Showing posts with label President. Show all posts
Showing posts with label President. Show all posts

December 19, 2019

Political Report # 1430 Demonstrators in Haiti are Fighting For an Uncertain Future






Political Report # 1430

Demonstrators in Haiti are Fighting For an Uncertain Future


Early in his term as President of Haiti, in a cartoon that was either meant to caution or mock him, Jovenel Moïse is shown dressed as a Haitian superhero. Eyes closed, he’s standing in the barely lit home of a Haitian family, where he announces that in twenty-three months they will have electricity twenty-four hours a day—even as the father reads a book by candle light and the mother presses clothes with a charcoal-fuelled iron. The couple more or less ignores him while only their baby cheers him on.

In the accompanying article by the journalist Roberson Alphonse, published in Haiti’s Le Nouvelliste newspaper, on August 10, 2017, Moïse is quoted as saying, “When I say the entire country will have electricity twenty-four hours a day in twenty-three months, I will do it.” He added that a President “shouldn’t have to promise that. It’s an obligation, a necessity. A country must have electricity, water, and roads.”

It’s been thirty-two months since Moïse was sworn into office after a contested, fraud-plagued, two-round election cycle in which only eighteen per cent of eligible voters participated. In a country of more than ten million people, about six hundred thousand voted for him. Even before taking his Presidential oath, Moïse was accused by Haiti’s Central Financial Intelligence Unit (ucref) of having laundered millions of dollars. A few months into his term, he fired the director of ucref—a move that probably led to Moïse being cleared of the laundering charges, which he has denied.

Unknown to most Haitians until he was handpicked by his predecessor, Michel Martelly—who also came to power through elections mired in fraud—Moïse was presented as a successful rural businessman from outside Haiti’s political class, a banana exporter nicknamed Nèg Bannann, or Banana Man. Less advertised was that he was also an auto-parts dealer and a supposed road-construction magnate. According to two reports published earlier this year by Haiti’s Superior Court of Auditors and Administrative Disputes, in 2014, before he’d officially become a Presidential candidate, Moïse received more than a million dollars from Martelly’s government, funds that were allocated for road construction and repair in the northern region of the country. The government auditors report that Moïse was paid twice for the same contract, once as the head of Agritrans and again as the leader of another firm, called Betexs. The two firms were listed as having the same staff and projects, as well as the same government patent and tax-identification number. The road for which the money was doubly paid shows no sign of having been constructed or repaired. Moïse also got more than a hundred thousand dollars for another one of his companies, Comphener S.A., to install solar panels on street lamps.

The funds allegedly pilfered in these schemes came from Venezuela’s Petrocaribe oil program, which Haiti joined in 2006. Through the Petrocaribe agreement, the Haitian government bought oil from Venezuela, paid sixty per cent of the purchase price within ninety days, then deferred the rest of the debt, at a one-per-cent interest rate, over twenty-five years. The Haitian government controlled the sale of the oil and was supposed to use those funds for development projects, including infrastructure, agriculture, education, sanitation, and health. This debt to Venezuela has grown to almost two billion dollars over the past decade.

On July 6, 2018, Moïse’s government announced that it was raising the price of gasoline, diesel, and kerosene between thirty-eight and fifty-one per cent, in order to qualify for low-interest loans from the International Monetary Fund. Huge nationwide demonstrations followed. I was in Haiti at the time, and it was clear that most Haitians were fed up with all the corruption, as well as Moïse’s ineptitude at addressing the country’s urgent problems. His silence and disappearance during difficult times has not worked in his favor, either.

In the summer of 2018, Haiti was already facing high rates of unemployment, rising inflation, a growing budget deficit, currency devaluation, and spikes in gang violence, all of which have grown considerably worse in the past year. Moïse’s government reversed its decision on the gas hike after twenty-four hours, but the protests continued. They were later amplified by the Petrochallengers, mostly young Haitians who started demanding accountability for the Petrocaribe funds, on the streets, and online.

