Donate Now Samuel Loewenberg, for the Pulitzer Center
Los Chorros, Chiapas
We had not intended on visiting the Zapatistas. I was headed deep into the highlands of Chiapas to learn about the region's tuberculosis problem. It is a major problem here in this southernmost state, which is also among its poorest. There were 18,210 new TB cases in the country in 2008. Deaths from the disease occur in more than 5 percent of cases in Chiapas, compared with an average of 2 percent in the rest of the country. More than 500 of the diagnosed TB cases were multi-drug resistant, which is the scariest kind of TB because it is extremely difficult to treat.
TB is known as a disease of poverty, passed between people living in overcrowded, dark, dirty conditions with little ventilation. Multi-drug resistant TB (MDR-TB) is usually a sign that the existing health system isn't working, which governments are often loath to admit, say health advocates. The researcher Héctor Javier Sánchez Pérez, of the El Colegio de la Frontera Sur in Chiapas, estimates that the real rate of MDR-TB is more than 14 percent of cases in Chiapas, which is more than three times the official estimate.
The trip deep into the mountains outside of San Cristobal de las Casas had taken us through winding mountain roads, and then on to a dirt track down into a lush valley to the community of Los Chorros.
Along the side of the road were signs painted retaining walls, warning about tuberculosis, cervical cancer, H1N1, and maternal mortality. The government sponsored public health messages were a sharp contrast to the rudimentary infrastructure in the communities we were passing, mostly huts with thatched or tins roofs, and without running water or sanitation. As we got deeper into the mountains we came upon a green painted building advertising traditional medicine. Inside, a shy indigenous woman displayed herbal and plant treatments for everything from asthma to cholera.
I was traveling with some local public health advocates to visit a woman, Marcela, who had contracted TB but, who, allegedly, had not received the correct medical care. This is especially dangerous because if TB is not treated correctly, it can not only be passed on to others, but can develop into MDR-TB. When we finally arrived at her house, a small concrete structure along a dirt road perched atop a small hill, we found only her ten year old son, Jose, sitting by himself outside on a chair. Four or five tiny puppies played in the dirt next to him, none of which looked particularly healthy (which seems to be common with dogs in Mexico). Jose said his mother was out working in the fields, but he didn't know where she was or when she'd be back. He told us that after his mother was diagnosed with TB, he developed some kind of ganglia on his neck.
As we were leaving we came upon Marcela with another of her sons, riding on a donkey. Like many indigenous people in the region, Marcela did not speak Spanish, so I had come with a translator who spoke her language of Tzotzil. She told us that when she was diagnosed she was given medicine for herself but was never given prophylactic drugs to keep her children from getting sick. Her 12 year old son, Fidencio, also developed a growth, near his eye. It was removed as well. The tests to see if the ganglia were caused by TB were inconclusive, but it becomes clear from talking with Marcela that she did not receive the intensive and closely monitored therapy that is mandated by the World Health Organization - not surprising given the rough conditions in which she lives.
On the way back to San Cristobal our car breaks down. As luck would have it, this happens right in the middle of a Zapatista village. There is a large church that's painted with amazing murals, including one of a woman, perhaps the Virgin Mary, wearing a bandanna across her face, with a dove in one and a rifle slung on her back. The community itself is entered through a large gate, through which pass villagers and laughing barefoot children, as well as the occasional chicken.
The Zapatistas haven't been in the news much lately, but at their height they were the hippest revolutionary movement around. Their leader, Subcommandante Marcos, was considered a paragon of post-modern panache. After the armed rebels took San Cristobal in 1994, he was said to said "Pardon the bother, this is a revolution." Now, the group is still active, controlling a handful of autonomous communities, like the one we've come across. I say "control," but there is a small Mexican military base up the road, so not sure how that works.
I have heard that the Zapatistas have become bogged down by inefficiency and bureaucracy, and it does seem to be the case here. I try to get the expressionless (as far as I could tell - he had a bandanna over his face) guard to allow me in the compound for more than an hour, or at least to talk to the chief of the community, but despite repeated back and forth I get nowhere, other than being told that I can travel three hours away to Zapatista headquarters to get permission to visit. Maybe next time.