Tuesday, July 2, 2013

"Industrial Unionism Now!" and "Green Unionism Now!" (from MN Free Press Cooperative, 2011)

Industrial Unionism Now!

Capitalism has never been kind to us. The machines of industry have unleashed both great productive capacity and great social change, abolishing all classes but holders of the means of production and those who work those means. While the inevitable conflict of social classes has been at turns sidetracked by nationalism, concessions, and the endless attempt to turn working people against their own interests, we know well enough: there is one primary struggle in our time- the struggle of the disenfranchised, the exploited, and the disempowered against the privileged and the powerful; the struggle of labor, and the disenfranchised of every hierarchy built into the class system, against capital and whole of the establishment that enshrines it. Never since the dawn of the industrial revolution has this been more clear- in the age of globalized corporate capitalism, the velvet glove of progressive reform has been stripped away to reveal the iron fist that is the profoundly undemocratic system of capital property. Since the age of neoliberalism and 'trickle down' economics, the cut-throat dictatorial corporate rule that has been exported to the third world for decades has come back to cast its sick sights on the workers of the West, and each new crisis brings newer cuts, more austerity measures, and a further stripping of those programs and reforms that created the middle class- all the while accumulating previously unheard-of wealth in the hands of the megarich while the wages of the American laborer stagnate, the small business holders are driven into the ranks of the workers.

Let's not kid ourselves and think that ethical consumption or other indulgences is going to change the situation; fair trade and organic create a niche market selling to the sort of people who buy fair trade and organic (and, all too often, figure that this means they've 'done their part' in changing the world), but does not meaningfully challenge the paradigm of corporate capitalism. Something more is needed. Not mere consumers, we can act as producers, and exercise our power at the nexus of our own exploitation. We need the labor movement.

Unions have acquired a bad reputation, mostly unjustified, but there are legitimate reasons. Union bureaucracy and hierarchy can be a disempowering and work at odds with the interest of the union rank and file. Many unions are all too willing to sign no-strike clauses and compete with other unions. American unions worked during the second Red Scare to purge the anti-capitalists from their ranks and remake themselves as a reformist, pro-business force and have since spent a huge amount of their funds campaigning for the lesser of two evils and the anti-labor Democratic Party while ignoring the need to organize unrepresented workers and carry out the real work of the union.

Yet labor is needed, whatever the problems of modern business unions; and so, a better model must be found, and organized. A model for real effective labor must be based in grassroots union democracy (decentralized power, federated organization, and recallable, accountable delegates), industrial solidarity (meaning that the industry is not split among multiple unions, but acts as one union), and an unapologetic pro-labor agenda (no no-strike clauses, no abandoning change for moderate reformism- the goal of the union has to be workplace democracy, not just collective bargaining). We need to organize that sort of labor, and a place to organize is right here in central Minnesota.

Unionizing will not be easy. In the globalized neoliberal age, the dominant players of both our productive and consumptive forces are often controlled, not by workers, not by local petit bourgeois, but by multinational chains- chains of stores that make chains on the hands of labor. Such chains make it so any unionizing effort that has real effect on the lives of the people of this city needs to be not local, but regional, national, or international, and for this reason, this dilemma that faces every worker, the labor movement itself must be international. It is most important to note that in an age of global capital, no one community can become revolutionary. Globalization creates a race to the bottom- any attempt by a nation to institute progressive policies, or, even 'worse' (in the eyes of capital), real democracy will be met with the movement of business and capital from that nation to another, more desperate or more oppressed. As long as capitalists have people desperate enough or afraid enough not to demand change, they can always just move to the lowest bidder and make sure the labor market in the commodity of human lives works for them. Not to mention the IMF, the World Bank, and of rest of international monetary and exchange institutions set up by and for the wealthiest people in the world. Just look at what happened in South Africa or Poland after their revolutions; their entire economic reform program torn to pieces by these institutions, serving not the interest or the will of the people, but the interest and will of the capitalist class. Just look at America- you think closing the border will bring jobs? It's not immigration that's taking your job; it's globalization done capitalist style.

That's why labor movement doesn't only need to be democratic- it needs to international. It must be a labor movement that can fight capitalism on every front, can make sure that every stage of the production and industrial process is beset by the forces of labor, can, as labor movements have historically done, prove a dynamic force against totalitarian regimes, and can maintain itself as a genuinely democratic engine of popular power.

The IWW is the ideal union for the modern age- based in worker's democracy, industrial organization, international solidarity, and an unabashed yet inclusive revolutionary agenda. The IWW also is one of the few unions that really thinks outside of the box- recently, the Wobblies have lead the way in unionizing the food and service industries (for example, Starbucks and Jimmy John's), showing a drive to take up the cause of workers other unions are all too willing to ignore.  Ten IWW members in a community are all it takes to form a General Membership Branch, the basic organization from which further labor action, both local and, in solidarity with other communities, regional and international action can be taken. I urge readers, activists, and workers to join the IWW and building genuine labor resistance, across the world!



Green Unionism, Too!


Friends, readers, and fellow workers,
 
Last month in this Free Press Cooperative, I wrote on the need for Industrial Unionism here in Central Minnesota, to combat the exploitation of the working people. I write this month to highlight a second great injustice of the capitalist system: the degradation our common home, the pollution of our air and water, the waste of both finite and renewing resources, the devaluing of nonhuman life, and the permanent altering of our habitat in such a way that it is no longer hospitable to that life which has heretofore adapted to it- in short, the ecological devastation that has seized the world in its deathly grip since the dawn of our current economic epoch.

