlos and the rest of the AJAGI team, which has provided legal and technical assistance for nearly two decades, helping the community reclaim 55,000 hectares of land that had been annexed away from their territory and encroached upon over the years. An estimated 140,000 hectares are at stake, including a 10,720-hectare swath separating Bancos from its core community of San Andres Cohamiata in the neighboring state of Jalisco. In a groundbreaking decision in 1998, the International Labor Organization ruled that the Huichol people had a right to the land based on ancestral ownership, even though they don’t hold legal titles – a ruling the Mexican government has thus far failed to acknowledge. Repeated pronouncements from the international agency received no response until last year, when the Mexican government finally ruled in Bancos’ favor – but with a catch. It failed to recognize the ancestral rights outlined in a key document called Convention 169, and so the case remains in litigation.

“The case of Bancos at one point was once described by the Special Rapporteur on Indigenous Issues for the United Nations as probably the most important case in the world” with respect to indigenous land rights, said Chávez. “If the case is resolved in the community’s favor, it will be of benefit to all indigenous people in the world.”

In fact, if AJAGI and the Huicholes of Bancos win their case, it will be the first time that an ILO ruling has superseded a federal law, and will set an international precedent for all indigenous peoples.

But this is only one of many strategies, one layer of the many layers of stories to be told about the Wixaritari people. I was fortunate to hear many of them in the past week, and I will be sharing them as time permits. Meanwhile, here are some images from the enormously resilient little community of Bancos.


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Gerrie Naughton, a woman who supported immigrants

Gerrie Naughton, a woman who supported immigrants

McALLEN, TX — When sister Gerrie Naughton, 67, passed away on October 28, a local TV channel ran a small obituary, and a local newspaper ran even a smaller one with routine courtesy. This attention was not proportional with the importance Naughton has for the history of Rio Grande Valley organizations dedicated to improve the life of immigrants, especially newcomers.

I ran an obituary in McAllenTimes.com and wrote another story on her one month ago. But no story would be enough to tell the richness and passion of those 22 years of service that Gerrie Naughton spent in the Valley.
A Resource to Serve Equality, (ARISE), an pro-immigrant organization that Naughton founded 22 years ago, celebrated last September the 50th anniversary of Gerrie Naughton’s religious life. She was a distinguished member of the Sisters of Mercy and came to the Valley two decades ago to help and empower immigrants. Since the very beginning, Naughton, born in Ireland, was able to gain total confidence from low income immigrants in the Rio Grande Valley.
Most of the immigrants helped by Naughton usually live in colonias, which are economically distressed areas who lack essential infraestructure services and have serious environmental and health issues. There are colonias all over the U.S. Southern border, but Texas has by far the largest number of them with 400,000 people living in 2,294 colonias, according to a Texas Secretary of State report.
Out of the 934 colonias in Hidalgo County, 138 of them lack platting, water or waste water disposal systems and were classified as distressed areas with the highest health risk. Naughton was part of a broad movement to improve the conditions of life of more than 150,000 people living in the Hidalgo County colonias.
She was also a champion of immigrant rights in South Texas. ARISE, the organization she founded, has been able to open parks in under serviced areas of the county and press elected officials to clean ditches and streets and improve police patrolling and waste collection services.
When I met Gerrie in 2007, she seemed to be introspective with a powerful, but restrained spirit. I took some pictures of her when I had the opportunity to cover the 10th Anniversary of the ARISE’s office in South Tower, a small border colonia in Mission, Texas. Those pictures show a kind of strong and determined person. When the pictures were taken, she already had leukemia.
Naughton fought her illness for about five years. Over her last days, Naughton was struggling hard for her life, saying that she was going to make it, said Ramona Casas, a co-founder of ARISE and the first local person who met her in the Rio Grande Valley. In those pictures you can see Naughton, surrounded by the women she helped to grow as community leaders.
Casas said that now some public officials in Hidalgo County are willing to pay tribute to Naughton.
This is the information ARISE sent me after Naughton passed away:

