September 27— Nearly one week ago I returned from Chiapas, Mexico, and I still find myself closing blinds and curtains in my apartment. I don’t know. Is it arrogant paranoia, healthy suspicion, or some residual post-traumatic stress? Probably paranoia, although sometime between leaving Asheville, North Carolina, and returning, the lines of differentiation between the three have blurred. In no small way do I thank the Mexican government for this psychological souvenir. Every step of the way, they let my companions and I know that we were considered a "national security risk," without ever having to explicitly say it.

In January of 1994, in the wake of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), indigenous Mayan people rose up in Chiapas, calling themselves the Zapatista Army for National Liberation (EZLN). The Zapatistas, responding to hundreds of years of colonialism, imperialism, and exploitation, denounced NAFTA as an international "death sentence," already evidenced by the dissolution of Article 27 in the Mexican Constitution which had legally secured indigenous land from privatization. Wanting to preserve their political autonomy and right to self-determination, the insurgent movement flew in the face of international government and several multinational corporations making designs to expropriate indigenous land, labor, and resources at any cost. The following years would see bitter and painful negotiations between the EZLN and the Mexican government, with the powers of federal and state authority displaying a consistent pattern of false promises, empty dialogue, and divide-and-conquer strategies to simulate the appearances of a civil war, while arming and training paramilitary troops to plunder, profane, and butcher indigenous communities. During this time, while the government claimed to be "engaging in the peace process," the federal army slowly advanced it’s strategic occupation in and around the Chiapas land of Zapatista influence.

In late August of 1999, thirteen non-governmental organizations based in Chiapas signed a petition urging members of international civil society to visit and bear witness to the escalation of federal military troops occupying indigenous communities in the region. 70,000 soldiers were now stationed there, almost completely encircling the area where the EZLN had been rumored to reside, as well as having occupied thirty indigenous communities. On August 12th, the Mexican Army and state military dropped paratroopers on the village of Amador Hernandez in an attempt to occupy it. The soldiers attacked civilians with tear gas and had injured several people.

The Mexico Solidarity Network reacted, organizing an emergency delegation of human rights observers, to be coordinated by San Francisco-based Global Exchange. Preparations were made in haste, and with the exception of one person from Scotland, eleven United States citizens originating from California, Texas, Oregon, Illinois, Minnesota, New York, and North Carolina volunteered to be delegates. Carolina-Chiapas Connection, an Asheville-based support organization, offered to send me and I accepted.

On Thursday, September 16th, all of the delegates arrived in Mexico City International Airport, some later to complain of being extensively interviewed by immigration in regards to their destination and intent of travel. Each of us boarded the same connecting flight to Tuxtla Gutierez, Chiapas. We were careful not to congregate, as to draw attention to ourselves, in light of a flood of reports we had been made aware of, documenting governor Roberto Albores Guillen’s recent campaign of xenophobia. Within the past month alone, several foreigners and even some Mexicans had been ordered or forcibly removed from Chiapas.

Arriving in Tuxtla, we showed Immigration our visas. My ears had popped during the airplane’s descent, temporarily deafening me, and this visibly frustrated the official on hand, who was trying to ask me questions. Getting nowhere with me, I was quickly shooed through. Others with ears functioning, such as San Francisco delegate, Renee Saucedo, were asked interesting things such as, "You’re with Global Exchange, aren’t you?" We were traveling with tourist visas and had not identified ourselves publicly as human rights observers. This initial episode set the pace of our investigation, which would then be haunted by this form of subtle, psychological intimidation throughout the trip. We hadn’t been in Chiapas for even five minutes, and it had already begun.

We soon organized and collectively caravaned by taxi the two hour trip to San Cristobal de las Casas, located in the highlands of Chiapas. Lodging was quickly arranged, and soon after we convened at the local office of Global Exchange for introductions, itinerary plans, and pizza. Immediately, we were informed that phones were tapped, and faxes and e-mail were being monitored. Having taken great measures to discreetly organize this largely spontaneous mission, Global Exchange could surmise no other explanation for Immigration’s anticipation of our arrival. Obviously, the Mexican intelligence community was ahead of the game.

On Saturday, we left San Cristobal at four a.m. for our principle destination, Amador Hernandez. Global Exchange decided that the most direct and practical, hassle-free approach to Amador would be to rent small airplanes, leaving from Comitan, about a half hour’s flight away.

Comitan is in the middle of nowhere. From what I understand, it is one of the most off-the- beaten-trail places to have a name attached to it in Mexico, and it certainly looked that way. Across the highway from the tiny, airplane rental field is a gas station and small convenience store. Hastily, we stopped there to buy breakfast snacks before our voyage. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, a man seen lurking there pointed out our vehicles to another, and ran into the gas station. We’d see him again soon enough.

