Sunday, September 29, 2019

VIGAN'S PUBLIC MARKET - The Commons in the Hands of Farmers and the Poor

VIGAN'S PUBLIC MARKET - The Commons in the Hands of Farmers and the Poor
Photographs by David Bacon
Food First, 9-26-19
https://foodfirst.org/vigans-public-market/


In the last two or three decades, the food sovreignty movement has been reinventing an institution - the farmers' market - that has been an institution in much of the rest of the world for centuries.  Public markets, where local farmers and other small vendors sell to people without much money, are institutions that not only serve an important social purpose, but are structures set up by governments in response to popular need and pressure.  That makes them part of the public space that people often have to struggle to protect.

Emil de Guzman, a Filipino-American activist from San Francisco, describes the role of the public market in Philippine towns:  :In the Philippines at the heart of any city or town is a plaza. At the center of all activity is the palengke, a huge one story structure housing the local vendors, shopkeepers, small businesses under one roof, in compartmentalized units buying and selling goods and services.

"The palengke is purposely sectioned to accommodate vendors standing side by side selling the same products: butchers selling meat, sellers of fresh fish and seafoods, rows of newly harvested vegetables. All over the coconuts vendors are sectioned off nearby other stalls selling the garlic and onions, then tofu, then eggs, then mangos, papayas etc. dried fish. Then nearby sections on clothes, cosmetics, umbrellas and the list goes on. Thousands come to the palengke to shop and buy/bargain at the lowest prices."

Vigan's public market is just the latest iteration of the city's history as a trading and market center, going back centuries.  Vigan is one of the oldest cities in the Philippines, and was founded by Chinese traders long before the arrival of the Spaniards.  In the language of these migrants from Fujian Province, the name Bi-gan meant Beautiful Shore. 

In Vigan they traded gold and beeswax from the Cordilleras, the mountain range that forms the spine of Luzon, for Chinese porcelain and other goods.  The status of the Chinese ethnic minority in the Philippines is still controversial.  The Chinese community even established a museum in Manila, arguing that their presence was a crucial part of Philippine history and that Chinese workers helped build the country over centuries.

The Spaniards colonized the islands, capturing Vigan in 1572, and making it the administrative capital of northern Luzon, called Nueva Segovia.  By then a central market here was long established.  It provided a critical function for farmers, who brought food into the city, and for the city dwellers who depended on them.  All over the world similar markets have come into being to fulfill the same function.

The current public market was rebuilt in the years after the fall of the Marcos dictatorship.  Despite all the changes in how food and clothing are distributed and sold in a modern city, the market is still a destination for thousands of people.  It's prices are lower than most other places, and the experience of buying something is much more personal.  In the interactions between stall owners and their customers, it's clear that in many cases people have known each other for years.

I've always loved out farmers' markets, especially ones like those in Oakland where older Chinese women crowd the stalls, attracted by this market's lower prices.  I've often wondered whether this institution will still be with us in another 20 or 30 years.  Walking through the public markets of the Philippines, I can see a way that people have been able to institutionalize markets like it, keeping its people-serving purpose intact.  Looking at these photographs, I can see a little of what might be Oakland's future here in Vigan.

For a full selection of photos, click here:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/56646659@N05/albums/72157710776601136




An old man and a boy in the window of a colonial building in the old mestizo, or Chinese, section of Vigan.



A banana stall usually has several varieties.



Selling pots and other kitchen wares, often to farm families from the countryside.



A girl in a world of her own.



Stall holders eat lunch and make their calls.



Buying groceries.



Many stalls in the market serve cheap meals.



A woman sells rambutans from a table in the hallway of the market.



Children of the stall owners often work there with their families.



Farmers and stall owners have to get up early to arrive when the market opens, and then fall asleep during the day.



Catching sleep during a lull in the market.



Some customers know the stall holders very well, like at this stall selling rambutans.



Relaxing behind bags of beans and tamarindos.



A farmer unpacking bags of calamansi fruit.



Kids in the market hallway playing a game where they guess at the cards and then slam them down on the floor.



Rice is the staple of the Philippines, and is grown and sold in a number of varieties.



A girl with her mom at the rice stall.



Near the market is an outdoor food court, where these high school girls have come to eat and take selfies.



An old truck at the side of the market.  Like many it was built in the style of WW2 jeeps.



A driver waits outside the market to pick up a fare in his tricycle, the most common kind of public transport in Vigan.

Thursday, September 12, 2019

MORE THAN A WALL: 30 Years of Life Along the US-Mexico Border

MORE THAN A WALL: 30 Years of Life Along the US-Mexico Border
Photos and text by David Bacon
The Nation
https://www.thenation.com/article/photos-mexico-border-immigration/


Mexicali, Baja California - 1996
A worker is deported back into Mexico at the border gate, from a bus that has taken deportees from the detention center in El Centro in the Imperial Valley, on the other side of the fence.


Editors' note: "If it happened yesterday, we've already forgotten." -  an anonymous Nation editor.

What we see and react to in the media conditions us to view the present as a series of immediate crises, and to ignore their roots in the past.  For social justice movements, this can be deadly, cutting us off from an ability to weigh and learn from our own history, and to understand how that history shapes the ways we fight for justice today.

In this photo essay, David Bacon reaches into his photographic archive of 30 years, which are now part of the Special Collections of Stanford University's Green Library.  A Nation contributor and former union organizer, Bacon's photographs and journalism have documented the courage of people struggling for social and economic justice in countries around the world.

