Chiapas

The past few days, we have been outside San Cristobal in a community called Tzajalchen. This community is made up of indigenous Tzotzil people who live off the land for income and for subsistence. From this community was formed the social organization, Las Abejas (the bees), which I spoke about in my last post. We were warmly welcomed and told several times to consider the village our home and see ourselves as community members during our stay. From the little they have to give, they gave generously with love and humility.

The drive to the community was a long one, along curvy mountain roads, a good part of which were dirt roads with holes and bumps (one of the people on this trip called it our "popcorn ride"). The landscape was breathtakingly gorgeous, perhaps one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. I was struck by this during our entire stay as we hiked through the mountains and looking at the incredible view from the village itself.

Juxtaposed with this staggering natural beauty is a social reality which is anything but beautiful. Though the people are warm, welcoming, and full of love and kindness, theirs is a world of poverty, outmigration, and violent repression. It is a strange combination, and it was strange to be in a place of such physical beauty and to know that within it is housed such human desperation. The incredible disparity between their life and mine is hard to comprehend. They have dirt floors and no running water or electricity or access to health care. I have all a comfortable home and all these amenities which I take so for granted. Despite these differences, it is important not to be quick to pity them or think they are so different from me. They have families they love, hopes and dreams for their future, and dignity which deserves our respect and attention.

There was an element of privilege inherent in our interations. We were able to make the long journey to witness their lives, but it would be infinitely more difficult for them to make the journey to visit me. It is in a sense a one way street. This is not a place for them to visit or a place of natural beauty to marvel at. This is their home, where they are struggling. They are actively working for a better world, and we were privileged enough to get a glimpse of their struggle and their work. I hope to support them when we return and to remember their stories and their testament to the possibility of alternative models of community and work.