On November 13, 2018, seventy-three men, women, and children were wounded, tortured, hacked with machetes, and set on fire in La Saline, an impoverished neighborhood of Port-au-Prince where residents had participated in Petrocaribe protests. Among them, fifty-nine were reportedly killed. Seven women were raped, and many houses were ransacked or burned, according to the Réseau National de Défense des Droits Humains. Witnesses accused two top government officials close to Moïse, Joseph Pierre Richard Duplan and Fednel Monchéry, of having been among those who helped to plan the La Saline massacre and providing area gang members with weapons and police uniforms. Both men, who have denied the allegations, remained in the government's employ—Monchéry as the executive director of the interior ministry, and Duplan as Moïse’s representative for La Saline and the surrounding area—until a few weeks ago, when they were fired by Moïse as the protests intensified. Moïse has not directly denounced the La Saline massacre, nor has his government sought to prosecute any of the perpetrators. The government has also not provided any medical, financial, or security support to the survivors. The killings in La Saline reminded Haitians—especially those living in destitute, gang-controlled areas—what can happen when people in power want their resistance smashed.

In February, 2019, the frequency and size of the protests grew, starting on the second anniversary of Moïse’s inauguration and the thirty-third anniversary of the end of the thirty-year Duvalier dictatorship. Schools and businesses were closed for ten days and public transportation was generally halted in what became known as peyi lòk, or Operation Lockdown. During peyi lòk, thirty-four people were reported to have died and a hundred and two injured. Venezuela, which is dealing with its own political and economic crisis, is no longer providing discounted fuel to Haiti, so the Haitian government now buys fuel from U.S.-based energy traders, to whom the government has been chronically in arrears. This led to recurring blackouts and gas shortages this past summer.

Peyi lòk returned in full force in September, in the midst of a widespread fuel shortage. Haiti has now been on lockdown for a month, with large demonstrations taking place almost every day. Schools have not been opened. The sick can’t get to hospitals, where resources are also dwindling. Those who are not at the demonstrations lock themselves up at home until there’s a reprieve, during which they go out and buy food, which has become exorbitantly expensive, and water, of which there is a shortage in some areas. Haitians from all walks of life have been calling for Moïse’s resignation, including Catholic and Protestant clergy, artists and intellectuals, university professors, business people, bar associations, and the various groups and parties that make up the political opposition.

Moïse has repeatedly said he will not resign. In his most recent pre-recorded address—released on September 25th, at 2 a.m.—he told Haitians that he’s heard their cries and is aware of their despair. He called for unity and dialogue. He promised not to respond to violence with violence. The streets, where some police officers have used live ammunition to disperse protesters, tell a different story. The senator from Moïse’s party who fired a pistol outside the parliament building last month, wounding a photojournalist and security guard, also tells another story. As does the massacre in La Saline.

Looking back at that 2017 cartoon of Moïse being derided as a would-be superhero, I am reminded that it is the Haitian people who have always exhibited superhuman traits and who have had to continue to do so over the past year. They have been dodging bullets and enduring tear gas and water cannons while, for the most part, not being able to eat regularly, or send their children to school, or go to a decent hospital when they are sick, or afford the medicine they need. I know from speaking with many young people in my own family and beyond that they know Moïse is just the latest manifestation of bigger and broader structural and institutional problems. They are also aware that, like generations of Haitians before them, they are fighting for a very uncertain future.

The young men and women demonstrators, when speaking to both local and foreign journalists, sometimes speak of their desire for a tabula rasa. They want a more egalitarian, inclusive, and just society, where the rights of every citizen will be respected. Not just the wealthy and well-connected but the urban and rural poor, too. They want the international community to stop meddling and pushing elections as a vehicle for change, only to rig them and saddle the country with leaders like Martelly and Moïse. They want Haitian-led solutions. They want institutions that work. They want an end to impunity. They want freedom from government and privately funded gangs, who routinely rape women and girls. They ultimately want accountability not just from Moïse but from everyone who has stolen or squandered the Petrocaribe money, which their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will still have to repay.

