Just after visiting the almost exclusively female town of El Carmen––a small, rural Zapotec pueblo, whose men have mostly all migrated to Mexican and U.S. cities in search of work—we traveled East to another Zapotec town that felt very different: Teotitlan de Valle. From what we saw of both towns (which certainly was not “the whole picture” and left me with much speculation), Teotitlan de Valle felt more populated, urbanized, and tourist-based than El Carmen. Yet, in both towns we saw women coming together to organize both formal and informal systems of social and economic support.
Teotitlan de Valle is home to Vida Nueva, a 14-year old women’s weaving cooperative. At its formation, Vida Nueva comprised 30 women and instigated town uproar. Men and husbands, fearful of shifting gender roles, made their opposition clear: women had no place organizing and assembling together. A women’s place is in the house. And as a result, many women left the coop. Now, Vida Nueva has 14 members, only two of which are married. The cooperative has worked hard to gain acceptance and respect within their community.
I want to start off by saying that the weavers of Vida Nueva were inspiring both as artists and organizers. However, our visit brought up many more questions than it did answers, perhaps due to the short duration of our visit. When we arrived, a group of about six Vida Nueva members gave us a brief history of the cooperative, and then an overview of their annual community projects. A few topics in particular brought up the majority of my questions: 1. The women explained that, at one point, the coop had sought government support. In exchange, however, the women of Vida Nueva were required to show support for the PRI (Partido Revoluccionario Institucional), a powerful Mexican political party. 2. The coop members also described talleres, or educational workshops, in which they were required to participate. These included classes in Spanish-language, self-esteem, and sexual health, to name a few. The women spoke with enthusiasm about the benefits of these workshops--for them as individuals and as an organization—however, their explanations were somewhat vague, and I couldn’t help but leave the talk wanting to know more.
So here are some (among many) questions I left thinking about:
1. Was the agency and voice of these women being influenced by a political party or some sort of development scheme?
2. Who was running these “educational workshops”: Oportunidades (aka the government)? Outsider NGOs?
3. How did these “educational workshops” conflict with and/or compliment traditional Zapotec knowledge, traditions, and practices, and how come such age-old knowledge is now considered insufficient (when it has previously fostered successfully self-sustaining communities for thousands of years)?
4. How did our group identity as white U.S. citizens with varying Spanish-speaking abilities affect the information we received and how we received it?
5. How did our affiliation with UniTierra shape the information we received and how we received it?
6. There were several Vida Nueva members present at the talk, although one woman mainly spoke to us. How would have hearing different/more voices changed the information we received about the cooperative?
7. How has cultural imperialism and Western-style feminism affected my own definition of “gender equality,” and the definitions of women at Vida Nueva? How are these definitions similar or different?
A few of the Vida Nueva women spoke to us briefly about Usos y Costumbres. They explained that as their community projects have proven successful, and subsequently, gained respect for the cooperative, Vida Nueva women have been given a voice in the assembly (traditionally only open to men). Some of the women appeared happy to finally be given a voice in community decision-making, yet once again, I wished I had had more time to speak with the women and learn more about the complexities of their lives and opinions.
Reading a chapter from Silvia Federici’s book, “Caliban and the Witch: Women, The Body, and Primitive Accumulation,” for class this week made me think back on our visit to Vida Nueva and our discussion on the coop members’ new role in the assembly. Federici’s book describes the erosion of women’s rights and the exploitation and commodification of the female-body in the “transition” to European capitalism. By the end of the 17th century in Europe, Federici explains,
“It was even argued that any work that women did at home was ‘non-work’ and was worthless even when done for the market. Thus, if a woman sewed some clothes it was ‘domestic work’ or ‘housekeeping,’ even if the clothes were not for the family, whereas when a man did the same task it was considered ‘productive’” (Caliban and the Witch, 92).
As women were restricted to domestic labor, their work––or “non-work”––was simultaneously devalued.
I am curious how this relates to the women at Vida Nueva and their role in the assembly. Now, not only do they do their “non-work” in the home and their work at the cooperative, but also they additionally have the new responsibility of assembly member. It would seems, then, that they have three times the responsibility as many of the men in the community. Of course this is not to say that women shouldn’t have a voice in the assembly––because I believe that they absolutely should––but rather that “gender inequality” is multi-layered and historically based. It could be said that gaining voice in the assembly addresses a symptom of gender inequality, rather than its root causes.
In addressing my many questions on the topic of Vida Nueva, I have only produced more questions. But what I speculate is this: in part, Vida Nueva was formed in response to insecurity. It is a cooperative of female resistance––to the affects of gender oppression, migration, globalization, and exploitative development schemes. Indeed, these women were once laughed at by their peers, and seen as devious and plotting. They have fought and continue to fight for their social and economic independence, although resistance is neither simple nor black-and-white. It was an honor to be in Teotitlan de Valle in solidarity with these women.
Additionally, we were lucky enough to participate in a group limpia, or “cleansing.” By candle-light, we were each given a pile of aromatherapeutic plants (covered in mezcal) to rub into key points on our bodies, stimulating our skin and internal self-curative abilities. We then came together in a circle, holding and supporting one another as we breathed in the fragrant heat of copal and felt a cool splash on the back of our necks. Then: time alone, to sit in silence with our newly cleansed bodies. During the limpia, we were given the time and space to let the strength of community help heal such ailments as fear and stress. Our limpia was also about self-care, a practice and value so often overlooked in Western-style modern medicine.
Last, but certainly not least, I must not forget to mention the mole riquísimo that the women made for us. This meal––of chocolaty mole, chicken, and Oaxaca’s famous quesillo––was by far the best food I ate during my time in Oaxaca.
No comments:
Post a Comment