Capitalism lays waste to our common home. Some would be inclined to blame industry, or the concept of civilization itself, as the source of these problems; this is ignorant. While there is no doubt that the specialization of labor allowed by the agricultural revolution has enabled our species to construct a myriad of technologies, which have in turn enabled us to expand our footprint within the ecosystem, to blame technology is to ignore the power that chooses how we use that technology.

In capitalism, that power is the capitalists, both as individuals and a class. To understand how we have reached our ecological crisis, we must understand how capitalism has forcibly guided the hand of industry in the short-term interest of the few at both the short and long-term expense of people and the Earth.

The capitalist system places value only in what is both owned and can be sold. For example, to this system, air quality is an 'externality', because it is a damage to our common resource- air cannot be owned nor sold and so does not count in the economic calculations of capitalists. While this is called, by the apologists of exploitation, a 'tragedy of the commons', we know it for what it really is; a tragedy that occurs when the needs of private holders takes precedence over the needs of those who use the commons; it is a tragedy of privatization and commodification.

The response to this tragedy, enforced on the global south by the World Bank and their ilk, and increasingly coming to invade and dismantle the scant protection of progressivism in the north (all in the name of 'free trade'), is to further privatize what is commonly held; already, they have privatized land, water, fisheries, and even 'genetic information'- seeds. Such privatization serves only to further consolidate wealth into the hands of the capitalist class, to be further mismanaged.

Capitalism mismanages because it and the privatization scheme places the power to make decisions in the hands of a tiny class, disregarding the needs of communities. Consider the suffering of Appalachia: Who decides that it is most 'efficient' to blow up mountains, dump the mud and rock into the valleys, choke the air with carcinogens, and poison the rivers with acid runoff, all to extract coal to power some capitalist's machines in some other place, choking that town's air and poisoning its water, and at every step of the way spewing forth carbon, contributing to the deathly toll of climate change?

It is the capitalist (or, in the modern corporation, the Board elected by the capitalists), safe in his office, away from the poisons he commands- the capitalist who can afford to keep his own home relatively free of pollution, and keep some crude semblance of wilderness alive in his estates for his enjoyment.

The needs of the people of Appalachia do not factor into the mining company's decisions, nor do the needs of the people of Manchuria factor into the decisions of the manufacturing bosses or the State's party bosses- so can the absentee bosses shift the ecological burden to the working classes, and ignore the costs of production, making a false efficiency from willfully blind industrialism. To the people who live and work in Appalachia or Manchuria, however, the pollution of their air and water, the loss of habitat and wildlife, the losses to public health, are all pressing concerns.

Had the workers, living with the consequences of industry, their say, would such degradation be tolerated? Common sense, and the growing alliance of labor with the environmental movement, dictates that it would not, but as long as the decisions are made in the board room, dictating the will of the capitalist class without regard to the consequences suffered by workers and their communities, such degradation continues.

These insanities of capitalism, among others, ensure that any attempt to 'green' the system is doomed. The public can try, as they have and as they should, to introduce public regulation of pollution. But, the hand of the boss class, kept powerful by the labor of the dependant workers, has ways of breaking down, bypassing, and rewriting these regulations. Unopposed by the organized power of the workers, the bosses can make these regulations mean little or nothing, and continue with more or less regular capitalist relationships to the environment. The other action people can take is direct and economic; they can refuse to purchase unsustainable products. This is a popular and welcome strategy, but again, it is not enough- it does not change the fundamental nature of the industry, but only creates a niche market, a sub-section of that industry, still controlled by the capitalists, but selling organic or 'fair trade' (less exploited) goods- often, with the money flowing to exact same corporate despoilers to be reinvested in their deadly industrial processes.

Consumer pressure alone is not enough, because it requires the huge majority of consumers to choose not to support industries that are poisoning people and destroying ecosystems. While it seems obvious that it is no more acceptable to pollute someone's air and water or otherwise destroy their environment than it is to outright assault them, there are enough shortsighted blockheads and scissorbills in the world who don't realize this and will continue to buy whatever good is cheapest in commodity price, regardless of its cost to the world. There is another course of action, an effective and powerful course that addresses the problem directly at its primary source. This is the course of green unionism. Labor addresses the threat to the environment where it is greatest; in the factories, fields, and mines of industry.

A capitalist may work around the other two strategies of environmental defense, and can even recuperate the losses of direct action, but what can they do, when the labor that keeps their industry running, refuses to work until real change is made? Though any union will help to bring the environmental needs of the community into the question of economic decision-making, industrial unionism is especially suited to this job.

An industrial union, such as the IWW, does not believe in shifting the burdens from one group of workers to another, as some business unions do. We don't believe that getting rid of a polluter is progress, if they just move their pollution to a poorer side of town. We don't think that putting solar panels up to power a business is sustainable, if the copper was gotten by ruining someone else's home. We recognize that industrial pesticides hurt not only the workers in the field, but all the workers and communities downstream. Moving towards sustainability means solidarity not only with your own local community, but with people all over the world; this is a value that both bosses and too many business unions lack, but that forms the foundation of industrial unionism- a harm to one, whether through economic or ecological injustice, is a harm to all.

An industrial union is suited to green unionism because it is democratic. As we've already seen, hierarchical power relationships mean that the goals and values of one party take precedence over the values of others. While business unions are certainly better than no union, even they can form a controlling clique, and ignore the needs and desires of the rank and file. Industrial unions like the IWW don't allow this centralization of power.