They must see some parallels between themselves and those taking part in the equally massive, and increasingly violent, protests in Hong Kong, to which the world at least is paying attention. Twenty people were killed and about two hundred injured during the protests this past September. The numbers are likely to increase this month as demonstrations persist and ramp up in intensity. One thing that Moïse said in his dead-of-night speech on September 25th, which all Haitians should be able to agree on, is that “Ayiti pap peri. Ayiti pa dwe peri.” Haiti will not perish. Haiti should not perish. Not over him, or anyone else.






Original article can be found (here).
URL:      Click here for article

October 1, 2019

Political Report # 1415 The Dam that (Almost) Brought Down Paraguay’s President

The past two weeks have brought Paraguayans a political earthquake and a crowd of new household names, all connected to a bilateral energy deal signed with Brazil in May and kept under wraps until late July. Since the public learned the terms of the agreement, four top Paraguayan officials have resigned and the senate nearly impeached President Mario Abdo Benítez and Vice President Hugo Velázquez.
Although Brazil agreed to scrap the deal and restart negotiations, Abdo Benítez and Velázquez are still fielding accusations of treason and the political fallout from the deal, rooted in 50 years of tension over the world’s second-largest dam. The dam straddles the border between Brazil and Paraguay and operates under the company Itaipu Binacional, a sort of state-within-a-state run by directors from both countries. This summer’s scandal unfolded on top of a long history of inequality between Brazil and Paraguay, turning a closet shift in energy payments into a symbol of national betrayal.
By requiring Paraguay’s National Energy Administration (ANDE) to buy more expensive electricity from the dam, the deal would have raised ANDE’s costs by at least $250 million between now and 2022, according to former ANDE head Pablo Ferreira. The negotiators also capped the amount of energy ANDE could contract and threw out a clause that would have allowed ANDE to sell Paraguay’s excess electricity directly to the Brazilian market at a higher price than what it receives now. Ferreira saw the final deal on July 4, about six weeks after both ambassadors had signed it and left his job on July 24. His resignation and refusal to comply with the terms of the new agreement raised the tenor of the debate over how to share the Itaipu dam.
For many Paraguayans, the agreement represented a step backward from terms reached in 2009 and a return to the systemic corruption that gave rise to the dam during the country’s dictatorship in the late 20th century. Nearly 50 years after it was built, the dam is still central to criticisms of the former dictator Alfredo Stroessner’s Colorado Party, which controls Paraguayan politics to this day.
“The citizenry is indignant over all of the theft that Itaipu represents on a historical level,” said environmental engineer Guillermo Acucharro. He is a spokesperson for a campaign called Ñane Mbae Itaipu, which means “Itaipu is ours” in the Indigenous language of Guaraní. “The Paraguayan people know, at least for this society, Itaipu was a scam and that the government of Mario Abdo wanted to carry out a negotiation behind closed doors.”
A Dictators’ Agreement
The Itaipu Dam was born out of a border conflict between Brazil and Paraguay nearly 100 years after the devastating Triple Alliance War ended, establishing the Paraná River as the national boundary. In the mid-1960s, the military dictatorships of both countries pressed toward the Saltos del Guaíra waterfalls (Sete Quedas for Brazilians), hoping to take advantage of the water resources that plunged 375 feet. Composer Phillip Glass created a tribute to the falls and the engineering marvel that replaced them when the two governments decided to build the dam together, signing the Itaipu Treaty in 1973 and founding Itaipu Binacional the following year. Brazil’s state utility Electrobras provided the largest loan to build the dam, which began production in 1984 but was not fully completed until 1991.
One significant trade-off of the two countries’ cooperation was that Stroessner allowed Brazilians to move into the agricultural lands of eastern Paraguay. This set the conditions for the predominance of land-holding Brazilians and their descendants, who now control Paraguay’s top export, soy. In other words, the act that preceded the dam paved the way for two primary examples of how Brazil has utilized Paraguay’s natural resources-land and electricity-in some cases impeding on national sovereignty.
The 1973 treaty established that each country would own half the energy produced by Itaipu, but Paraguay consumes less than 10 percent, passing the rest to Brazil. The larger nation has always paid less than market value for that ceded electricity. Since the dam began operation in 1984, Paraguay has helped to fuel industrial development in São Paulo and elsewhere for a set compensation rate. Between 1984 and 2018, Brazil underpaid its neighbor by about $75.4 billion, according to economist Miguel Carter. Under different rules, Paraguay could have earned nearly twice its current GDP from Itaipu alone.
