Friday, 12 Mar 2004

OAXACA CITY, Mexico

Today the North American Commission for Environmental Cooperation met at the Victoria Hotel to discuss general business — environmental matters from all of North America, including, but not limited to, genetically engineered corn in Mexico.

Most of yesterday’s protesters were back, intently listening, checking out the CEC at work. The panel appointed to study the GMO corn issue will present its final report in a few months; after that it will be up to the governments of the NAFTA member countries (Mexico, the U.S., and Canada) to act on its recommendations. The panel’s capacity is purely advisory; it cannot order governments to do what’s right.

There is a pervasive feeling of pessimism, even cynicism, among the indigenous representatives, environmentalists, and organic farmers who have been meeting, rallying, and confronting the CEC in the last couple of days. Not a single one of them has any optimism about the ultimate outcome of the panel’s inquiry. They fear it might conclude that the GMO contamination of Mexican corn is irreversible, that no one in particular is responsible, and that Mexicans should get used to it.

In the afternoon, I took a stroll down the streets of Oaxaca City with my journalistic colleague Karla Peregrina, of the Mexican state of Quintana Roo. I’m looking for an Internet cafe to send my latest dispatch to Grist; Karla tells me I should have no difficulty finding Internet access here. While she explains Mexican politics to me and I explain Puerto Rican politics to her, we walk across the zocalo (town square) under the shade of gorgeous trees. The weather is beautiful and the abundant jacaranda trees are in their flowering season, their purple flowers a real treat to look at.

We pass people of all ages going about their business: children in school uniforms walking in groups and talking to each other; tourists speaking Spanish, English, German, and Italian; a 7-year-old mestiza girl sitting on a sidewalk playing the accordion with the mastery and virtuosity of a seasoned musical veteran. On a street corner, an Indian woman speaks in her native tongue into a cellular phone.

The town market is as different and distant from the U.S. shopping mall experience as any place of commerce could ever be. Vendors in their booths sell beef, pork, shrimp, poultry, fish, corn, guavas, mangos, papayas, peppers of various colors, crafts, fabrics, handmade clothing, and so much more. One of the stalls is staffed by a teenager listening to a grindcore death metal band called Slipknot. Food stands sell all sorts of traditional dishes, from tortillas and enchiladas to tlayudas, tomatadas, enmoladas, coloraditos, yolk bread, and tamales. Walking vendors offer you everything from finely crafted wooden toys, bookstops, and backscratchers to chapulines (dead bugs — I hear they’re tasty when dipped in chili sauce).

While walking toward the Santo Domingo museum I find an Internet cafe at last, where they charged me something like $2 or less for an hour of access. After sending the dispatch and walking some more through the tourist section between Santo Domingo and the zocalo, I begin to see Internet cafes all over the place. Karla was indeed right. Oaxaca City is well-connected to the wider world.