Sister Gerrie Naughton, RSM originaria de Irlanda. Una religiosa de las Hermanas de Misericordia durante 50 años. Bien conocida como una educadora de jóvenes y adultos. Sus años de inicio en el ministerio fueron en el estado de Mississippi en los pueblos de Biloxi, Meridian, and Hattiesburg. Hace más de 20 años Gerrie vino al Valle de Rio Grande donde fundó ARISE ( A Resource in Serving Equality) un recurso de desarrollo para servir las necesidades de los immigrantes nuevos a los Estados Unidos especialmente mujeres y niños. Al presente ARISE tiene cuatro centros. Sus presidentas son: Virginia Santana- ARISE Support Center; Lourdes Flores ARISE South Tower; Andrea Landeros ARISE Muniz; Andrea Olvera ARISE Las Milpas. Gerrie fue una hermana muy especial y muy querida, su vida fue totalmente dedicada a las familias de bajos ingresos, a la educacion , al empoderamiento de las mujeres y a la justicia de los inmigrantes. Ella amo y respeto la cultura Mexicana y Mexico -Americana. El Valle del Rio Grande verdaderamente llegó a ser su hogar. A Gerrie le sobreviven sus hermanos Joseph, Sean , Thomas, and Gerard Naughton y su Hemana Mary Doheny, sus sobrinos Helen, Suzanne, y Richard, y su familia muy especial en el Rio Grande Valley: Virgina Santana, Fabio Angell, Noah y Magea.

Most colonias in the Rio Grande Valley are having troubles to receive adequate solid waste recolection services.

Most colonias in the Rio Grande Valley are having troubles to receive adequate solid waste recolection services.

McALLEN, TX — Cuando la hermana Gerrie Naughton falleció el 28 de octubre a los 68 años de edad, un canal de televisión local transmitió un pequeño obituario y un periódico también local publicó un obituario incluso más pequeño con una cortesía habitual, casi rutinaria.

Yo publiqué un obituario también en el diario en línea McAllenTimes.com y escribí otra nota un mes atrás sobre la celebración de sus 50 años de vida religiosa. Sin embargo, la atención que recibió Naughton no se proporcional a la importancia que ella tuvo en la historia de las orhganizaciones del Valle del Río Grande que están dedicadas a mejorar la vida de los inmigrantes, particularmente los recién llegados.

A Resource to Serve Equality, (ARISE, por sus siglas en inglés), una organización pro inmigrante que Naughton fundó hace 22 años, celebró en septiembre los 50 años de la vida religiosa es esta integrante de orden de las Hermanas de la Caridad. Ella vino desde Irlanda, su país natal, entró a la orden religiosa y luego alguien preguntó ahpí que quién quería trabajar con los inmigrantes latinos. Ella alzó la mano y tiempo después fue a estudiar a San Antonio, Texas, un curso sobre las comunidades de inmigrantes en el Centro Latinoamericano de cultura.

Ya como parte de los estudiantes de ese centro, Naughton fue parte de un grupo que viajó a la frontera para conocer las colonias, esas áreas sin servicios urbanos, sin electricidad ni agua potable, donde viven las familias de inmigrantes que cruzaron la frontera y se establecieron en los pueblos de esta región de Estados Unidos.

Hay colonias en toda la frontera, pero Texas tiene el número más grande de ellas con 400,000 personas que viven en cerca de 2,300 colonias, según un reporte de la Secretaría del Interior de Texas.

Naughton conoció de cerca las carencias de la las cerca de 150,000 personas que viven en las colonias de este condado. De las 934 colonias que existen en el condado de Hidalgo, 138 carecen de agua, drenaje, servicios de recolección de basura y están consideradas como áreas de extrema necesidad con los riesgos más elevados para la salud.

Ella fue una defensora de los derechos de los inmigrantes. ARISE ha luchado por apoderar a las mujeres, crear parques, y presionar a las autoridades locales a limpiar los ductos de agua, mejorar las calles, aumentar la vigilancia policial y mejorar los servicios de recolección de basura.