Critics argue that on top of the lost investments their government could have made to education, health and infrastructure, Paraguayan users have been overpaying for electricity. Even though the country has only used a fraction of the energy churned out by the dam over the years, consumers are still paying back construction debt, which makes up more than half of their electricity bills. Critics like renowned Paraguayan engineer Ricardo Canese and Columbia University economist Jeffrey Sachs say Paraguay has likely already met its obligations.
The debt payments will end in 2022, in time for the two countries to finish renegotiating a section of the 1973 treaty that governs energy distribution and pricing. The 2023 negotiation is crucial for those who want to Paraguay to get more from its share of the energy. This year’s fumbled agreement appeared to point in the opposite direction, enraging critics of Itaipu’s legacy.
To critics like Acucharro of Itaipu Ñane Mbae, another key problem is that Itaipu Binacional operates outside the legal system of either country, which he says has made it difficult to control.
“The sector of elites within the Colorado Party always used hydroelectricity to pay political favors,” he said. “Itaipu contributed to strengthening the dominant class of the country from the moment they signed the treaty.”
The dam represented how Stroessner’s regime pursued development for the benefit of a few: the benefactors of construction deals, as well as the engineers and employees of the new binational company. Zona 1 of the Paraguayan border town Ciudad del Este bears this legacy with its parks and guarded houses, a far cry from poorer parts of the city.
Paraguayans have been concerned about how the dam might weaken the country’s sovereignty since the earliest stages of the project. In the 1970s, students, led by Ricardo Canese and other young engineers, organized around questions such as where to put the turbines and what frequency of electricity would be generated. This July, engineering students from the Universidad Nacional de Asunción were once again leading the demands for the nation’s “energy sovereignty.”
Canese had remained a critic of Itaipu and finished his schooling in Holland, after Stroessner’s police forced him into exile in 1977. In 2008, the engineer joined the government of leftist President Fernando Lugo to help him fulfill a campaign promise: improve the rules of Itaipu for Paraguay. The team managed to triple the compensation payments Electrobras made to Paraguay from $120 million to $360 million per year.
Lugo’s Brazilian counterpart and political ally, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, made other important concessions that year, allowing Paraguay to sell to outside countries after 2023 and agreeing to a debt audit by Paraguay’s comptroller general. One key change gave ANDE the right to sell to private companies in the Brazilian market “as soon as possible,” Canese says, instead of only ceding energy to state-run Electrobras at a lower rate, but the new policy was never implemented.
“We were about to get it when the coup came in 2012, and now the ousted president of ANDE proposed it and it cost him the position,” Canese said.
Lugo’s election had broken a 60-year streak of Colorado Party rule, but his presidency reached a sudden end. After a land conflict resulted in the death of 11 campesinos and six police officers, his political rivals launched impeachment proceedings supported by the country’s powerful agribusiness lobby. After a year under Liberal Vice President Frederico Franco, Paraguay returned to Colorado control in 2012. The current president, Mario Abdo Benítez, is the son of dictator Stroessner’s personal secretary. Before winning the 2018 election on a platform of social conservatism, he studied in the United States, walked with Stroessner’s coffin at his funeral, and founded a wing of the bulky Colorado Party with the dictator’s grandson.
Canese worries the right-wing governments of Abdo Benítez and Brazilian president Jair Bolsonaro are undoing Lugo and da Silva’s contributions, which he says “restored some equity in the relationship after the asymmetric era of dictatorships-the Brazilian sub-empire, we said in Paraguay.”
“That’s what Bolsonaro wants now, as stated publicly, to go back to that time when Paraguay was almost a Brazilian colony,” Canese wrote in an email.
Bolsonaro has praised both Brazil’s and Paraguay’s military dictatorships. The controversial leader drew criticism in February when he stood next to the dam and honored Stroessner’s “vision.” Itaipu has become center stage for Paraguayan frustrations over their leaders’ approach to Brazil, and the feeling that their country’s resources are being sold out from under them. Bolsonaro’s administration approached Paraguay earlier this year, pursuing higher prices for ANDE and lower costs for Electrobras. Especially for critics of the ruling Colorado Party, Abdo Benítez’s concession amounted to the latest “surrender” of Paraguayan sovereignty.
A Political Crisis
Former ANDE head Ferreira has accused Brazil of financial extortion for its tactics in bringing Paraguay to this years talks, and Canese agrees.
“There never should have been a negotiation,” Canese wrote. “[Brazil] stopped paying Itaipu in February of 2019, defunding it and obliging it to negotiate on its terms and against everything that was agreed upon before.”