____________________


In 1971, Pat Nixon, wife of Republican President Richard Nixon, inaugurated Border Field State Park, where the border meets the Pacific Ocean just south of San Diego.  The day she visited, she asked the Border Patrol to cut the barbed wire so she could greet the Mexicans who'd come to see her.  She told them, "I hope there won't be a fence here too much longer." 

Instead, a real fence was built in the early 1990s, made of metal sheets taken from decommissioned aircraft carrier landing platforms.  The sheets had holes, so anyone could peek through to the other side.  But for the first time, people coming from each side could no longer physically mix together or hug each other.  This is how the wall looked when I began photographing it, over 30 years ago.

That old wall still exists in a few places on the Mexican side in Tijuana and elsewhere.  But Operation Gatekeeper, the Clinton Administration border enforcement program, sought to push border crossers out of urban areas like San Ysidro, into remote desert regions where crossing was much more difficult and dangerous.  To do that, the government had contractors build a series of walls that were harder to cross. 

That's partly how the US-Mexico border became more than mere geography-how it became instead a passage of fire, an ordeal that must be survived in order to send money from work in the US back to a hungry family, to find children and relatives from whom they have been separated by earlier journeys, or to flee an environment that has become too dangerous to bear.

Some do not survive, dying as they try to cross the desert or swim the Rio Bravo. To them the border region has become a land of death.  Every year at least 3-400 people die trying to cross, and are buried, often without names, in places like the graveyard in Holtville, in the Imperial Valley. 

But the photographs I've taken over 30 years also show that the US/Mexico border is a land of the living.  Millions of people live and work on Mexico's side of the border: There are the child laborers who pick the tomatoes and strawberries in Mexicali Valley that line the shelves of grocery stores in the US; there are the workers from across Mexico who staff the massive maquiladoras in Tijuana; And there are thousands who have been deported to Mexico, and who must now somehow survive this passage of fire as well.

I saw my first immigration raid long before I became a photographer.  I was an organizer for the United Farm Workers in the Coachella Valley.  One morning I drove out to a grove of date palms to talk with the palmeros working high in the trees.  As I pulled my old white Valiant (the only kind of car the union had) down a row between the palms, I saw a green Border Patrol van.  The workers I'd talked with the night before in the union hall were all staring at the ground, handcuffed behind their backs.

I felt helpless to stop the inexorable process.  I chased the van to the holding center in El Centro, two hours drive south, but then stood outside the barbed wire.  I asked myself what would happen to those deported and what I could do to help the families left behind. 

When I began working as a writer and photographer, I tried to use my camera to find answers to those questions.  I carry the camera as a tool to help stop the abuse, and to take photographs that will help people organize.  The photographs, therefore, try to give personality and presence to deportees and their families, and to those who support them. 

So that's where I began, with the knowledge that the border is not some region of docile subsistence, but one of struggle and resistance. Workers in Tijuana's maquiladoras have organized their unions, and their strikes continue to shake the factories along the border. The laborers in Mexico's San Quentin Valley, in a historic strike in 2015, formed the first independent union for farm workers in Mexico's border region. Deportees, returning to the country after their time in the US-whether mere days or most of a lifetime-have organized to make survival easier, and ultimately to protest the system that forced them over the border. In one example, the group Border Angels helped migrants take over the Migrant Hotel in Mexicali to give shelter and food to people as they're forced back through the border gate. Even the park next to the Tijuana River became a protest site, as homeless migrants and deportees joined city activists to stop its privatization, at the same time as they lived on the site in an Occupy-style protest. 

At every point along the border where there is hardship, there is also resilience, and strength, and a willingness to fight to not just survive but to thrive.

Today, Border Field State Park looks quite a bit different than it did that day Pat Nixon shook hands across the barbwire. The aircraft landing strips were replaced in 2007 by an 18-foot wall of vertical metal columns. Two years later, a second wall was built on the US side, right behind the first. The area between them became a security zone where the Border Patrol restricts access to just four hours on Saturday and Sunday. The metal columns now extend into the Pacific surf.

Playas de Tijuana, though, on the Mexican side of the wall, is the city's beach suburb.  There the wall is just a sight to see for the hundreds of people who come out to the sand on the weekend.  The seafood restaurants are jammed, and sunbathers set up their umbrellas near the surf.  Occasionally, a curious visitor will walk up and look through the bars into the US.

I don't know what will come next for the borderlands-if Trump will get his way and spend billions to extend the wall across more of the border, if Border Patrol patrols will force migrants to seek out even more inhospitable routes, if a "renegotiated" NAFTA will continue the exploitation of Mexican laborers for US profits-but I will continue to document this land of the living as long as I'm able. 



Tijuana, Baja California - 2017
Juan Manuel Barragan was recently deported from the U.S., where he has a wife and two teenage children in Las Vegas.  He carries the small suitcase with his clothes and belongings into the river channel where he sleeps.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2014
Many deportees have no way to return to their hometowns further south in Mexico, and become homeless.  Some set up a camp in the riverbed of the Tijuana River, in downtown Tijuana, not far from the U.S. Mexico border.  Sometimes camps like this get dispersed by authorities, but eventually people return, having nowhere else to go.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2014
Juan Guerra, a Zapotec deportee, cooks dinner under a bridge next to the Tijuana River, as pedestrians and cars travel above him.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2017
A homeless man walks up the flood channel of the Tijuana River, which runs through the middle of the city toward the Pacific Ocean.  The river eventually crosses the border into the U.S.   People recently deported from the U.S. often live in camps in the river channel.