We bought our food and crossed the highway. Immediately, two cars appeared out of nowhere, and quickly skid to a halt behind us, almost effectively blocking our way out of the small airstrip’s parking lot. Five men leapt out, in a flurry of flashbulbs, taking several dozen pictures between them, of our delegation. The finger-pointing man from about fifteen minutes before, suddenly reappeared with a cell phone in one hand, and a PGR (Mexico’s FBI) badge in the other. He marched towards us, asking to see what was in our bags and we refused, reminding him that he had no legal right to an arbitrary search. "It is for your safety," he said.

While this was happening, some of the delegates decided to join the unidentified, plainclothes men in their photo-snapping orgy-surprise, by taking pictures of them. They apparently didn’t like this, because they abruptly stopped their photo shoot, scrambled into their cars, and sped away, with the exception of one man who would watch over us for the remainder of the day, quietly chatting into his cell phone and occasionally taking a picture or two.

At this point, the PGR agent was noticeably frustrated by our lack of deferential submission. After much pacing and terse cell phone talk, he announced that he was leaving and would shortly return with immigration officials.

In his twenty minute absence, four members of our delegation managed to successfully leave for Amador Hernandez, on the first plane out of Comitan. Soon after, true to his word, the agent resurfaced, sandwiched between two large, decorated, and annoyed immigration officials wearing aviator sun-glasses. Without pause, the three people working for the rental agency obediently and graciously offered the only desk in their small office to the one who was obviously "El Jefe." An impatient man, not to be provoked or trifled with, the chief got right down to business, ordering us by name, one by one, into the small business office, where we each had a brief, private session, sharing our passport and visa information. All of us went through this, some mildly interrogated, others not. All of us except Loel Coleman, recently issued a citation from Immigration not to return, and who had the keen genius to slip across the street for a cup of coffee, and Maura, a Global Exchange escort who joined him.

The immigration authorities finished their note-taking and emerged from the office, with the PGR agent, again requesting to search our bags. Again, we refused. The three men left in a huff, declaring that they would return, this time with a state prosecutor. I’m wondering, "Gee, is Comitan always such a magnet for state intrigue?"

After an hour, another airplane, carrying four more delegates was able to leave. Right before takeoff however, the delegation was greeted by the third coming of the PGR man. This time, he didn’t come with a state prosecutor. Instead, he came with two fellow PGR men who seemed like they weren’t going to take "no" for an answer. They knew how to get results. Whatever it was that they told the office receptionist was short and convincing enough that it was only a matter of moments after they arrived when she herself asked us to show them our bags. They had to be checked "for explosives." We obliged.

After the second airplane left, the rest of the afternoon was spent getting the run-around from the proprietors of the airstrip. One moment the weather conditions were too poor, the next, oh -- the airplane was broken -- they had to fix it. And on and on until we eventually left, having waited eight hours, when they finally said "no more flights today." All the while that we’d waited though, we couldn’t help noticing the airplanes that did leave the airstrip. One of them, loaded with cargo and headed for La Realidad, another Zapatista community notoriously under siege, caught our interest. We asked about it, and the receptionist explained to us that the cargo was a shipment of a pesticide called Moscamet. The night before, our delegation was informed that Moscamet was being sprayed over indigenous com-munities, defoliating their trees, poisoning wildlife, and making what little farm soil they have, infertile. The PGR obviously wasn’t concerned about "explosives" leaving on that airplane.

With half of the delegation in Amador Hernandez, the rest of us spent the next day wandering around San Cristobal. Paul Hixson, a delegate from Illinois, would later tell us that he spotted a white, American-looking male in his mid-thirties, taking his picture. Having been noticed by Paul, the man made good to disappear quickly. Only a few moments after Paul told us this peculiar story, a Global Exchange worker alerted us to the fact that a man, already identified as an undercover agent, was just seen lurking outside of the office. She showed us his picture. I recognized him. I’d seen him standing on the street in front of our hotel a few times by now.

Another odd thing happened that day. The Mexican newspaper Cuarto Poder had published a story about us, under the banner headline, "International observers visit indigenous communities." With no journalist present during the previous day’s romp in faraway Comitan, the article’s appearance struck us as bizarre. Several things were interesting about the news piece itself. For one, our group had taken great pains not to announce our presence, or the nature of our visit. Also, there were numerous, factual errors. Strangest of all, the article listed the names of the delegates, save the four who made it out on the first plane, and the two who went for coffee during the meet-and-greet with immigration. All in all, the report read like a messy mixture of intercepted e-mail and federal or immigration-fed information.