The new agreement that sparked calls to impeach Abdo Benítez reached national attention on July 24, after Ferreira turned in his resignation. On Twitter, Abdo Benítez welcomed former finance minister Alcides Jiménez to Ferreira’s vacated position that same day, writing, “We wish him the best!” Within days, the deal Jiménez was ready to support had become radioactive, with citizens and politicians condemning its terms, as well as the secrecy under which it had been negotiated. The senate called an extra session. Protesters toilet-papered the home of José Alberto Alderete, the Paraguayan director of Itaipu Binacional. Abdo Benítez accepted Alderetes resignation along with those of Jiménez and two other top officials involved in the negotiations: the chancellor and the ambassador to Brazil.
Brazilian negotiators have argued that it is the other company that contracts with Itaipu-Electrobras-that had been getting the raw deal because power is cheaper on average in Paraguay. A change in the distribution of pricier versus less expensive, “surplus” energy is what Ferreira said would result in $250 million in extra costs for the utility, which already struggles with losses from poor infrastructure.
There appeared to be nothing in the original deal that could be construed as an advantage for Paraguay. In a speech on July 25, Abdo Benítez claimed this would make the country appear “serious” in future negotiations-“a country that does not need anyone’s crumbs”-and promised rates would not increase in the next two years. He has since said in a radio interview that he believes the deal was a mistake and “did not know the extent or scope of each point.”
Just a week after Ferreira’s resignation, opposition parties in Paraguay’s senate prepared to impeach Abdo Benítez and Velázquez, with the blessing of Honor Colorado, a faction of the leaders’ own party. The day after the impeachment threat, Abdo Benítez’s administration managed to win over the dissident Colorado members, avoiding an ouster just before the one-year anniversary of the president’s inauguration.
But WhatsApp messages published by Paraguayan newspaper ABC Color on Aug. 5 renewed calls for a political trial, suggesting that Ferreira had warned Abdo Benítez about the price changes desired by Brazilian negotiators. The president urged him not to show his misgivings publicly, warning that it would weaken Paraguay’s position. Since the leak, along with new evidence against his second-in-command, protesters and opposition lawmakers have continued to push for impeachment, a goal made more challenging by the Colorado Party’s decision to stand together.
Other messages between Ferreira and a lawyer claiming to represent Velázquez suggested that the vice president was trying to intercede in the negotiations on behalf of the private Brazilian company Leros Comercializadora. The lawyer, 27-year-old Jose Rodríguez Gonzalez, also suggested in the chats that Leros had ties to Bolsonaro. Rodríguez has since testified that he was not speaking on behalf of Velázquez, but only trying to get Ferreira’s attention.
The Public Ministry is hearing testimony from both leaders as well as requesting records and messages from phone companies, while Canese and other critics remain suspicious.
“Abdo gives in to Bolsonaro because that is how they do business together,” Canese wrote in a message, “above all, in the sale of energy for hundreds of millions of dollars with friendly companies.”
Future Negotiations
For his part, Bolsonaro has said since the scandal that his government is “willing to do justice on this issue of Itaipu” and “avoid problems” for Abdo Benítez. The two countries are working on a new agreement, which could be finished as early as next month, while they continue to prepare for renegotiations of the 1973 treaty. The Brazilian leader said he does not intend to “give in” to Paraguay, but instead to discuss “small deviations” during the 2023 talks.
As Duke anthropologist and Itaipu expert Christine Folch asserts in an explanatory video, Brazil’s primary goal is to secure cheap energy to finance its industrial sector. She claims the best option for Paraguay is to invest in its electric infrastructure now in order to diversify its economy.
“Today, the Paraguay half of Itaipu produces enough electricity to meet the needs of three Paraguays,” she added. But since Paraguay’s energy demand is increasing, the country will not always have extra to sell. “This surplus has a time limit that makes it very important to use the surplus today.”
Folch’s research team estimates that Paraguay has until 2035 at the latest before it catches up to Itaipu’s production.
Canese, the Paraguayan engineer, is also pushing for better investments of energy revenue. “Electrical income should be a tool for development, not ‘profiteering,’” he wrote in an email. “Quality employment, value-added quality, that should be the goal, as well as sustainability.”
In a book published earlier this year, Canese argues for getting a better deal on Paraguay’s share of electricity from Itaipu as well as Yacyreta, shared with Argentina, and using that money to improve the electric system and attract industries that will provide jobs. Right now, much of the $750 million annual tariff goes toward local and national government entities, filling in the gap left by Paraguay’s exceptionally low tax rate.
Acucharro and the campaign Itaipu Ñane Mbae want the two countries to annul the 1973 treaty altogether and replace it with better terms for Paraguay.
“We recognize that, on the one hand, it’s a radical position, but we want to solve the root problem and not receive crumbs like always,” he said.
Both the recent scandal and the coming negotiations are changing the way Itaipu is debated in Paraguay, from exchanges between party elites to the kind of controversy that can threaten a presidency.