Maclovio Rojas, Tijuana, Baja California - 1996
At the entrance into Maclovio Rojas community a sign declares that it is a civil organization and union of small landholders, affiliated with CIOAC.  In the 1970s CIOAC was organized by the Mexican Communist Party (PCM) and other leftwing activists to help small farmers and the rural poor to defend their rights to land.  By 1996 the PCM no longer existed, but in Baja California its activists maintained a local CIOAC organizaion to help migrant workers organize, settle and build homes.



Mexicali Valley, Baja California - 1996
Honorina Ruiz, 6 years old, ties bunches of green onions together in a field just south of the U.S. border, farmed by Muranaka Farms, a U.S. grower.  Her mother Esperanza Ruiz and her brothers Rigoberto, 12, and Juan Antonio, 3, work with her, and they all came from the nearby colonia of Nicolas Bravo.  Honorina sat in front of a pile of green onions.  She grabbed some from the top to make a bunch, lining up eight or nine onions, straightening out their roots and tails.  Then she knocked the dirt off, put a rubber band around them, and added the bunch to those already in the box beside her.



Mexicali Valley, Baja California - 1996
Young mothers have no child care, so they bring their children to work with them.



Mexicali Valley, Baja California - 1996
Mari, her mother and sister in their house, which unlike many others in their barrio, has a concrete floor.



Nuevo San Juan Copala, Baja California - 2015
Striking farm workers in the San Quintin Valley in Baja California demonstrate their support for their independent association, The Alianza, as leaders try to negotiate wage increases with the government.  The workers are almost all indigenous Mixtec and Triqui migrants from Oaxaca, in southern Mexico.  Indigenous women and men wait to hear the results.



San Quintin, Baja California - 2015
A boy goes in to work in a field of strawberries with his father, after the end of the 2015 strike.  Wages were still so low that families depended on those earned by children and teenagers to survive.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2015
A bus filled with striking farm workers from the San Quintin Valley of Baja California on the way to the U.S./Mexico border to protest.  Their sign in the window says:  "Wage Raise!"



Mexicali, Baja California - 2010
The Hotel Migrante is an old, abandoned hotel next to the border in Mexicali.  It used to be called the Hotel Centenario, and had a sports bar on the ground floor.  Viviana "Chiques" Cervantes lived at the hotel for several months - otherwise she would have been sleeping in the street.  The sign on the wall warns migrants "Don't Visit Arizona" because of the state's anti-immigrant laws.



Mexicali, Baja California - 2010
A deportee tries to sleep after being deported the previous night.  The Border Patrol puts many people across the border in the hours just after midnight, when no stores or restaurants are open, or taxis or other services available to provide shelter, food or transport.  Volunteers from the Hotel Migrante meet them at the gate on the Mexican side, and take them back to a room where they can sleep.



Nogales, Sonora - 2014
Recently deported people eat and get help at the dining hall run by the Kino Border Initiative in Nogales, near the border wall between Mexico and the U.S.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2014
Luisa, a homeless woman who was deported from the U.S. many years ago, collects cans and plastic from garbage dumpsters, near the Tijuana River in downtown Tijuana, near the U.S. Mexico border.  Regardless of the side of the border on which they live, collecting plastic and cans for recycling is a way people like Luisa, with no money or resources, can eat and survive.



Tijuana, Baja California - 1993
A young worker pulls plastic parts from a plastic molding machine which will be assembled into coathangers for the garment industry, in the maquiladora of Plasticos Bajacal.  Workers tried unsuccessfully to organize an independent, democratic union there in 1993.



Derecho Humanos Barrio, Matamoros, Tamaulipas - 2006
A boy jumps across a rickety bridge over a polluted canal near the U.S. border.  The canal, which is contaminated by toxic chemicals dumped by factories, runs by homes.  Residents, almost all migrants from Oaxaca and southern Mexico,  built the bridge to get from one part of the neighborhood to another.



Tijuana, Baja California - 1996
Francisco Ortiz worked at Ken-Mex, a medical products plant built in Tijuana in the 1980s by Kendall International.  He shared a small house, in a neighborhood below Otay Mesa, with three sons, who lived with him in the front room, with his uncle, his wife and children, and with his mother and grandmother.  One way they shared space was by working different shifts.  Francisco worked during the evening, until 2 a.m.  One son worked days, and another other grave.  Lack of space led them to put their stove on cinderblocks next to the bed where they slept, creating the dangerous possibility that blankets could catch fire.



Blanca Navidad, Tamaulipas - 2006
The extended family of a maquiladora worker. In 2006 the People of the Blanca Navidad community were brutally evicted, when Nuevo Laredo's mayor sent in tractors to demolish their houses; many houses were burned leaving women and children with nothing. El Mañana newspaper exposed the local government and supported the community in their struggle for their land.  A few days later the newspaper was bombed and a reporter was seriously injured. Those responsible for the bombing were never found.



Blanca Navidad, Tamaulipas - 2006
Community leader Blanca Enriquez in the community garden of Blanca Navidad, which was settled by migrants from southern Mexico, looking for land to build a place to live.  Most work in the maquiladoras of Nuevo Laredo.   Before building the garden and a community health center, she said, "we had nothing.  When the government tried to evict us all we had left were tarps and poles, and a few blankets.  The majority of us in this colonia work in the maquiladoras, but regardless of where we work we are from this community, and we all are equal."



