I was still reeling from the events of the day before. Four hours after I arrived in the community the two peace campers I had relieved were seized by the army and police as they hid in the bushes on the main road waiting for the bus. the community mobilises. There is a chance the army may use this as an excuse to re-enter Diez. Everyone is very calm. The remaining peace-campers are bundled off to a prearranged location, where we can see, but not be seen. We are given the all-clear after two hours. the two seized peace campers are released after an interrogation.
The Mexican government's xenophobic campaign is now in full swing. It wants all foreigners out of Chiapas which makes our presence all the more important. It doesn't want the world to know or to care. New "laws" prohibit tourists from being in the conflict zone but like all unjust laws these are being broken.
The community's strength and ability to act communally in times of stress strikes me. I was to see it many times over the next three weeks as tension levels rise throughout Chiapas. Later that evening I am told about the army's last incursion into Diez. "They robbed our tools, damaged our houses and injured some of the women with the gas," says Juan. "We have fixed most of the damage now. They won't win," he adds with a smile.
The continual threats and intimidation from the army is not the only matter causing concern at the moment. El Nino has had a devastating effect on the whole of Chiapas. Thousands of forest fires rage in the mountains, visibility is down to 20 meters in the glen as the smokes obscures even the sun. Rumours abound that the army is starting some of the fires. I don't find this hard to believe. The state has been declared a natural disaster zone by the government. But where is the help? Ana visits us later that night, like many others in Diez she has bad catarrh and a stinking cold from breathing in smoke. Her cough does not deter her from singing the "Women's Song" for me.
The drought has resulted in the community having to re-plant chilies, beans and squashes as the first crops have failed, due to the lack of rain. Some rain has fallen, but many in the Glen believe it's too little too late. The harshness and unfairness of it all are counterbalanced by the community's humour. We move on to talking about the new village mural. "Subcomandante Marcos has no gun!" says Jose. This fact is the subject of much discussion and concern in Diez. El Sup has his pipe, balaclava, red scarf and bullets but no arma! We promise to finish the mural on Sunday.
I walk with Jose and Olivia along the path to the milpas at 7.30am the next morning. The second low flying helicopter flies overhead. I am the only one to look up. Jose and Olivia clear five times as many weeds as I do. they laugh at my inability to hoe in a straight line. "Beside me" shouts Olivia giggling. I look up and realise yet again that I have zig-zagged off course.We sit down at 11am for posol and talk. Jose tells me that according to the government the lives of the indigenous people mean nothing. "They think we are animals and that we eat animal food." "But the government is mad and lies all the time", I reply. This statement sends the two of them into fits of laughter. We continue weeding. Not for the first time I feel so incredibly humble. It is an honour to talk with, to be with these people. Olivia informs me with pride about the history of Diez and the story of her family. "Before the Zapatista movement many of us worked for large landowners. We lived in poverty, we had no land, members of my family died from hunger. Now we have land, we have control over our lives. We can make our own decisions."
The helicopters continue their low fly-bys. After two weeks I have grown accustomed to both the work and the daily games of the federal army. Tense moments are all too common an occurrence, but the people of Diez are made of strong stuff. Three more red alerts are activated as news start to arrive of major troop movements in the area. Then on June 10 the devastating news of the shoot-out in El Bosque arrives. The army has arrested Zapatistas, accusing them of killing PRIistas, and moved in to dismantle the autonomous municipality of San Juan de la Libertad. This time there has been shooting and eight Zapatistas are dead, as is a policeman. Images are broadcasted on the tv. That evening there is a tense meeting in the church. The anger and rage are on the surface tonight. The meeting ends with a a decision to divide the entire community into three groups for communal works projects on the next day. The community needs to be together. I leave in the middle of another red alert. Saying good-bye is hard.
I arrive back in San Cristobal and meet up with a journalist. We go for a coffee. He has just returned from the municipality of San Juan de la Libertad and needs to talk to someone about the deep sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He has witnessed the return of bodies to the community. He tells me that the army shot three people dead on June 10th. They arrested five others who were injured. Four days later the eight bodies are returned in a truck. They and been so badly assaulted, families are unable to recognise their loved ones. Twenty people are still missing. The journalist who is used to covering wars informs me that the army threw the mutilated bodies from the truck onto the ground like pieces of meat. I think of what Jose said to me in the Milpa three weeks earlier. "Our lives are worth nothing to the government." I think of another quote this time from El Sup. "We want peace with justice, respect with dignity. We will no longer live on our knees."