Autonomy and resistance were two terms that were reiterated time and time again during our travels in Guatemala and Southern Mexico. These ideas were reinforced both by the goals, actions and beliefs of the people we heard from and conversed with, but also by the trajectory of our program, which advocates these two terms as central to the inspiring work being done by the numerous organizations with which we met. Having heard about autonomy and resistance prior to embarking on our travel seminar, and the continuation of their use in the discourse of our pláticas, I almost began to feel like I was becoming numb and apathetic to their meaning, and their importance in the struggle against the horrors of global capitalism. Soon enough, however, I found myself in deep reflection, considering what it means for communities to be autonomous, and what forms of resistance were manifested in autonomy. Through picking apart the themes of our discussions in Guatemala and Mexico and applying our preliminary explorations and experiences in the borderlands to them, I began to understand more lucidly and concretely what autonomy and resistance actually looked like.
My greatest epiphany came from our visit to CIDECI (Centro Indígena de Capatación Integral), an alternative university at the very edge of San Cristóbal de las Casas. Apart from being aesthetically outstanding—radiating a sense of hope purely through its tasteful and well-coordinated colors, design and architecture—the school was a very blatant example of the two terms I seek to further understand. CIDECI strives to offer education and skills that directly benefit the small, rural and Indigenous communities of Chiapas. The school offers classes and instructions in various subjects and skills that not only benefit the students involved, but serve as catalysts towards building a stronger and more sustainable community. A community upheld by the work of its own members, in fact, is a blaring form of autonomy. Whereas conventional Mexican national history often emphasizes the legacy of a nation-state achieved through invasion, conquest, colonialism and subjugation, a more resistant form of education (like that of CIDECI) examines history from the bottom up.
The impressions left with me after visiting CIDECI helped to explain the congruency of autonomy and resistance with the substance of our previous discussions with people in Guatemala and Chiapas. Maria Elisa Orozco told us of the various “invasions” of Guatemala throughout its history and how each new layer of conquest has contributed to the institutionalized and structured subjugations of the working class, indigenous people and women as well. The history that has been taught, and the history that has materialized in the realities of the various indigenous communities in the places we visited results from the centricity of the state and its power, both relics of a colonial past. However, Maria Elisa’s acknowledgment of Guatemalan history as being constructed by and composed of the layering of oppression and invasion surfaces a very alternative and unconventional perspective. By giving thought to how the women and indigenous communities of Guatemala have been shaped and impacted by these forces, rather than how they formed the nation-state, puts an oft-ignored subject at the center of the story, illustrating an example of how history can be reclaimed.
By understanding the history of people whose voices are often over-looked, it is possible to challenge—and thus resist—the conventional narrative of how things have come to be. However, in order to build upon the autonomy of these communities involved, that history must be considered for shaping the future. The invasions that Maria Elisa mentioned have not ceased to continue. Today’s oppression and subjugation comes from the forces of multinational, capitalistic interests, whose actions seek to amass great quantities of resources and power much to the disadvantage of those on the lowest rungs of the social strata. These interests have initiated the very free trade agreements that have sparked considerable migration from rural areas into the urban cores and the global north, a phenomenon that threatens and obstructs efforts to preserve language, culture and familial and community cohesion. When Willy spoke to us about El Sueño Guatemalteco at DESGUA, he imagined communities upheld by its members, emphasizing the collectivity rather than just the individual. This same notion was apparent at CIDECI, where skills and information can be shared and taught among people from across Chiapas for the purpose of empowering and supporting their communities.
Having now returned to Tucson, I’m interested to consider what I’ve learned about popular education in Guatemala and Southern Mexico and how it relates to relevant issues in the Borderlands. Recently, Tucson has become ground zero of a battle being waged over a ban on Ethnic Studies. In Guatemala and Mexico, I was able to observe how certain organizations of people were striving to reclaim history through their own perspectives, and here in Tucson the Mexican-American Studies program had done just that. Understanding the importance of taking a “bottom up” approach to education and the construction of historical narratives through the examples set by the inspiring individuals we were able to meet in our travel brings to light the dire nature of the attack on Ethnic Studies. It has become clear to me that resistance to oppression, subjugation and marginality for the purpose for obtaining more sustainable and autonomous communities and futures is done in the name of respect and human dignity.
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