The IWW structure is radically democratic- each shop, industry, and local is its own center of power, with the IWW general body serving as a coordinator, not a commander, of activities. This structure, whether applied to a union, an activist network (for example, Earth First!, which the IWW has worked with in the past and which uses this grassroots, federative organizational principle), or a society, ensures that people get a voice in what affects them; a central goal of designing an ecologically just society. Finally, industrial unions are key to the defense of the environment in the workplace, because unlike business unions, the IWW and other industrial unions are openly and proudly advocates of economic democracy. Economic democracy is the negation of the capitalist method of organization, and the expansion of those things that make industrial unionism great; it is worker and community control of the factories and fields, the primacy of the people's needs, both for constructed goods and for a healthy world, in the economic process, and the replacement of top-down control that benefits the owners without regard for the workers, with worker's control, which benefits the workers and the community. In an ecologically conscious economic democracy (almost a redundancy), all value is considered; not only the value of commodity goods and stocks to the capitalist, but the very real value of our common resources and the people who depend on them, our children's futures, and habitats and lives of non-human species- values that capitalism, in its commoditization of human and non-human life and devaluing of the wants and needs of the dispossessed, can never realize. Whatever other measures are taken to ensure the continued well-being of our environment, the power of industry will exploit and recklessly plunder the world, unless guided by the hands of all those who share that world, and not a privileged few.

Sustainability requires economic democracy and green unionism, and these demand industrial unionism. The IWW, with its commitment to sustainability and real change, is just the union we need, to make ecological and economic democracy come to life.

The Ecological Roots of the Zapatista Rebellion


On January 1st, 1994, the day NAFTA came into effect the long-simmering conflict in Chiapas boiled over at last, as some 3000-4000 armed Mayans under the banner of the EZLN marched into open rebellion (Harvey). In their communiqué, the Declaration of the Lacandon Jungle, the Zapatistas blasted the rule of the PRI as a '70 year dictatorship' under which there is not only material deprivation, but a lack of democracy, national autonomy, peace, and justice. Decrying the failure of the Mexican state, the rebels called on the Mexican people as a whole to join them in the struggle for 'work, land, housing, food, health care, education, independence, freedom, democracy, justice, and peace' (Bijoy). The insurrection quickly captured four towns in the heart of Chiapas, taking Mexican government by surprise- it was not until the 6th that the Mexican army would take the last of the captured town from the outgunned and outnumbered rebels, and not until the 12th that fighting would cease. (Wagner & Schulz). Today, despite their initial defeat in 1994, the Zapatistas remain a political force in Chiapas and an iconic movement of the modern left.

While the Zapatista movement has inspired both scorn and praise and won fame far beyond the mountains and forests, its roots and motivations are too often misunderstood. Exploring and understanding the causes of revolution is important- for those trying to prevent them, to start them, or simply to study them. The Zapatistas are not an urban population of a late-capitalist nation. They are not lead by a vanguard, nor are they inspired by a cadre of foquismo-practicing guerillas. Despite the fetishization some beyond the movement have made of Subcommandante Marcos, they are not inspired by any singular great man.

In this essay, I will argue that the two primary factors that lie behind the Zapatista rebellion are the ecological marginalization of the campesino and indigenous community, and the end of the Mexican corporate state at the hands of neoliberalism. The process of ecological marginalization is driven by the pressure of accommodating growing populations on a small supply of sub-standard agricultural land- a situation created largely by the concentration of land in the hand of a wealthy latifundista class, as well as by restrictions on settlement in the Lacandon imposed from the 1970s onward. The long-standing trend in Chiapas created material deprivation, which was exacerbated by the erasure of state-run campesino support programs and land redistribution following the Mexican debt crisis and neoliberal restructuring. It was in this context that a cadre of revolutionaries would draw on frustrated Mayan communities and existing independent campesino organizations to create a revolutionary movement- not to lead them as a vanguard, but rather to join them in the creation of a new Mayan-campesino movement and practice of Zapatismo. To understand the role of all of these factors in Chiapas is important to avoiding inaccurate and reductionist narratives on the Zapatista movement.


CHIAPAS- AN OVERVIEW
The social structure of Chiapas can be described as composed of five primary groups. First and second are the latifundistas and the rancheros. Together, these classes control the land of the Chiapas for agriculture and ranching, respectively. The latifundistas manage large estates of land, often growing export crops such as the Soconusco Coast's coffee plantations, while the rancheros keep cattle, often on land accumulated with the help of state subsidies. These classes have resisted, with general success, past attempts at the local and federal level to redistribute their holdings. Third are the caciques, or political bosses. Caciques are crucial to the power and functioning of the state and class structure, building and directing support for the PRI, performing other functions such as collecting tithes for festivals, and in turn receiving perks and privileges for their service in managing and mitigating dissent. Fourth are the campesinos. These are the class who subsist through agriculture, hand crafts, and wage labor. Most live on public land, though the number with no formal land title is increasing. Along with the indigenous people, the campesinos are the class involved in opposition activities (Howard).

Last are the indigenous. The oldest established Mayan group in the area are the Lacandones. These people are descendants of Caribes who moves into the area in the 1700s following the killing of the original Lacandone Mayans at the hands of colonists (Lydersen). The largest Mayan tribes in Chiapas, however, are the Tzeltzal, Tzotzil, and Chol. These tribes, which form the base of the Zapatista movement, originate from outside of the state and came to Chiapas for a variety of reasons in the last century, largely settling in the highlands and the Lacandon (Howard).  Within Chiapas, 81.5% of indigenous people live in the Highlands, the Northern Zone, and the Jungle. The Mayan population is 37.9% Tzeltzal, 33.5% Tzotzil, 16.9% Cho'ol, 4.6% Zoque, and 4.5% Tojobal, with the remaining 2.7% including the Lacandones as well as eight other groups such as the Chuj and Quiche ('Facts About Chiapas'). 