That night, after much uncertainty, three members of the delegation successfully returned from Amador, and shared with us their experience, both inspiring and grim. They told us of a small village under siege, their people constantly harassed and threatened by a military encampment surrounded by large coils of razor-wire and trenches lined with sandbags. The delegates were enthu-siastically received by masked Zapatista men, women, and children who, despite the naked oppression of their circumstances, sang, danced, shouted, and laughed at their aggressors.

Not long after they had arrived, the delegates were escorted to the military camp, where they observed a continuous protest demonstration being carried out by a rotating order of Zapatistas. There, encircling the fortress, our friends discovered 36 camouflaged traps made of sharp, pointed sticks. Concealed by blankets of dead leaves, they were obviously not meant to be seen, but felt.

With Huey helicopters flying just a few feet above their heads, the constant blaring of martial music from the camp’s loudspeakers, and the ever-vigilant presence of a long line of soldiers in full battle gear – some with crowd-control shields and helmets — the delegation witnessed all the markings of a war zone. Amidst this chaos, the indigenous villagers engaged in tireless chants for democracy, economic justice, political autonomy, and the right to keep their land, livelihood, and way of life.

Incredibly, after our friends made a request to speak to the state representative presiding over this invasion, he appeared. Over the ridiculous row of razors, Ivan Camacho and the delegates volleyed questions and abbreviated answers. When confronted with a question about the purpose of the tiger traps, to everyone’s shock, Camacho denied that the army had placed them there. Further, he said he could only speak as a representative of the state. If they had wanted to speak to a military representative, they would have to travel to Tuxtla(!).

Strategically, Amador Hernandez is a crucial juncture for the military. The community sits right in the way of a highway that the federal army has been busy constructing, that when completed, would perfectly circle and contain the area where the EZLN stronghold is presumed to be. Until now, the state authorities have defended the construction under the obscene pretense that it is being made for the benefit of the community. Among other dubious reasons given, one is that it will help the indigenous transport their crops for export. This is something the self-sustained, cooperative community has no interest in whatsoever. Some of our delegates asked, "why is a road being built here that no one who lives here wants?" Puzzling the people of the village, some of whom had lived there for at least seventy years, Ivan Camacho answered, "the authentic people of the community want construction of the freeway, the real people." Then, when pressed, the frustrated spokesman couldn’t clarify who the "real" people were whom he was talking about.
Global Exchange delegate, Ernesto Ledezma asked, "Why are you here?" To which Camacho replied, "The president of the municipality of Ocosingo had requested our presence here."

Wanting to know about the psychological assault of the ear-splitting music, the delegates asked about its purpose. The statesman said it is "to lift their spirits, so they can relax."

During the day, our companions spoke with several people in the village and those participating in the vigil outside the military fort, where 55 "tents" made of single pieces of plastic hanging from cords of rope were set. Our delegate friends were curious about the astonishing array of US-manufactured military equipment they had seen there, and commented about it. At least four people who had been staying in Amador said that they had seen four members of the United States military present at the camp, two commandos –noted by their airborne eagle insignias on their jackets — and two members of the army. They "carried weaponry you don’t find here in Mexico" and "were speaking English." Others in the community said they witnessed cattle-prods being brought into the camp, a longtime favorite prop of counter-insurgency torture, instructed and employed by graduates of the United States’ School of the Americas, located in Ft. Benning, Georgia. Some veterans of the SOA had already been identified in other parts of Chiapas, aiding municipal paramilitary forces. During the dialogue with Ivan Camacho, one conscientious delegate concerned about his tax dollars, inquired about the possibility of U.S. military presence there. As Camacho responded, "absolutely not. I can assure you that," delegate Mike Saltz from Eugene, Oregon couldn’t help but notice many of the officers smirking, and trying to contain a smile or two.

After the encounter at the military front, much of our companions’ stay was spent enjoying the warm hospitality of the Zapatistas, who provided them with food, shelter, and protection. For awhile, the enigmatic Comandante Abraham looked after them himself. Much was discussed and shared about the history of the village, mostly recent developments. The indigenous villagers fear constant attack. They complained that the government had been sending in school teachers who had the peculiar habit of asking the children about their parents’ political affiliations and activities. Some of the children gave the delegates drawings, illustrating their reality: flowers, chickens, army troop transports, and helicopters.