Original article can be found (here).
URL:   https://nacla.org/news/2019/08/13/dam-almost-brought-down-paraguays-president

February 16, 2018

Political Report # 1312 The Many Ways Mexico Is Trying to Stop an Indigenous Woman Candidate for President








By Tamara Pearson

Truthout 



Mexico's first Indigenous female presidential hopeful might not even get her campaign off the ground, thanks to outright discrimination and a host of arduous requirements that stop ordinary people from participating in politics.
The campaign of Maria de Jesús Patricio Martinez (also known as Marichuy) so far has just 14 percent of the signatures necessary to register her as a candidate for July's general election.
"To collect signatures, you have to have a high-quality phone that processes data quickly and has a high-resolution camera. That's what the INE [National Electoral Institute] requires for scanning voter ID. These phones cost at least 12,000 pesos," said Gerardo Bazan, a member of Resistrenzas, a Puebla city-based group that supports Marichuy and her broader campaign.
Marichuy is representing the National Indigenous Congress (CNI), as well as a broader campaign in defense of land against multinationals, for environmental justice, women's rights and more. But those campaigning for her know she doesn't stand a chance -- starting with the expensive smartphones required.
"If you think about what the minimum wage is (2,220 pesos per month), that's very expensive. And that's on top of the fact that a lot of communities, especially Indigenous ones, aren't even registered to vote -- so there's already that censuring," said Eva Serna, another member of Resistrenzas.
Communities can submit requests to the INE to be allowed to use paper signatures, but even then, they face an uphill battle, as many don't have access to the internet, electricity or photocopiers. Those supporters who manage to get the smartphones then have to wage war with the application, which requires high-speed internet. Even some of the wealthier independent candidates are struggling, with Margarita Zavala, wife of former president Felipe Calderon, uploading a video illustrating how the INE application gives her a range of error messages, before she gives up.
For now, campaigners have worked out that the best time to use the app is midday, when sunlight is good enough to get a decent scan of voter ID. But despite managing to overcome many of these hurdles, Marichuy supporters found that phone and internet reception stopped working on October 14 in Altamirano, and on October 15 in Ocosingo, right when the campaign tour was passing through. Marichuy herself has also complained that various banks had refused to open a bank account for her -- which is one of the requirements made of independent candidates. Then, on January 21, armed people in two vans stopped Marichuy's campaign caravan and stole journalists' phones and cameras.
The Poor Are Overlooked, Overworked and Don't Have Time to Collect Signatures
"What the INE asks for is nothing, really, compared to the organizational effort that goes into a campaign like this," Serna said. "How do we make this campaign visible with most media refusing to cover it, without a printer -- using just our own resources?"
"You have to be visible in public all the time, otherwise people don't take you seriously," Bazan said. "There's a lot of physical effort and time involved. Marichuy is traveling the country, visiting a few towns every day, with next to no resources."
Upper-class candidates tend to have financial support from businesses, colleagues and cartels, but Marichuy's base is mostly made up of people below the poverty line. Almost 60 percent of workers in Mexico are informal workers, without any labor rights or security, and Mexico tops the list for the longest working day, as well as for women spending the largest amount of their time on unpaid work. While women spend an average of 373 minutes a day on unpaid work in Mexico (the second-highest amount globally), Mexican men spend just 113 minutes a day, and Korean men, for example, spend just 45 minutes.
For many of Marichuy's supporters, "If they don't work for a day, they don't eat that day," according to Bazan. "They aren't going to be able to volunteer. But other candidates have the luxury to pay for campaigners. All of us though are volunteers who care about a cause."
"When she's traveling around campaigning, Marichuy stays in a local home; she doesn't stay in hotels," Serna said.
On top of that, media stereotypes about who makes a plausible national leader are making things even harder for women, Indigenous peoples and the poorer classes. "When the proposal (for a female Indigenous candidate) first came out in March last year, the media went on the attack, saying 'how is it possible for an Indian to be a candidate?'" Bazan said. "People on social media went on the offensive, taking it as a joke. Combined with such racism, we're faced with the lack of knowledge -- that people aren't aware of the CNI."
Indeed, people on Twitter claimed Marichuy looked like the "woman who cleans my house." Further, 80 percent of Mexicans are excluded from media and entertainment, according to an author on racism in Mexico, with most television shows and advertising portraying white and light-skinned Mexicans and upper-class Mexicans almost exclusively.