These social groups, and the order they inhabit, comprise a Chiapas wracked by poverty. The International Service for Peace, a peace and social justice group operating in Chiapas since the mid-1990s, cites the National Population Council in calling Chiapas 'the state with the second highest level of marginalization Mexico', with social inequalities concentrated in the Central Highlands and in the northern jungle zone. No state in Mexico has a greater inequality of income or concentration of income in the hands of the few. The indigenous people especially are disenfranchised, earning on average only 32% the annual per capita income of a nonindigenous citizen of Chiapas. Some 83% of indigenous people work in agriculture, and only 5.5% in industry, while 8.6% of their nonindigenous neighbors are employed and industry and only 58.3% in agriculture. ('Facts About Chiapas'). In 1992, two years before the rebellion, 94% of the state's industry was 'micro-industry' and 40% consisted of tortillas, furniture mills, and Nixtamal mills (Marcos). Many of the native farmers are solely subsistence farmers, and 42% of Chiapas's indigenous people report no income, with another 42% reporting income below the minimum wage. ('Facts About Chiapas'). About 90% of the state's people are too poor to pay taxes ('Zapatistas: The First…'). In the early 90s, 54% of the population of the state was malnourished- 80% in the heavily-indigenous highlands and forest where the rebellion would arise (Marcos).

Among all Chiapans, over half do not complete primary school and 20.4% have no schooling whatsoever. Illiteracy rates among the indigenous in the state are 29.9% for men and 50.1% for women. Housing for indigenous people is poor, with 25.9% of homes lacking running water, 32.9% having dirt floors, and 85.7% relying on wood or coal for fuel. 5.88% lack electricity and 8.07% have no sewage system. The state suffers from Mexico's lowest rate of doctors, with less than one doctor per 1000 people and roughly a fourth of the state lacking any access to health care facilities ('Facts About Chiapas'). 

Chiapas is poor, but rich in natural resources- the state's economy is largely extractive, its land and labor devoted to producing food, cash crops, and raw materials for the manufacturing world. Subcommandante Marcos would write in 1992 that:

"This land continues to pay tribute to the imperialists: petroleum, electricity, cattle, money, coffee, banana, honey, corn, cacao, tobacco, sugar, soy, melon, sorghum, mamey, mango, tamarind, avocado, and Chiapaneco blood flows as a result of the thousand teeth sunk into the throat of the Mexican Southeast. These raw materials, thousands of millions of tons of them, flow to Mexican ports and railroads, air and truck transportation centers. From there they are sent to different parts of the world: The United States, Canada, Holland, Germany, Italy, Japan, but with the same fate--to feed imperialism. The fee that capitalism imposes on the Southeastern part of this country oozes, as it has since from the beginning, blood and mud." (Marcos)

It is an apt observation. The state's coffee plantations grow some 35% of Mexico's coffee, making middlemen and large plantation owners wealthy ('Zapatistas: The First…') while the 53% of coffee flows to the export markets, mostly the US and Europe. The state's maize goes largely to the domestic Mexican market, while, in 1992, 90% of the tamarind, two thirds of avocados, and 69%, and virtually all of the cacao and the mameys were sold outside of the state (Marcos). The forests of Chiapas have been logged for centuries, stripping away whole swaths of the ecosystem, and despite the existence of restrictions and the formation of national parks, the state's wood exports grew in value through the 1980s (Marcos). Chiapas contains some 30% of Mexico's surface water, and the state's rivers are a great hydroelectric resource, especially within the Montes Azules reserve. The Grivalja River alone produces 54% of Mexico's hydroelectric power. ('Facts About Chiapas'). Chiapas is rich in hydrocarbons, produces some 21% of Mexico's oil, with 17.5 million barrels in 2001. Although PEMEX, the Mexican state oil company, denies that it is exploring for oil in the Lacandon, it has historically operated in the region ('Facts About Chiapas'). In 1992, Marcos alleged that petroleum exploration was underway in the Lacandon, and that in just five Chiapan townships, PEMEX had '86 teeth' taking 92,000 barrels and 517 billion square feet of natural gas (Marcos). The state produces 47% of Mexico's natural gas ('Fact About Chiapas'). Between its various sources, Chiapas produces about 20% of Mexico's energy ('Zapatistas: The First…'). Chiapas's hardships are not by natural poverty. The gains of these immense ecological and productive forces could alleviate the suffering of her people. Under the guidance of export-driven capitalism, however, the state's resources have brought greater prosperity for the nation and the firms that take them.

HISTORY OF CHIAPAS- CONFLICT AND PRODUCTION
The roots of the modern class conflict and ecological marginalization in Chiapas lie in the conquest of the area by Spanish colonists in 1530 (Ross). Although early explorers had called the Lacandon jungle a 'desert' and characterized it as a waste, the state of Chiapas had ample soil and the forests were rich in resources to fuel the Spanish empire. Throughout the early Spanish period, indigenous rebellions fought for land, launching uprisings against the elite criollos with little success- the indigenous people were afforded such little land that holdings were, and still are, measured in rows rather than hectares (Howard). The Diaz regime at the turn of the century set the stage for the development of an export economy with investments into rail infrastructure, allowing the formation of latifundistas with access foreign markets (Howard). The Diaz regime favored large landholders with the Ley Lerdo of 1984, the result of landholder lobbying, which removed restrictions on land ownership and expanded the definition of public lands to facilitate the private seizure of informal peasant holdings (Crocker).The latifundias focused production on cash crops such as coffee, amassing great riches but casting local indigenous people out of their holdings. These indigenous peoples found themselves either entrapped into servile labor in the export plantations, or pushed onto marginal land, often in the forest. By 1910, the 1% of the population who made up latifundistas controlled 81% of the land (Howard).