Tijuana, Baja California - 2017
Adriana Arzola, her sister and her baby Nayeli Santana talk with her family living in the U.S. through the bars of the wall.  On the U.S. side, her family has to stay several feet away from the wall, so they can't touch each other through the bars.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2016
On the Mexican side of the border wall between Mexico and the U.S. Hector Barajas and veterans of U.S. military service who have been deported gather to protest, and to remember those who died.  Their names are written on the bars of the wall.  This takes place every Sunday at the Parque de Amistad, or Friendship Park, in Playas de Tijuana.



Tijuana, Baja California - 1996
A worker looks over the fence between Mexico and the U.S., trying to find a moment when the Border Patrol may not be looking so that he can go through the hole under it and cross.  A Nahuatl legend says that when people go to the underworld, a dog guides them.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2016
On the Mexican side of the border a man stares through the bars into the U.S.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2000
An individual memorial left by a family, remembering someone who died at this place along the wall.



Holtville, Imperial Valley, California - 2010
Migrants found dead on the border between the U.S. and Mexico, in the area of the Imperial Valley and Colorado River, are buried in a potters field graveyard in Holtville.  The identities of many are not known, and are buried as "John Doe" or "Jane Doe."  Immigrant rights and religious activists have made crosses for many of the graves of migrants, most of which say "No Olvidados" or "Not Forgotten."  About 450 bodies were buried here as of 2010.



Tijuana, Baja California - 2017
On the Mexican side of the border wall between Mexico and the U.S. families greet other family members on the U.S. side.  This takes place every Sunday at the Parque de Amistad, or Friendship Park, in Playas de Tijuana, the neighborhood of Tijuana where the wall runs into the Pacific Ocean.  Catelina Cespedes, Carlos Alcaide and Teodolo Torres came from Santa Monica Cohetzala in Puebla to meet their family members on the other side of the wall.

Tuesday, September 3, 2019

STREET SCENES IN MANILA

STREET SCENES IN MANILA
Photographs by David Bacon - 8/31/19



These photographs were taken on the streets of Manila in Ermita, Intramuros and around Rizal Park.  People live in the street in Manila much more than in the U.S. - it's more like a city in Mexico, for instance.  Some images show the recruitment of sailors in a shape up next to the park - Filipinos make up a larger percentage of ocean-going sailors than any other nationality.  Others show workers laying bricks, or driving jeepneys and pedicabs.  People go to church, which is sometimes in the street as well.

For a full selection of photographs, click here: 
https://www.flickr.com/photos/56646659@N05/albums/72157710680926848


















Wednesday, August 28, 2019

IN MEXICO, A NEW DAWN FOR INDEPENDENT UNIONS?

IN MEXICO, A NEW DAWN FOR INDEPENDENT UNIONS?
By David Bacon
NACLA Report on the Americas, 7/2019
https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/10714839.2019.1650507


In his speech to Mexican Congress during his December 1, 2018 inauguration, President Andrés Manuel López Obrador charged that 36 years of neoliberal economic reforms had lowered the purchasing power of Mexico's minimum wage (now worth about $4 U.S. per day) by 60 percent. "Neoliberal economic policy has been a disaster, a calamity for the public life of the country," he charged. "During the neoliberal period we became the country with the second highest rate of migration in the world-24 million Mexicans, living and working in the United States... We will put aside the neoliberal hypocrisy. Those born poor will not be condemned to die poor."

At the end of April of this year the new government took one step toward undoing this neoliberal inheritance, when the Chamber of Deputies and then the Senate passed a labor law reform bill proposed by López Obrador's party, the National Regeneration Movement (MORENA).

Workers and independent and progressive unions in Mexico have high hopes that the new government will undo many of the policies that have tilted the economic and political playing field sharply toward corporations. Labor law reform is just one component of such a process, but the debate around it highlights the extent to which conditions for workers and unions have deteriorated in three decades, and their impatience to reverse course.



People greet the inauguration of President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador.


The new labor reform deals primarily with the rights of unions and the workers that comprise them. For more than half a century, a set of established, conservative ("charro") unions have been tied to the government and the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), which ruled for most of that time. In return for political support, "charro" leaders held office sometimes for life, with no accountability to their members. Labor boards made up of representatives of conservative unions, employers, and a pro-employer government made it extremely difficult for workers to form independent organizations. In thousands of workplaces, "charro" unions and employers negotiated secret "protection" contracts guaranteeing labor peace. Whenever workers would try to organize independently to win better wages and conditions, employers would usually claim a "protection" union already represented them, which would pose an enormous legal obstacle to the workers in any attempts to establish their own unions.

In the quarter century since the negotiation of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), however, independent and progressive unions have grown despite the obstacles. The strength of the old unions, meanwhile, appears increasingly hollow as their membership declines.

Achievements and Limits of the New Labor Reform

The MORENA labor law reform drastically changes practices of collective bargaining and internal union life. Leaders must now be elected by direct, secret ballot, making them more accountable to members. Contracts must be public, and members must have the right to vote on them. Unions that don't comply will lose their legal status. And labor tribunals-as part of the judicial system-will replace the old pro-company labor boards. The law explicitly covers domestic workers, but not agricultural workers.