"Indigenous people are systematically forgotten," Bazan said. It wasn't until 2001 that the political rights of Indigenous peoples were recognized in Mexico, and by 2015, the INE still didn't have any data on the number of registered Indigenous voters. Currently, there are just eight Indigenous legislators representing 15 million people from Indigenous communities, while some 8,000 Indigenous people are in prison, waiting long or indefinite periods for a sentence.
The Strange Advantages That Other Candidates Have
While Marichuy's campaign is organized as a movement to defend various rights, most of the other candidates run their campaigns and their politics as a business.
Indeed, when running as an independent candidate became a possibility in 2012, many people were hopeful that it was a sign of increased democracy.
"But, now I think that 'independent' should be in inverted commas, because most of these candidates leave an old party but keep the structures and power that comes with it," said Maria Maldonado, another member of Resistrenzas. "They run independently because their party didn't choose them, but I don't see that as independence."
"While we've been out there collecting signatures, we have come across other people doing the same thing for other candidates, and found out from them that they have a wage, and they get a bonus for every 15 signatures they get -- they have that advantage," said Pavel Mayorga, also a member of Resistrenzas. "But there's no wage or bonus for dong something socially useful, like our campaign."
Competing with party candidates is even harder. Resistrenzas activists have found that just entering many communities is difficult and fraught with danger because local organizations are often part of a dominant, right-wing party like the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) or the National Action Party (PAN), and don't allow others to go there.
"Some of these organizations put pressure on people to affiliate to a party, and people will join so that they don't lose their land, for example," Bazan said. "We need to build up our contacts and allies in these communities, but that is a slow and long-term process that extends beyond the upcoming elections."
"People often feel that they have to join the party [the PRI] in order to obtain benefits and rights," Serna said. "Often, people aren't convinced of the politics, but they are on PRI lists because they needed something simple. They don't understand that they are paying taxes, and that what the state gives them actually isn't a gift. We have to understand that this goes back decades, and find ways to campaign despite it."
Lorena Hernandez, another member of Resistrenzas, is a teacher in a small community, where she says it was a lot of work to initially be accepted, as locals argued she shouldn't criticize the PRI during class.
"There's a tradition where during elections, [the students' parents] think they'll [be] receiving something, like a bag of school products or a water tank or graduation money in exchange for a vote or a voting credential," Hernandez said. "The local mayors are like the representatives of national party legislators and leaders, and they will suspend classes, for example, if a party candidate visits for a campaign speech."
Even in the aftermath of last year's devastating earthquakes, parties like the PRI and PAN were found distributing donated goods through refuges set up in their own names -- and having control over institutional structures like ministries -- with the police helping them do that.
A Different Type of Electoral Campaign
But Resistrenzas activists were quick to point out that they had one clear advantage over other independent candidates. "Marichuy really represents people, and the ideas she stands for have support around the country," Bazan said. While other candidates may just be known in their local area -- perhaps for their business connections or wealth -- Marichuy's campaign is about telling people that she doesn't just want their signature or vote, she wants them to get organized for long-term change.
"Marichuy even refused the money from the INE that all those aspiring to be a candidate get. That way, no one can say she's in it for the money," Maldonado said.
"The idea behind this campaign for Marichuy is to use the signature collection as a pretext to organize ourselves," Serna said. "We have to be prepared for what will probably come after the presidential election: violent structural reforms. If we're not organized, we'll be screwed."
Juan Carlos Guerrero, a supporter who accompanied Marichuy when she initially registered with the INE, said, "Through (Marichuy's campaign), the suffering that many Indigenous communities face and the violence against women will be made much more visible. She isn't just another presidential candidate; her candidature is about making the underdog side of Mexico visible."
"Our organization is important because of the plundering of Indigenous communities ... and in the cities as well, there are so many deaths, imprisonments and forced disappearances," Marichuy said. "Trump wants to finish us off -- that was clear from the moment he took over. Our struggle is also against him. We know it isn't easy, but we have to build our forces."




