by Claudia Medina

Imagine. A spark. A flame. And then a hot, powerful fire. Fuelled by frustration, anger, and hope. And a knowing. A growing, collective and almost indescribable knowing - that the existing forces of power are decaying, and they must be replaced by something new before the decomposition becomes irreversibly destructive. For everyone, and everything.

This fire burns in Oaxaca, Mexico and it burns all over this planet. In Oaxaca it reached a peak on November 25th with the mega march of the Popular Association of the People of Oaxaca (APPO) and was met with a cruel and remorseless violence from the state and federal forces.

The day after that march, after a brutal night of intense PFP (federal police forces) and PRI thug violence against the people, the city was strangled by the kind of fear and terror that could only be associated with that of a police state. As one APPO supporter told us, it reminded him of Chile in the 70's. And as we wandered the streets the next day, what we saw brought his words to life.

I'm in New York City right now, here for the memorial of my friend and colleague, Brad Will, who was assassinated in Mexico recently, while filming the peoples struggle in Oaxaca. Brad was a well known and well loved media activist.

There are two days solid of memorials, concerts, processions through the streets ala New Orleans funerals, complete with giant puppets and marching bands, plant -ins at the community gardens Brad helped to save from development, and 'encuentros' on the current situation in Oaxaca. Below is an excerpt from a speech I gave in front of the Mexican consulate, shortly after Brad was killed...

___________

Shot in Oaxaca, Mexico on October 27th by plain clothes policemen. They were standing up against statewide oppression. They were standing for new possibilities.

My own story begins like this:

First, we just were. Then we got bodies. Then we got minds. Then we became pagans. Then we found Christ. But that started to stagnate, so my ancestors became Mennonites, a pacifistic utopianistic tightly knit religious community that was trying to live by the true core tenets of Christ's teachings, rejecting the excesses of what they saw as a corrupted Christian faith and a violent culture at large. When the Dutch government asked them to go to war they refused, and to avoid forced service they moved to the shores of the Caspian Sea. They lived in peace for several hundred years, maintaining their isolation and their ideals, until again they were told that they would have to kill. This time they moved, en masse, to the New World: Canada. My grandmother was raised in Alberta in the strict Mennonite fashion. She didn't like it's patriachal structure. She especially resented the fact that as a girl she was not allowed to ice skate. She left as soon as she could, and raised her eight children without any religion.

-- one bullet they didn't number was still in his head -- he was 41 years old -- alejandro garcia hernandez -- at the neighborhood barricade every night -- that night he came out to join his wife and sons to let an ambulance through -- then a pickup tried to follow -- he took their bullet when he told them they could not pass -- they never did -- these military men in civilian dress shot their way out of there

-- went walking with angry folk on their way to the morgue -- went inside and saw him -- havent seen too many bodies in my life -- eats you up -- a stack of nameless corpes in the corner -- about the number who had died -- no refrigeration -- the smell -- they had to open his skull to pull the bullet out -- walked back with him and his people

and now alejandro waits in the zócalo -- like the others at their plantones -- hes waiting for an impasse, a change, an exit, a way forward, a way out, a solution -- waiting for the earth to shift and open -- waiting for november when he can sit with his loved ones on the day of the dead and share food and drink and a song -- waiting for the plaza to turn itself over to him and burst --