"Yibeljoj: Alone, United and Exposed"

-- By Grahame Russell,
January 2001

Paramilitary Repression
In the Shadow of Military Bases
Madre Tierra
"Soon we hope"
Alone, United and Exposed

"Perhaps the most important thing I can share with you is to say that you are not alone." I said this to 200 Mayan-Tzotzil women and men, girls and boys, gathered together in the new Yibeljoj ['Yi-bel-ho'] community.

Later that day, I would depart, moved and shaken, seeing just how united they are, working to rebuild their lives and community, and just how alone they really are, surrounded by military, police and paramilitary forces, surviving in harsh conditions of poverty.

On January 23rd, we were received into the community of "New Yibeljoj", in the municipality of Chenalho, a Mayan-Tzotzil region in the mountains of the state of Chiapas, Mexico. With my colleague Kate Robinson, we were checking on a grant Rights Action (*) had given the community to purchase this land.

Their "new" home is in their old home. But these returned "internally displaced" families could go back neither to their particular homes, many of which were burnt 3 years before, nor to their parcels of land, the crops of which have been stolen over the past 3 years.

Paramilitary Repression

On November 16th, 1997, some 100 families were forced to flee their community due to well-planned threats and violence. Members of the local paramilitary group, la Mascara Roja (the Red Mask), were men from Yibeljoj, being their neighbors and even cousins!

Into a rainy cold night, they fled along a slippery mud path, up and down steep hillsides, leaving everything behind.

By late 1997, government supported and encouraged paramilitary groups were acting with impunity in many parts of Chiapas, carrying out acts of repression against any sector of the society not associated with the long-ruling PRI party [Partido Revolucionario Institucional]; against anyone or any group criticizing the status quo.

In the Chenalho region, many people had joined the "Abejas" organization in the early 1990s. Dedicated to defending indigenous rights, the right to land and the right to community-controlled development, the Abejas became targets of the government and paramilitaries.

Beatings, torture and assassinations became common, as well as the burning of villages, including homes and personal property left by fleeing people. At one point, as many as 30,000 already-poor people had fled their communities; many are still living scattered across Chiapas in informal internally displaced camps.

On December 22nd, 1997, forty-five Tzotzil women, children and men - some were members of the Abejas organization -- were celebrating mass in their village of Acteal, when they were set upon and massacred by the Mascara Roja. Acteal is 3 kilometers from Yibeljoj.

Having fled the paramilitary repression, the Yibeljoj families spent 3 years in the neighboring and overcrowded community of X'oyep. They lived in poverty; what little schooling they had for their children before, was abruptly ended. They could not work their fields. If they ventured outside the community, they were harassed and threatened by roving paramilitaries, and by the Army and state "security" forces that controlled Chenalho.

During the fall of 2000, despite the ongoing threats and harassment, they decided to go home; and if not to their actual homes, well then, they would begin again, near to their fields, to their burial grounds, to their sacred and religious spots.

With the funds we provided, they purchased a piece of land large enough to divide amongst the 100 families. Owning their land was the crucial first step to any possible rebuilding and development process.

And this first step - buying and resettling - is dangerous. The members of the Mascara Roja, that forced them to flee, still live in another part of Yibeljoj, just over the hill. No justice has been done for the political crimes and human rights violations carried out by the paramilitaries since 1996. Threats and repression continue.

In the Shadow of Military Bases

Approaching the turnoff to Yibeljoj, we drove by military outposts, both before and after the internally displaced community of Pohlo. Over the past 3 years, we have provided considerable support for the needs of the thousands of people still stuck - and surrounded -- in Pohlo.

From the main road, less than 2 kilometers from the site of the 1997 Acteal massacre, we drive along a hilly dirt road, past yet another military outpost. Armoured "Humvi" jeeps and transport trucks are parked by a field where soldiers play soccer, carefree and healthy looking.

We locate the two young women and a young man dressed in Tzotzil traditional clothing who are waiting for us. Parking the truck by 10 armed state "security" police, sitting idly on a bench, we are warmly greeted by our guides. Glancing nervously at the police, Marta, Antonia and Noe lead us on a muddy path along a ridge, away from the road.

From the ridge, we look over the old Yibeljoj community to the left, and the new community to the right. Mountains roll away in all directions. In 20 minutes, we arrive in the centre of the community - a flat dirt space - where we are met by Antonio, a community leader. Shaped like an amphitheatre, the mountain rises steeply on two sides.

This open space serves as their community meeting centre, a basketball court, a small soccer field, and as a site for special occasions. As we walked down to the open space, drums were being sounded, calling the community to gather.

Seated on a low wooden bench in the middle of the dirt floor, the community gathered around and above us; most were dressed in Tzotzil clothing.

Kate and I knew we did not deserve the reception and attention they were to bestow on us. We also knew that the community needed and wanted to express collective gratitude to someone, anyone who had trusted them, confided in them, supported them in their efforts to start rebuilding their lives and community. We were honored recipients of this attention.

The ceremony began with a presentation of ourselves to the community. Communication took place in Tzotzil, with translation to Spanish for Kate and I. In the brilliant sun, on a cool afternoon, I told the community that it was an honor and privilege to support them in their just struggles. I told them of who we were, of our work, why and how we could support them, and I told them that they were not alone.

Alone, they have long felt: before they fled the Mascara Roja paramilitaries; during their frightened flight in the night; for three years in their isolated and surrounded internally displaced camp; and now, home again, alone and exposed to the Army, "security" and Mascara Roja. Their solitude and vulnerability are increased by the fact that no justice has been done.

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