Original article can be found here:

September 12, 2016

Political Report # 1181 Fidel Castro: Hero of the dispossessed






By Salim Lamrani, Gramma


A controversial figure in the West, where he is heavily criticized, Fidel Castro is instead admired by the peoples of Latin America and the Third World, who consider him a symbol of resistance to oppression and a champion of the aspirations of the countries of the South to independence, sovereignty and self-determination. A mythical rebel, who has entered the pantheon of the great liberators of the Americas, the former guerrilla of the Sierra Maestra has seen his prestige surpass continental borders to become the archetype of anti-imperialism in the twentieth century and the champion of a universal message of emancipation.
Western media, due to its entrenched ideological position and clear condescension toward the peoples of the South, has failed to understand the historic significance of Fidel Castro to Cuba, Latin America and the Third World. Since the times of José Martí, Cuba's national hero, no other figure has as powerfully embodied the aspirations of the Cuban people to national sovereignty, economic independence and social justice.
Fidel Castro is a symbol of pride, dignity, resistance and loyalty to principles and his status has surpassed the borders of his homeland to span the entire world. The historic leader of the Cuban Revolution took up arms in favor of the oppressed and reclaimed their right to a decent life. Born into a wealthy family from the east of the country, he gave up his class privileges to defend the voiceless, ignored and abandoned to their fate by the powerful.
Fidel Castro enjoys historic legitimacy. Arms in hand, he fought against the bloody dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista during the attack on the Moncada barracks in 1953 and during the uprising in the Sierra Maestra from December, 1956, through December, 1958. He triumphed against a brutal military regime endowed with an impressive firepower and backed by the United States. In a context of extreme hostility, he has realized the dream of José Martí, of an independent and sovereign Cuba and has led his people on the path to complete and definitive emancipation, in steadfast resistance to the hegemonic pretensions of Washington.