The plunder of the Lacandon had begun in 1859, with the logging of the lands around the Usamacinta and Jacate for sale in Tobasco to the markets of Europe and the United States (Howard). The 1880s brought intensified logging as the mahogany market was cornered and set at a high price by a trio of firms, making the deforestation of the Lacandon a profitable business. By the turn of the century, under the regime of Porfiro Diaz, the whole three million acres of the forest fell into the hands of just four companies (Howard). In recounting the history of Chiapas, historian John Ross cites anarchist writer Bruno Traven, alleging that the monterias, or logging camps, of the late 19th and early 20th century were run by forced indigenous labor, 'chained to their axes and hanged from the trees' (Ross).


THE MEXICAN REVOLUTION AND LAND REFORM
The abuses of Diaz regime brought about the turmoil and change of the Mexican Revolution. The Constitution of 1917, brought into force after over a decade of armed rebellion, promised reforms to secure the rights of the peasant majority. Foremost among these was the system of land reform, which allowed peasants to petition for legal title to land occupied by them, and set forth the ejidos and comunidades agrarias, forms of communal landholding. In principle, these reforms would win justice for the laboring people of rural Mexico. In reality, however, they would be largely curtailed by the influence of the wealthy class. This was especially true in Chiapas, where the dominance of the latifundistas allowed the class to maintain strong holds on the land (Howard), thanks in part to the counterrevolutionary wave lead by lowland rancheros in the 1920s, which enshrined Tiburcio Fernandez Ruiz as governor (Harvey). In many areas, especially the rich fields around the Grivalja Valley, the Soconusco Coast, and areas with transportation routes that allowed better market access and thus nourished the cash crop economy, local elites simply did not allow reform to occur, and little redistribution took place. Where land reform did occur, the most marginal land was granted to the peasants while the best land was retained by the latifundistas, and no capital or equipment was redistributed. Private holdings were restricted to eight thousand hectares in Chiapas (compared to five thousand in the rest of the country), though fraudulent practices, such as leasing under false names, allowed wealthy landholders to amass holdings beyond this (Howard). A new wave of land reform came during the Cardenas presidency of the 1930s, but this changed little, with marginal land once more being redistributed and a large part of the population remaining dependent on employment at the plantation economy (Harvey). In 1983, 30% of communal land was actually controlled by latifundistas and some 100,000 peasants were entirely landless (Howard).  The Mexican Revolution would promise much, but in land reform and corporatist organizations delivered little but a means to consolidate PRI control.

POPULATION AND SCARCITY IN THE MIDCENTURY
The social and ecological system of Chiapas would be placed under pressure in the mid-century, as a convergence of events brought a flux of Mayan Indians into the state, combining with existing population growth and straining at the marginal lands left for the indigenous and campesino populations. In the 1940s, the population of Chiapas hovered around some 500,000 (Howard). However, the region was experiencing a high rate of population growth, with many villages pushing some 4% annually. This rapid expansion of population would be exacerbated with the arrival of the new Mayan tribes. The Chol and the Tzotzil moved from Palenque and Chamula within the state (Howard), converging towards the eastern lowlands, where they were joined by Tzelztales and Tojobales leaving serf-like conditions in Comitan and Las Margaritas (Ross), and by refugees of the dam projects in Oaxaca, the White Guards of Veracruz, and the land scarcity in Michoacan and Guerrero (Howard). Directed by the PRI's caciques away from the already-crowded highlands and coast, the migrants settled in the lowlands, on the border of the jungle. This growth would continue. Between 1970 and 1990, the population of Chiapas more than doubled, from 1.5 million to 3.2 million, with the indigenous community growing faster than the general populace at an annual rate of 4.6%, reaching 710,000 statewide in 1990 (Howard). The Lacandon jungle was not spared this influx. By 2002, some 75,400 people would settle in what would become Montes Azules Bioreserve (UNESCO). The indigenous groups who would go on to form the EZLN poured into Chiapas in the 1950s, the Choles settled in the east of the Lacandon, while the west was taken by the Tzeltales, Tojobales, and the Tzotzil. By the next decade, the government would become increasingly complicit in this settlement, declaring the Lacandon a 'Southern Agrarian Frontier' in 1960 (Ross). Programs offering cattle credits, as well as the land redistribution and the promise of state purchases of wood cut from the jungle, all fueled settlement (Crocker).

Subsistence farmers struggled with the problems of jungle soil. These soils, when used immediately after the clearing of forest land, are rich with the stored nutrients of the trees- but tire in a matter of years as rain, erosion, and use leach the nutrients from them, returning decreasing yields each season. Soil erosion had already impacted the central highlands due to overuse from population pressures following the 1940s, and was now affecting the lowlands and the cleared jungle. Farmers seeking to maximize their yields depleted soil became increasingly dependent on inputs such as fertilizers and pesticides, a shift from traditional techniques that added a somewhat more 'proletarian' industrial nature to their lifestyle (Howard). 

Used land was often converted to pasture. The World Bank and Mexican government both subsidized participation in the cattle industry in the 1960s and 1970s (Howard). Small ranchers would raise calves and illegally rent ejidos out to rancheros for grazing. The cattle industry grew, with the population of grazing animals increasing fourfold between 1950 and 1970s, while landlessness increased as latifundistas took control of the communal land titles. During the 1970s, ranching operations took some 76,000 hectares, largely around the northern edges of the forest by Palenque, to be converted to pasture (Howard). As many communities settling in the Lacandon had no legal titles, they often found their newly cleared forest subject to seizure by politically connected rancheros. In 1974, land invasion on behalf of ranchers caused the Chiapan Indigenous Congress to voice their grievance with the practice, stating that they had been left the infertile land, and demanding greater education of the Agrarian Laws in their communities (Howard).