The near-unanimous votes in both chambers in favor of the reform demonstrated just how badly the old unions had lost power in last July's presidential election. Carlos Aceves del Olmo, the head of the largest "charro" union, the Confederación de Trabajadores de México (Confederation of Mexican Workers, CTM) called the law "impossible to implement." He fumed that the new Secretary of Labor Luisa Maria Alcalde ,was just a puppet of her father Arturo Alcalde, one of Mexico's most respected labor lawyers. She was "hiding reality" from President López Obrador, Aceves charged.

Another old-line official, Rodolfo González Guzmán of the similarly-named Confederación Revolucionaria de Trabajadores (Revolutionary Confederation of Mexican Workers, CRT) threatened that the new law would lead to the "fragmentation" of the labor movement. But a third, Isaias Gonzalez, a member of the Chamber of Deputies and leader of the Confederación Regional Obrera Mexicana (Revolutionary Confederation of Workers and Peasants, CROM), reluctantly admitted that "times have changed and unions can no long oppose free elections."

Some progressive unions, however, felt the reform didn't go far enough- in part because it did not reverse a fundamental change in Mexican labor law made in 2012 under then-President Felipe Calderón. The 2012 reform allows companies to outsource, or subcontract, jobs, which was previously banned. It allows no-cause termination during workers' first six months on a job, and allows for part-time and temporary work and hourly pay rather than day-long rates. Workers can be terminated without cause during their first six months on the job.

"All of the independent unions support the changes in the new MORENA law, but many say they're not enough," according to Hector de la Cueva, director of the Independent Center for Labor Investigation and Union Research (CILAS). The law's critics include unions for telephone workers, electrical workers, and employees at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. "The changes deal with the collective rights of workers," de la Cueva explains., "Bbut in terms of their individual rights, workers are still vulnerable. Unions argue that if there are no changes in the labor law of 2012, union rights will be affected as well."

In just one example of the consequences of the 2012 law, Grupo México, one of the world's largest mining companies, was able to replaced strikers at the huge Cananea mine in Sonora by contracting out their jobs. Inexperienced replacements died in mining accidents, and allowed a huge spill of toxic mine tailings into the Sonora River, contaminating communities and sickening residents. Nevertheless, the miners' union supports the MORENA reform, in part because its leader, Napoleon Gómez Urrutia, was elected a MORENA senator.

At the time of its passage, Arturo Alcalde called the 2012 reforms "an open invitation to employers, and a road to a paradise of firings." Subcontracting proliferated. In Mexico City alone, 22% of the labor force, or about 800,000 workers, are now subcontracted.



Benedicto Martinez, former general secretary of the Authentic Workers Front, fought for many years for reforms to Mexico's labor law.


According to Benedicto Martínez, co-president of the independent union federation, the Frente Auténtico del Trabajo (Authentic Labor Front, FAT), "The motivation of the government, assisted by corporate unions, was to encourage the layoff of longtime employees, who could be replaced by subcontracted workers. There are companies now where all the workers are subcontracted, who have no employees of their own at all. The conditions are very low, just slightly above the legal minimum, and sometimes below." The FAT also supports the MORENA reform.

"The government and Congress say that there will be another period of discussion of the second stage of reform, beginning in September, but nobody really knows if this will happen," de la Cueva warned. "The companies are very unhappy even with the current reform, so it will really depend on what happens in society at large."

Other unions would like to address additional issues. University workers, for instance, can't organize a national union, so each their unions are tied to a single institution. At the Autonomous University of Mexico (UAM), workers had been on strike for almost three months by the end of April. University authorities, apparently unworried about the new pro-labor atmosphere, told the Union of the Workers at UAM (SITUAM) that they'd put their best offer on the table, but wouldn't negotiate any further.

In addition, the new law sets out a period of four years before the labor tribunals will replace the old labor boards. During that period a growing number of workers will undoubtedly demand elections for their leaders, and will petition for legal recognition of new unions.  Moving forward, Labor Secretary Luisa Alcalde set up the Coordinating Council of representatives of government bodies, including the courts and others, to plan the implementation of the labor law reform.  She set up as well a new agency called the National Center for Conciliation and Union Registry.  The old charro unions are continuing their protests, and in Chihuahua the CTM went to court to get an order to stop the implementation of the law entirely.

There is no budget yet for the new tribunals, however, and setting them up and training their personnel will be very costly. As a result, AFL-CIO's President Richard Trumka to refuse to support the labor provisions of the new U.S., Mexico, Canada Trade Treaty. "Sham unions," Trumka charged, have signed 700,000 'protection' contracts. "That means that they'll have to change 175,000 [leaders] a year over the four years that they've been given in the agreement and they'll have to have 175,000 elections," he told the Economic Club of Washington. "We want to see their ability to do that."

It's unlikely that all workers under those contracts would ask for those elections all at once. But the pressure on the "charro" unions is growing. "There were many negotiating points in the [USMCA] trade negotiations, but one of the most important was the labor section," de la Cueva believes. "That made the changes necessary, the most basic of which was ending the system of company unions. The current reform will have a big impact. One effect will be the democratization of 'charro' unions, and independent unions are preparing to take advantage of the new situation. It will be good for independent and new unions. There will be a new wave of workers' struggles-in fact it's already happening."

