“The uprising did not just coincide with NAFTA. It is keyed to it.”
Noam Chomsky, 1994
Just when I was longing to see an intelligent Yanqui face in this inscrutable city, I caught sight of him around the corner. I could almost hear the Professor’s lecture on Central American history of the ’80’s.
Noam Chomsky spoke early and often in articulation of the Zapatista struggle. In interviews with Amy Goodman and others from the liberal press, he made clear that he was privy to the thinking of Subcomandante Marcos. He seemed to know of their plans as they unfolded. He explained that Marcos saved the title of Comandante for the indigenous elders, whose ideas about agrarian reform he believed provided an effective response to the rapid assault of globalism. He did not mention that Marcos considered the Professor an intellectual hero. The Uprising of 1994 began an unprecedented experiment in alternative societal organization. Chomsky is a scientist, so he approves of experiments.
William F. Buckley, meanwhile, would have hated San Cristobal, and not only for the sub-standard service at Casa de Diego de Mazariegos. Capitalism is something of a dirty word in this area, and American imperialists are the shared enemy. Indeed, Chiapanecos’ chief problem with the Mexican government is that it tends to do the bidding of the US and its corporate hegemony. Naturally, then, a right-wing American author like Buckley is unknown here, but the books of his nemesis, Noam Chomsky, are sold on sidewalk corners, heavily leafed paperbacks, thoroughly used, in Spanish. Gerardo, a book vender, mentions Chomsky often, always looking for good translations.
The Professor’s likeness even resides in my own neighborhood. On a wall not far from it, a new label has been spray-tagged on a fresh white coat of paint: “Saiko Perros.” Some kind of psychotic dogs have apparently moved into my barrio, not far from Noam Chomsky, posing a different type of attack on hegemony.
For the Zapatistas, the indigenous struggle has been ongoing for 500 years, with Chiapas just being the latest flashpoint. Starting with Columbus and culminating with the neo-liberal globalization treaty, acronym NAFTA, the object of the conquerors has always been to disenfranchise the locals, exploit their labor and resources, drive them from their land, and call it progress. The Maya have resisted all along. Indeed, to commemorate the 500th anniversary, the Zapatistas have retaliated with a European lecture tour, entitled The Conquest of Spain. The intention is to raise awareness and hopefully solicit support for a foundering cause. It will certainly irritate the Spaniards.
On Insurgentes, military police vehicles file by the disinterested bustle. Nearby, Noam Chomsky’s large impassive face flies above a language school on a street named after a renowned medical doctor and community leader, Ramon Corona. There is a rich intellectual tradition in San Cristobal, in which leftist academics get to become heroes or martyrs. Corona was evidently the latter, the MIT professor is definitely the former. His portrait in Barrio Santa Lucia exudes a certain sad avuncular dignity. The school literature highlights Chomsky’s methods for language acquisition—he is a linguist, after all—but, in these parts, Chomsky’s true value is his eloquent defense of the Zapatista movement.
At the southern end of Avenue Insurgentes, beside the neglected lawns of the San Cristobal’s Justice Department and National Guard Station, the vast wholesale markets of Merposur and Mercaltos swarm with activity everyday of the week. These are the widest streets in the city, with the thickest throng, where Mexican flags fly highest. This is the trading nexus where restaurants and hotels buy in bulk. Highway-190 traffic roars past toward some unforeseen delay, while Maya families search for bargains amid piles of clothing in a garage. Down the street is a Sam’s Club for the high-end shoppers, bearing the fingerprints of NAFTA.
Noam Chomsky would not be pleased with the persistent inequities on display, but you will see no sign of it on his pallid mug on Calle Corona. Ultimately, the man became a prophet of doom, the historian ahead of his time, who calmly and rationally indicted the power-elite and warned a society about its own nature. He never seemed able to enjoy much optimism by the end, but in 1994, the Professor for once managed a smile—perhaps even a glimmer of hope—regarding events in Chiapas.