The jungle itself was under increased pressure not only from the agriculture, but from renewed interest in its natural resources. The postwar era saw a vastly expanded demand for timber and an accompanied effort by timber firms to circumvent the restrictions of the constitution. By 1949, Vancouver Plywood alone had used amassed over 600,000 hectares of the state's forests and presidential decrees in 1957 and 1961 granting privileges to logging companies only made such holdings easier to collect. In 1875 there had been some 1,245,000 hecatares of jungle- by 1969, this was reduced to 800,000, much of it in the preceding two decades (Howard). The Mexican government would eventually cancel concessions to foreign firms, but replace them with COFALASA, the state lumber company, which continued the logging (Ross).

THE CLOSING OF THE LACANDON
By the 1970s, the conflicting interests to the jungle could no longer coexist. The Lacandon could not be used by the Lacandones, the other Mayan tribes, the rancheros, and the extractive industries all at once, especially not while continuing any healthy functioning as an ecosystem. Logging companies were coming into conflict with local communities, including the families of migrants who had originally been drawn by the industry's own demand for labor. Communities pushed into the jungle, taking valuable woods for fuel and cutting down precious timber assets to sustain their agrarian livelihood (Howard).

In 1972, action was taken on the Lacandon. The state granted 634,000 hectares- the majority of the forest's remaining space- to the Lacandones tribe (Howard). This land grant, which Harvey maintains was 660,000 hectares, was given to only some 66 Lacandon families, while ignoring the 3000 or more families of Tzeltzal, Chol, and other indigenous people who had settled the area (Harvey). Howard characterized the decision as being driven by the desire to have a single tribe through which resource extraction deals could be brokered (Howard). Indeed, as part of the deal, the Lacandon would allow the state forestry industry to cut 35,000 cubic meters of mahogany and cedar annually for a decade (Harvey). Logging operations were expanded following the decision, with massive land grants to logging firms and road construction it facilitate exploration by Mexico's state oil firm, PEMEX. Environmental regulations did not stop the destruction of the Lacandon by logging companies- since the turn of the century, 665,000 hectares of prime, secondary, and fragmented forest have been logged from the greater Lacandon- 85% of this since 1970. Some 42% of the land cleared from the greater Lacandon between 1974 and 1986 became pasture (often being used for subsistence agriculture first), another 42% becoming secondary forest (logged, and allowed to regrow), with only 3.7% used for agriculture after 6.7% was lost to soil erosion. (Howard)

The granting of the lands to the Lacandones sparked violent protests from other inhabitants of the forests, resulting in recognition of some other existing claims. The primary response of the state to such complaints, however, was coercive- families were forced out of the jungle (Howard), with settlements leveled by military forces (Ross) and opposition leaders targeted for violence or bribes (Howard). The effected communities became more radicalized, with liberation theology and dissident Protestantism becoming increasingly popular in the lowlands (Howard). Resistance to the military eviction of settlers was organized in part by the Bishop of San Cristobal de la Casa, building the Union of Unions, Union Quiptic, and ARIC; according to John Ross, the scholar of Mexico's leftist movements, these organizations would go on to form the roots of the EZLN (Ross). Conflict over land and forest resources intensified after the carrying out of the decree in 1972, with incidents becoming more frequent and more violent (Howard).

In 1978, President Jose Lopez Portillo created another layer of regulation to the already messy land titles in the jungle, forming the Montes Azules Bioreserve out of 380,000 hectares of the jungle's core area (Ross). To the credit of the state, some form of protection for the jungle may have been overdue. The Lacandon is Mexico's most biodiverse ecosystem, home to rare jaguars, tapirs, saraguato (WWF), red macaws, white turtles, and shismatica flowers (Conservation International). It is the habitat of almost a third of all of Mexico's mammal species, and to half of its species of birds, as well as half the daytime butterflies and most of the country's tropical trees (WWF). The plant diversity is estimated to be some 4,300 species of vascular plant, of which 3,400 were documented as of 1994 (Parkswatch). At the heart of the Lacandon is the Montes Azules Bioreserve, 331,200 hectares of jungle resting between the Lacantum and Locania Rivers. (UNESCO). Formed by governmental decree in 1978 under the Federal Law of Ecological Equilibrium and the Protection of the Environment (Crocker), the reserve covers a swath of Lacandon with a mountainous landscape, ranging from 200 meters to 1460 meters above sea level throughout the area (UNESCO). Such mountainous regions rising over rainforests are known to be 'hot spots of biodiversity' (Richter), and indeed the Montes Azules contains some 500 species of tree (UNESCO), 341 recorded species of bird, and 114 mammals from every order (Parkswatch), with more endangered mammal species than any other reserve in Mexico (Howard). Such a bounty of species represents a potentially rich source of biological material, as well as having what many would call an obvious intrinsic value to itself. For the Mayan farmers, however, the Bioreserve was yet another attack on their access to land. The establishment of the reserve pressed eviction on forty ejidos, and served to further radicalize the local indigenous population, with many of these communities going on to form the core of the EZLN's membership (Ross).