Reforming the Maquiladoras

López Obrador himself was responsible for the first wave of such demands, when in his inauguration speech he promised to double the minimum wage on the U.S.-Mexico border. Keeping his word, on January 1 he raised that wage from 88.36 pesos ($4.63) per day to 176.72 pesos ($9.25) per day. Then in January and February, taking the promise seriously, over 40,000 of the 70,000 maquiladora workers in Matamoros plants walked off their jobs demanding its fulfillment.

The maquiladoras are foreign-owned factories that manufacture goods destined for sale in the United States, the product of an economic development policy begun by the Mexican government in 1964. The attraction for foreign companies has been a wage level far below that of workers just a few miles north in the U.S., and the lax enforcement of environmental and worker protection laws, thereby ushering in increased profitability for manufacturing. Along the border today, more than two million workers labor in these factories.

In January, Matamoros factory owners declared that they would not increase their workers' wages because they were already making what López Obrador had ordered. According to Juan Villafuerte Morales, General Secretary of the Union for Workers in the Maquiladora Industry, workers were earning between 156 and 177 pesos per day. Villafuerte's union is part of the CTM. On the border, CTM unions have acted as labor enforcers for the government policy of using low wages to attract foreign investment.

However, Julia Quiñones, director of the Border Committee of Women Workers in Ciudad Acuña, says employers were playing tricks in the way they calculate wages. "The base wage in most maquiladoras is 90-100 pesos. But workers also earn a number of bonuses-for productivity, attendance, transportation, and other reasons. They depend completely on these bonuses. When the workers said their base wage should be doubled, as the government promised, the companies said they'd eliminate the bonuses and the result would be the same as not raising the wages at all."

Matamoros' unique labor history made it unlikely that workers would accept such tricks. Older workers remember the pre-NAFTA era when their wages were much higher, and when the CTM union was run by a more militant leader, Agapito González Cavazos. From the late 1950s to the late 1980s, the period in which the maquiladora industry mushroomed, the Matamoros maquiladora union had 50,000 to 60,000 members. In the 1970s, when the national minimum wage was 140 pesos (then worth $11.20), in Matamoros it was 198 pesos ($15.84). In 1983, González negotiated a famous agreement with a 43 percent salary increase, and an arrangement in which workers were paid for 56 hours of labor, but only worked a 40-hour week.



Busses that will take maquiladora workers to work, or to the border crossing, in the workers' neighborhood of Derechos Humanos in Matamoros.


González Cavazos opposed the neoliberal reforms of then-President Carlos Salinas de Gortari, which included privatizing national enterprises, ending land reform, and preparing the ground for NAFTA. In February 1992, as NAFTA's terms were being finalized, Salinas had him jailed. At the time, González Cavazos was negotiating union contracts with 42 companies, including General Motors. Both the United Auto Workers and the AFL-CIO in the United States protested his arrest.

In the NAFTA era that followed, labor opposition weakened and wages fell drastically. In 1992, just before the agreement was ratified, González Cavazos was demanding the equivalent of $19.50 per day. Today's minimum wage, even after being doubled by López Obrador, is $9.27. The workweek has gone back up from 40 hours to 48 hours in most factories. Making matters worse, while Matamoros's maquiladora wages aren't the lowest in Mexico, the cost of living on the border is much higher than in the rest of the country.

In fact, the price of many basic necessities is actually higher in supermarkets in Mexican border cities like Matamoros and Tijuana than it is just across the line in Brownsville and San Diego. A woman on the assembly line in Tijuana has to labor for half a day to earn enough to buy a gallon of milk. Prices have been rising rapidly in Matamoros, according to the Tamaulipas office of Mexico's Federal Consumer Affairs Prosecutor. A pound of serrano chiles now costs 55 pesos, more than half a day's wage at 88 pesos.

Delfina Martínez, a worker at Trico Componentes, which makes auto parts for AutoZone and other U.S. retailers, told reporter Julia Le Duc of the Mexico City daily La Jornada that she was overjoyed when she heard about López Obrador's promised wage increase. But "then the union delegate told us that we didn't qualify." Instead, she discovered in her paycheck that the company had raised her wages by just five pesos a day. Then she found out it wasn't going to pay the 3,000-peso annual bonus either. Instead of helping her, the Federal decree raising the minimum wage "gave a pretext to the factory to not pay us what we'd normally get every January ... We went to the union, and on Saturday we put up the red and black strike flags."

Matamoros workers organized wildcat walkouts to pressure factories into raising wages and the aguinaldo, an additional month's pay companies are obligated by law to give workers at the end of the year. Soon, work stopped in many plants, especially those producing auto parts for U.S. assembly plants. According to the Matamoros Maquiladora Association, companies lost $100 million in the first ten days.

Thousands of workers marched through the streets of Matamoros in January and February, and angrily accused Villafuerte of caving in to company demands. Many organized an independent network, called the Workers Movement of Matamoros. The groundswell forced Villafuerte to announce an official strike for a 20 percent increase in pay, and an increase in the productivity bonus from 3,500 pesos (about $175) yearly to 32,000 pesos (about $1600). On January 24, the union's members walked out of the 45 factories covered by its contract with the maquiladora owners.

Rolando González Barron, a leader of the employers' association, called the workers "ignorant" and threatened to fire them if they participated in strikes. Recalcitrant employers blamed the conflict on Susana Prieto Terrazas, an attorney from Juarez helping the strikers, calling her an outside agitator. Employers also accused the miners' union of supporting the strikers. Nevertheless, within days almost all gave in, to get their workers to return to the assembly lines. Another CTM union also declared a strike and won increases.