Cuando conocí a Naughton en 2007, ella parecía una persona introspectiva, pero con un espíritu muy poderoso aunque con apariencia apacible, casi tímida. La entrevisté y le tomé fotografías. Las organizadoras de ARISE me dicen que ella no solía dar entrevistas, que no le gustaba aparecer en la prensa y que siempre prefería que ellas, las mujeres del Valle, fueran el rosto visible y dirigente de la organización. Las fotos que tomé muestran a una persona fuerte y determinada. Pero ya desde entonces, Naughton padecía de leucemia.

Naughton luchó contra su enfermedad durante cinco años. En los últimos días de su vida ella mostraba un gran espíritu, me dice Ramona Casas, organizadora de ARISE y la primera inmigrante que conoció a Naughton en el Valle. “La voy a hacer, la voy a hacer”, decía Naughton a Casas. Un lunes, después de una sesión de quimioterapia, la salud de Naughton declinó rápidamente, fue hospitalizada y luego fue transferida a una casa de McAllen donde cuidan que las personas con enfermedades terminales vivan sus últimos días con la mayor dignidad posible. Naughton murió el 28 de octubre.

Esta es la información que ARISE me envió después de que Naughton falleció:

Sister Gerrie Naughton, RSM originaria de Irlanda. Una religiosa de las Hermanas de Misericordia durante 50 años. Bien conocida como una educadora de jóvenes y adultos. Sus años de inicio en el ministerio fueron en el estado de Mississippi en los pueblos de Biloxi, Meridian, and Hattiesburg. Hace más de 20 años Gerrie vino al Valle de Rio Grande donde fundó ARISE ( A Resource in Serving Equality) un recurso de desarrollo para servir las necesidades de los immigrantes nuevos a los Estados Unidos especialmente mujeres y niños. Al presente ARISE tiene cuatro centros. Sus presidentas son: Virginia Santana- ARISE Support Center; Lourdes Flores ARISE South Tower; Andrea Landeros ARISE Muniz; Andrea Olvera ARISE Las Milpas. Gerrie fue una hermana muy especial y muy querida, su vida fue totalmente dedicada a las familias de bajos ingresos, a la educacion , al empoderamiento de las mujeres y a la justicia de los inmigrantes. Ella amo y respeto la cultura Mexicana y Mexico -Americana. El Valle del Rio Grande verdaderamente llegó a ser su hogar. A Gerrie le sobreviven sus hermanos Joseph, Sean , Thomas, and Gerard Naughton y su Hemana Mary Doheny, sus sobrinos Helen, Suzanne, y Richard, y su familia muy especial en el Rio Grande Valley: Virgina Santana, Fabio Angell, Noah y Magea.

Most colonias in the Rio Grande Valley are having troubles to receive adequate solid waste recolection services.

Most colonias in the Rio Grande Valley are having troubles to receive adequate solid waste recolection services.

Amid sweat and tears, Esperanza is born

<!--:en-->Amid sweat and tears, Esperanza is born<!--:-->

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Here in the darkness of the temezcal, sweat, steam and mud become one with the throbbing beat of Teresa’s drum. The heat bears down, melting away the boundaries between us. Rhythms from her Mayan heritage rise in the air with the incense-like scent of copal, her voice carrying us to a place beyond time. She asks me to translate, and her songs and prayers flow through me like water.

We fly like eagles, with wings of light/circumnavigating the universe… we are warriors of light.

She calls on the ancients, and on the spirits of the elements and the four directions, asking for a blessing for each of us huddled together in the tiny dome. She teaches us the grito of the warrior, a shout from the depths of our souls that pulls us through round after round of nearly unbearable heat.

Offer your sweat to Mother God, Father God, she advises us. It will help you to endure the suffering.

The heat and the rhythm intensify, and the air is heavy with skin-searing steam. Her words are passing through me now in rhythmic gasps.

Just when we think we can bear no more, she brings out a waxy chunk of white copal and touches it to the red-hot rock in the center of the temezcal. Each of us takes it in turn and whispers the prayer closest to our hearts.

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