The closing of the forest to the non-Lacandones created in some ways a crisis in Chiapas's usual land politics- historically, actual redistribution was avoided by giving peasant communities land in the Lacandon. With this no longer a viable option, peasant communities began to push for real redistribution, managing, as campesino organizations did across Mexico in the 1970s and 1980s, to put land reform back into the political discussion. Faced with a growing number of illegal land occupations and radicalized peasants, the government n Chiapas would ultimately resort to programs like the Programa de la Rehabilitacion Agraria, using appeasements to pacify those communities they could while cracking down on others. This was used in part as a way to reward loyal communities, granting land to members of the PRI-aligned CNC organization at the expense of the independent CIOAC and other organizations (Harvey). Those communities not part of the PRI's power structure found themselves shut out the forest and the redistribution. The mounting pressures of such ecological marginalization and land scarcity would be one underlying cause of the rebellion in 1994. The second would be the neoliberal policies of the 1980s and the dismantling of the Mexican corporatist state.


NEOLIBERALISM AND THE END OF MEXICAN CORPORATISM

Additional pressure on peasant communities came after the debt crisis of the 1980s. The collapse  of oil priced in the early 1980s, leaving Mexico $82 billion in debt. The government looked to the IMF for a loan, but in keeping with the IMF, there were attached austerity measures,-instiuting neoliberal policies and ended subsidies and credit programs for many farmers (Crocker) The next decade would see a steady decline in the traditional model of the Mexican corporatist state and a rise of neoliberal policy, backed by the IMF; most importantly to indigenous communities in Chiapas was the ending of the government's guarantee of land for communal ejidos and the effective privatization of much of the remaining ejido lands (Crocker).

LOSING GRAIN SUPPORTS
Producers of grain, such as the staple maize crop, were hit hard by the crisis and post-crisis reforms. Although agricultural subsidies had increased 12.5% per year through the 1970s, the government cut them back 13% annually after 1982. At the same time, the supply of credit dried up, with Banrural giving credit for only 37% and 43% of the area cultivated by maize and beans, respectively- though cash crops maintained better credit access (Harvey). Nonetheless, with many producers forced to rely on subsistence agriculture, the portion of Chiapan farmers who lacked access to credit climbed to nearly 80% in 1985 and nearly 90% in 1990 (Howard)

Peso devaluation increasing the cost of inputs was also a blow, albeit one softened by a rise in guaranteed prices from the state. The PECE pact in 1987, however, drove small corn producers into a crisis. This act, aimed at controlling the inflation and the devaluation of the peso and regulating wages and prices, did succeed in helping to bring inflation down from 200% in 1987 to 20% in 1991. However, as a result of its policies, the rate of increase in input costs for maize producers was allowed to surge ahead of the real value of the maize prices guaranteed by the state (Harvey). The subsidies for these inputs had already declined in the 1980s due to the lack of available funds (Howard). By 1988 some 65% of maize growers were operating at a loss (Harvey). Unable to afford high-cost inputs, maize growers in Chiapas relied increasingly on low-tech but less productive slash and burn techniques and this contributed to the land area under maize production increasing 20.6% in the state from 1982 to 1987, even while output fell 19.6%- a trend repeated in beans, which saw a 10% rise in area cultivated and an 18% drop in output. In the wake of the financial crisis, the subsistence farmers of Chiapas were cultivating more acres, but less productively (Harvey)- not a desirable state of affairs for a state in which soil degradation and land scarcity was already an issue.
The reforms of 1989, put in place by Salinas in line with the World Bank's plans for Mexico, exacerbated the situation even further for growers. The World Bank pushed for the further privatization of state enterprises, the elimination of what remained of the subsidies and price supports, and made these a condition of further loans to the debt-ridden nation. These reforms left farmers with less access to crop insurance, ended loans to producers in default, and provided insufficient credit for the maize sector. At the same time, imports were allowed to increase from abroad, flooding the market with cheap US grains (Harvey).

As Salinas's agricultural reforms were being implemented, Solidaridad, the poverty fighting program started in 1988 as PRONASAL, stepped up its activities, with expenses for Chiapas growing 130% in 1989-90, an additional 50% in 1990-91, and 20% by 1992 (Harvey). However, this funding was focused mostly on public works and social welfare- projects that reached many people but failed to treat the causes of poverty. The 12% that went to supporting production was insufficient to develop Chiapas's peasant agricultural sector or address unemployment and landlessness. Although Chiapas had the largest number of local 'solidarity committees' in the country under the program, these were mostly either short-lived projects, or tightly controlled by caciques, with deferential treatment given, as usual, to the communities loyal to the PRI- a practice seemingly enforced by the formation of the PRI/CNC-dominated Ministry of Community Participation in 1992 and the dismissal or even arrest of officials who attempted to direct funding to independent organizations (Harvey). The Altos and Selva regions, regions which had already shown discontent with the PRI, received a disproportionately small amount of the credit, despite having the highest repayment rates in the state (Harvey).


THE ENCLOSURE OF THE COMMONS
In 1991, the PRI introduced a new Agrarian Law, without consulting campesinos or indigenous peoples, effectively privatized the ejidos, making it legal to buy, sell, sharecrop, mortgage, and rent the land (Howard) and for private companies to purchase larger shares of the land in accordance with restrictions based on the crop being grown (Harvey). The act's privatization of the land, even if it largely simply legitimized existing rent relationships, raised fears of spurring even greater concentration of land ownership, with wealthy families using laxer new limits to amass still greater holdings, social elites levying pressure on ejido members to endorse privatization, the possibility of credit-strapped farmers putting up the ejido as collateral and losing it to the credit institution (Harvey)
Along with the increased privatization of existing communal holdings came barriers to the creation of new ones. The act, to protect private property and investment, removed from Article 27 of the Mexican constitution of the right of campesinos to petition for land redistribution (Harvey). With that change, land reform in Mexico became severely curtailed. Some 30% of all the country's unresolved land claims were in Chiapas, and despite government promises to resolve these claims and even give some land in the Lacandon (Howard), the new law felt to many landless laborers like the end of any hope to legal title (Harvey). Subcommandante Marcos would later go on to express that these 1991 changes to Article 27 of the constitution was 'what most radicalized our companions', because 'the door was shut on the Indian people's ability to survive in a legal and peaceful manner' (Howard).
While this was one more grievance for the rebel movement that by then was already building in Chiapas's jungles, it was NAFTA, the North America Free Trade Act, that the EZLN would launch armed rebellion in response to.