On Monday, the remainder of the delegation toured two more areas beset by military and paramilitary conflict in Chiapas, Morelia and Moises Ghandi. In the municipality of Morelia, we visited and talked with indigenous people staying in the community of Aguascalientes 4. We met in an outdoor pavilion, where inside a mural paying homage to Emiliano Zapata, Che Guevara, and Subcomandante Marcos adorned a wall. We had a chance to speak with exiled Zapatistas who had recently been stoned by angry, pro-government villagers, while returning from a demonstration in the region.

In many ways, Morelia’s story is typical of the divide-and-conquer strategy that has been commonly employed by the federal government in it’s "low-intensity war" against the indigenous until recently. Since the Zapatista uprising, the national governing party, the PRI, has been engaged in an intensive recruitment campaign, entering indigenous villages, and trying to win public support with every kind of bribe imaginable: among other things, money, alcohol, scholarships, and farm equipment such as tractors. Many of the really ambitious villagers have been co-opted into joining paramilitary troops, following instructions to outright attack suspected Zapatista sympathizers, or those simply reluctant to "join the team." Paramilitaries have treated these people to rape, mutilation, torture, robbery, displacement, and even defecation on their property and persons. Unbelievably, some of these PRI supporters share the same families as Zapatistas. The idea is to simulate or provoke what appears to be a civil war, masking the guiding hand of a federal government intent on squelching an indigenous uprising who represent a troublesome blemish on the blueprints of international finance.

In between our visits to Morelia and Moises Ghandi, we stopped in Altamirano for a bite to eat. We were there all of 35 minutes. This was enough time for two men on bicycles to appear and take our picture as we were leaving the restaurant. Like our secret admirers in Comitan, they too, made clumsy haste to flee when we decided to return the gesture.

In Moises Ghandi we observed similar conditions to those described in Amador Hernandez. On a narrow road to the community, one has to carefully skirt by the closeness of razor-wire unfurling from a military encampment and checkpoint. Some of the soldiers there had the hots for us as well, and took the opportunity to save the memory with a few photos.

Tuesday, our last day in Mexico, was the day of our press conference in Mexico City. Awaiting us in the airport there, was a large phalanx of federal agents, who looked pretty ridiculous tailing us in such large numbers without saying much, as soon as we came through the gate. I can sort of see the humor in this image now, though at the time, the sound of my heartbeat drowning out all other sound was what grabbed my attention.
As we were telephoning our taxis to take us to the Mexico City office of Global Exchange, one man approached one of our delegates and asked "if we already had the press conference" because he was going to cover it. After the woman, Gabriela Enriques replied that she didn’t know what he was talking about, he said, "but you are from Global, no?"

When some of our group then boarded a van to leave, several men were seen copying down license plates and taking more pictures of us. One van was stopped after traveling half a block, and the chauffeur was asked to step outside to speak with two unidentified officials. They asked him who we were, where we were going, and then took his photograph.

The press conference felt as if it was a success, with all of the major Mexican journals in attendance, though as far as we could tell, no international press was at hand. The delegation made many, strong, declarative statements about the "low-intensity" war we had witnessed. We concluded that the Mexican government was trying very hard to conceal it from the eyes of the world.

Mentioned was the fact, as delegate Loel Coleman pointed out, that "the Mexican government is 82 billion dollars in debt to the IMF, The World Bank, and various, other financial institutions primarily based in New York City." They’ve been pressuring Mexican president Ernesto Zedillo to liquidate and privatize Mexico’s resources to pay it off. Vested interests, such as General Electric, Pulsar, Smurfit Newsprint, Monsanto, and various other transnational corporations are impatient to exploit the treasure trove of natural resources sitting in Chiapas, such as petroleum, uranium, pulp, and minerals too many to name.

We spoke extensively about our anguished concern, not only that the indigenous in Chiapas are being forced to accommodate this economic imperialism, but that our own government might be facilitating this sinister activity. In sum, we saw the makings of nothing less than cultural genocide, something all too familiar to us as inhabitants of a former native country whose history has been buried by conquest. Similarly, to the villagers of Amador Hernandez, and others, the military invasion speaks: YOU ARE IN THE WAY, and your land, your livelihood, your way of life, your cultural heritage -- NOTHING you have is so important that we can’t take that away, even your lives. We displayed for the press one of the tiger traps we had confiscated, as well as several pictures of them nestled in the holes in which we had found them.

On Thursday, September 23rd, the government’s coordinator for dialogue in Chiapas, Emilio Rabasa, issued a statement denying the existence of human traps surrounding the military camp in Amador Hernandez. Rabasa added that the information collected by our delegation "is a provocation at a time when the Mexican government is trying to reinitiate dialogue with the Zapatista guerillas."