It wasn't total victory for workers, however. There were violent attacks on workers in at least three factories in March. Coca-Cola fired many workers, and then reopened its bottling plant after being struck for 50 days.

The new labor law reform, therefore, may therefore face some of its first tests in Matamoros, in elections for office in the CTM unions. Indeed, maquiladora elections have a violent history. Twenty-five years ago, when Martha Ojeda ran for president of the CTM local in the huge Sony plant in Nuevo Laredo, CTM officials rigged the process. Workers walked out of the plant in protest, and were beaten and driven from the gates with fire hoses. Workers smuggled Ojeda herself across the border to Texas to escape arrest. She later became the director of the Coalition for Justice in the Maquiladoras, which has since assisted workers in many subsequent organizing efforts.

In 2015, thousands of farm workers went on strike against U.S. companies in Baja California. In response, police fired on crowds and terrorized worker neighborhoods where workers lived. Instead of recognizing workers' new independent union, however, growers signed "protection" contracts with the CTM, certified by the local labor board. Strikers were blacklisted. Later that year workers tried to register an independent union in four factories in Ciudad Juarez. Some 120 workers making ink cartridges for Lexmark were fired, as were another 170 at ADC Commscope, and many more at Foxconn and Eaton.

Last November, workers were preparing to vote on the miners' union as their representative at the giant PKC wire harness plant in Ciudad Acuña, just two days before López Obrador took office. CTM rioters marched into the facility, shouting "¡Mineros Afuera!" [Miners' Union Out!] They overturned ballot boxes, had the election canceled, and had minero representatives beaten. The mineros did win an election at the Teksid factory in Monclova, but the company refused to negotiate and in April fired 176 union members.

"There is a lot of resistance to the new reform," says de la Cueva. "At one recent struggle at a tire factory in Monterrey pistoleros came to scare the workers. There are still the bands of golpeadores [paid rioters that beat people] that show up during labor conflicts. It's unclear that the government will be able to stop these mafiosos."

The situation everywhere on the border is changing rapidly, in part because of rising expectations. The López Obrador administration and Labor Secretary Alcalde now have to ensure that the law keeps those abuses from being repeated. Quiñones feels the López Obrador administration was slow to support workers in the streets of Matamoros. "I expected more," she said. "Workers are tired of abuse and exploitation, and if they can see some hope for change, they will act."

Reforming Education

Alongside the new labor law and reforms to the minimum wage, López Obrador has also moved to shift another reform enacted by his predecessors-the education reform that mandated standardized testing for students, and testing and firing of teachers as well. That reform was fought by teachers for many years in massive teacher strikes. Government repression eventually culminated in a massacre in Nochixtlan, Oaxaca, in June 2016, in which nine people were gunned down by federal and state police.

The disappearance and murder of 43 students from the Ayotzinapa teacher training school in September 2014 was also related to the corporate education reform program. Their school had a reputation for turning out radical teachers, as do many rural training schools like it, which were established in the wake of the Mexican Revolution. Their students often came from some of the poorest families in the countryside. Claudio X. González Guajardo, cofounder of the Televisa Foundation and the Mexicanos Primeros corporate education reform lobby called the training schools "a swarm of politics and shouting" and demanded the government replace them with private institutions. Following López Obrador's inaugural speech, González tweeted, "AMLO - Against the free market, against the energy reform, a retrograde, statist, interventionist, stagnant vision. The markets will react negatively. It will go very badly with us, very badly. A shame."



Teachers march to oppose the corporate education reform.


In his address, López Obrador had promised, "The so-called education reform will be canceled, the right to free education in Article 3 of the Constitution will be guaranteed at all levels of schooling, and the government will never again offend teachers. The disappearance of Ayotzinapa's youth will be thoroughly investigated; the truth will be known and those responsible will be punished." In meetings with the national democratic teachers 'caucus, he also promised free elections in their union, the largest in Latin America. Eliminating the authoritarian group that has held power in the union for decades could shift the balance between the left and right in Mexico's institutional politics.

But while the MORENA labor reform swept through the Mexican Congress, the repeal of the neoliberal education reform was derailed in the Senate. López Obrador then issued a memorandum saying that the education reform would no longer be in effect, a move immediately challenged by the conservative parties who passed it under the administration of former pPresident Peña Nieto.

Teachers unions from Oaxaca and other states withdrew from their encampment outside the Chamber of Deputies, but then organized large May Day marches demanding that López Obrador live up to his commitment to nullify the education reform. Pedro Gómez Bamaca of the Chiapas teachers' union called for "unity that will defend us from the continuation of the neoliberal model." He charged that the MORENA senators who failed to repeal the reform had actually voted to pass it, back when they'd been members of Peña Nieto's party. "Now they paint themselves like MORENA, but they're the same people," Gómez said bitterly. This is going to be a long hard battle, but in Chiapas we're ready for it."


López Obrador condemned in his inauguration speech the way the living standards of workers plummeted over three decades, as the government used low wages to attract investment, and deliberately set increases in the minimum wage below the inflation rate. "In this [neoliberal] period, the purchasing power of the minimum wage deteriorated by 60 percent, and the salary of Mexicans is now among the lowest on the planet," he charged.