NAFTA
The North America Free Trade Act aimed at aligning each nation to focus on those industries in which they had a comparative advantage. For the farmers of Chiapas, this proved problematic. In the USA, average yeilds were 6.9 metric tons per hectare compared with Mexico's 1.7. American farmers, who had more capital, could mass-produce for the market in great, cheap quantities, threatening a flood of cheap corn that would threaten the small Mexican farmers.  The Mexican government agreed to phase out guaranteed prices, as well as a 15-year phase-out period for import quotas and tariffs (Harvey). It is important to note that while the EZLN chose to rebel on the day NAFTA was implemented, the rebellion was not triggered by NAFTA alone- NAFTA was, more accurately, both a continuation and symbol of the long-term dismantling of Mexican corporatism and accompanied insecurity of the indigenous peasant class. Although the Mexican corporatist system had enshrined the power of the latifundista and ranchero classes, punished disloyal communities, and maintained a grip on power through both violence and corruption, its decline was nonetheless a hardship for many indigenous farmers. These families, now faced with the market power of the United States, were targeted for the 'creative destruction' of capitalism, the security of their meager existence stripped, replaced with promises that GDP growth might bring jobs and development that did little to allay the hardships neoliberalism had already brought.
To a population already ecologically marginalized, the dismantling of the safety net, as oppressive as it was, proved to be too much. It was in this frustration and discontent that the Zapatista movement was born.

THE FORMATION OF THE EZLN
The precise origins of the Zapatista movement are unclear. Some reports claim that they were organized as a resistance to reactionary 'white guards' and landowner-hired thugs in the 1980s that gradually adopted the democratic decision-making culture of local indigenous people (Zapatistas: The First…). Wagner and Schulz, writing for the US Army's Strategic Studies Institute at the end of 1994, maintained that the EZLN was formed in 1983, and had been training indigenous irregulars covertly in central Chiapas since that time. The report characterized the group as consisting mostly of 'indigenous irregulars, commanded and trained by a disciplined cadre of mestizo and Caucasian extraction' and noted that the leaders were likely to be 'city folk', or possibly veterans of the 1970s leftist insurgencies or other Latin American conflicts (Wagner & Schulz). Meredith Fender, writing for the Journal of International Service, cites Milt Shapiro as claiming that the EZLN can be traced to the Front of National Liberation, an 'anti-Soviet, pro-Cuban Guevarista' insurgency. She further confirms, as do others, that some key figures, including the charismatic Subcommandante Marcos, are non-indigenous, and that they speak of changing their views and ideas when coming into contact with the people of the jungle (Fender). These accounts seem to reach a consensus on some key facts- that the movement arose in the 1980s, and that some part of the movement consisted of a non-local revolutionary cadre.

Wagner and Schulz point to the Indigenous Congress in 1974 in San Cristobal as a possible source of the 'deepest roots' of the organization, noting that the convention served as launching ground for peasant organizing. Specifically, they point to the organizing by practitioners of liberation theology who helped develop the campesino umbrella organizations, UU, CIOAC, and OCEZ, which fought for indigenous land rights (Wagner & Schulz).  Neil Harvey mentions these and other groups in recounting the history of Maoist sympathies in the jungle. He points out that in marginalized indigenous communities, the formation of Uniones de Ejidos was often controlled not by the PRI, but by participants in the Indian Congress. Maoist organizations such as Union del Pueblo, Politica Popular, and later Linea Proletaria (into which UP and PP merged) were involved in these UEs and in the fight against the 1970s evictions from the Lacandon. These Maoists pursued many of the tactics of the Zapatistas, including the use of traditional indigenous democratic systems and horizontal federation (Harvey). It seems likely, therefore, that given the base of support for the EZLN in the indigenous communities of the highlands, the eastern lowlands, and the jungles, and given the historical involvement of those communities in indigenous and campesino struggles thematically similar to the aims of the EZLN, and given the assertions by scholars such as Howard, Harvey, Wagner, and Schulz that these groups provided a base of support for EZLN organizing, that there is indeed a connection between them. The campesino movement of the 1970s and 1980s would slowly give rise to the Zapatistas of the 1990s, with the organizing involvement not only of the local indigenous community, but also of a cadre of revolutionaries, possibly with former ties to the Front of National Liberation.

CONCLUSION
On the date that NAFTA was billed to bring North America's three largest nations together in the light of industry and capitalism, a group of rebels, primarily indigenous people, pulled away from the southernmost extremity of this new economic bloc, defending a vision of indigenous rights and socialism. Like the original Zapatistas from whom they took their name, the EZLN fought and continue to fight against a government and economic order geared towards lucrative export over the needs of the inhabitants of the land. The revolutionary cadre that marched into the jungle in 1984 did not draw support from thin air, but from, in their own words, '500 years of struggle', and more specifically from a legacy of ecological marginalization combined with a more recent and intense neoliberal assault on the meager security of the campesino and indigenous community. No understanding of the struggle in Chiapas can be had, without first understanding those roots.


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