While rising expectations create enormous pressure for change, reversing the deterioration of workers' rights in Mexico trend will not be easy, as events in Matamoros demonstrated. "It is very doubtful if workers will be able to make up for the salary losses they've experienced, or the changes in their conditions of work," de la Cueva predicts. And despite the official pronouncements of its supporters, "there's no guarantee that T-Mex [the new NAFTA] will have any impact on this at all."

In addition to delivering on promises to workers, López Obrador believes that reversing the neoliberal direction also requires rescuing national enterprises. The Federal Electricity Commission, for instance, now provides power to all of Mexico after ex-President Calderon dissolved the Power and Light Company of Central Mexico in order to destroy its union, the Mexican Electrical Workers. But the CFE is close to bankruptcy, under the weight of unfavorable and corrupt contracts signed with foreign companies.

PEMEX, the national oil monopoly that contributes to a large part of Mexico's budget, is also in deep financial trouble. Production is declining. López Obrador promised to build another refinery to make Mexico once again self-sufficient in gasoline-it now imports gas from the United States-and to boost oil production.

Both enterprises were victims of decades of private deals and rake offs. "The hallmark of neoliberalism is corruption," López Obrador charged. " In the last three decades the highest authorities have dedicated themselves to giving concessions to the territory and transferring companies and public goods, even functions of the state, to national and foreign individuals ... The government will no longer facilitate looting, and will no longer be a committee in the service of a rapacious minority."

The leaders of the oil union, one of the pillars of Mexico's old ruling PRI, themselves ran businesses that siphoned money from the parent company. In the political space opened by the last election and the labor reform, opposition groups are appearing in the union.  "But it still has a very real control over the workers," de la Cueva warns. "The democratic currents are not strong, and some think that linking their groups to MORENA will defeat the 'charros', but it's not that easy."



Humberto Montes de Oca, a leader of the Mexican Electrical Workers, wears the insignia of the union's new cooperative.


As López Obrador looks for the money needed to accomplish his goals, his administration is vulnerable to pressure from the investors he needs. De la Cueva calls the administration's policy an "equilibrium" between big capital and the unions. And since production for export is now the base of the economy, Mexico depends on a continual flow of goods moving north. When U.S. President Trump threatens to close the border, or even to slow down the traffic, the threat to the Mexican economy is real.

Some of the biggest labor battles the administration inherited from its predecessors, therefore, may not be settled quickly. In Cananea, for instance, where a worker uprising heralded the coming Mexican Revolution in 1906, the miner's union has been locked in a strike against Grupo Mexico for a decade. Workers clearly hoped that with López Obrador in the presidency, and Gómez Urrutia a senator from their home state, the company would be forced into a resolution. The communities on the Sonora River, who were poisoned by the toxic spill seven years ago-one of the worst environmental disasters in Mexico's history-also hoped the government would finally weigh in against Grupo Mexico.

"But the government doesn't want a big conflict with powerful corporations right now," de la Cueva says. "It's doing a balancing act. Napoleon [Gómez Urrutia] is in the Senate, but that doesn't mean that the government will support the mineros. Events there will happen very slowly."

Miners aren't willing to simply wait for these changes. In recent months, the union organized a new labor federation, the International Confederation of Workers (CIT), with 150 member unions. Gómez Urrutia says the new federation isn't directed at the CTM, but some CTM leaders, he charges, run their unions like their personal property, in complicity with the employers. He points to the those who sent the hired men in to disrupt the union election at PKC, or who furnished the strikebreakers in Cananea.

The CIT joints two other federations of independent unions. The National Union of Workers (UNT) was organized in the 1990s by the telephone workers, the FAT, and other unions breaking away from the old labor structure. It began proposing labor law reforms like that recently passed by the Congress over two decades ago. The Mexican Electrical Workers (SME) organized the New Workers' Center in 2014, along with the progressive caucus of the teachers' union and the union now on strike at the National Autonomous University (SITUAM). It also includes the National Confederation of Retirees, the most left-wing of the three, and one of Mexico's oldest and largest cooperatives at the Pascual soda bottling plant.

The UNT National Union of Workers recently proposed a convention of all three federations, not in order to merge, but to find ways of working together. All three supported López Obrador's election, although often through the work of their members rather than the kind of formal endorsement familiar in the United States. Yet to one degree or another, they all feel that the administration has a cool attitude toward them.  In part, this reflects a history in which the "charro" unions were organizationally tied to the government and the PRI, and workers had to belong to the PRI in order to work. Progressive unions don't want to return to those days any more than does López Obrador.

"The government isn't putting much attention on social organizations like unions," de la Cueva explains. "López Obrador's intention is to be the 'president of the people' directly, rather than through intermediary organizations."

Despite the challenges, however, Deputy Labor Secretary Alfredo Domínguez Marrufo believes that the administration and independent unions share the same goals. "Today many workers live in poverty, on one or two dollars a day," he says. "This is the fundamental problem. But we're not just fighting for an economic goal, not just for decent wages, but for the revitalization of the democratic life of workers, of our unions and the organizations we belong to."



Deputy Labor Secretary Alfredo Domínguez Marrufo


David Bacon is a California writer and photographer, and former union organizer. He has written about Mexican labor and politics for 30 years. He is the author of The Children of NAFTA (UC Press, 2004), The Right to Stay Home (Beacon Press, 2013), and most recently In the Fields of the North / En los campos del norte (Colegio de la Frontera Norte and UC Press, 2017).