In Mexico's 'Misery Belt,' an Annual Strike Becomes Much More

Clashes Mark Teachers Union Protest Calling for Ouster of State Governor

OAXACA DE JUAREZ, Mexico -- Gonzalo Toledo Cruz tries to teach math in a dark, sweltering classroom that has no electricity. During morning flag-raising ceremonies, he said, some of his students pass out from lack of nutrition, "like trees dropping in a forest." Others saunter into class with loaded pistols.

Toledo Cruz's classroom in Juchitan de Zaragoza, a small, rugged town in what is known as "the Misery Belt" east of Oaxaca de Juarez, has become his private hell. But he knows that to curry favor with his bosses and get the transfer he so desperately wants, he must make a big show of union support.

So each May, Toledo Cruz joins nearly 70,000 teachers, administrators, school doctors, food-service workers and janitors in this picturesque colonial city. Their gathering -- now in its 26th year -- has become one of Mexico's longest-running serial protests and a forum for complaints about low wages, poorly equipped schools and unfair treatment of indigenous peoples.

Most years, the school workers peacefully chant and march for a week or two, win some minor concessions and pack up. But this year, the protest has turned into a tense, occasionally bloody standoff that has scared off tourists and is now stretching into its third month, with no end in sight.

The stalemate illustrates the remarkable reach and influence of unions in Mexico, where workers' organizations play a huge role in defining the political and social lives of their members. None is more powerful than the teachers union, which has 1.3 million members nationwide and is the largest union in Latin America.

The teachers union is credited with mobilizing the huge turnout of voters that may have given Felipe Calderón his narrow margin of victory in the disputed July 2 presidential election. A small piece of that union, the chapter in southern Mexico's Oaxaca state, has shown its clout by effectively bringing gridlock to this region's political world with a forceful call for the ouster of state Gov. Ulises Ruiz Ortiz, whom union members blame for failing to secure more federal funding for the schools.

On June 14, Ruiz took the unprecedented step of sending more than 1,500 police officers to try to roust the school workers from their tents in the city's central square. The police were beaten back by school workers wielding rocks and clubs amid clouds of tear gas. Cars were torched, teachers and police limped away bloodied and bruised, and a tradition with well-rehearsed steps and predictable outcomes was shattered.

At times, the violence has resurfaced -- last weekend, gunmen shot up a university radio station -- but for the most part, the protest has reverted to its tranquil rites. On a recent day, teachers sat on camping chairs, quietly knitting or doing needlepoint beneath tarps strung across brick-lined streets. Men curled into sleeping bags on sidewalks, covering their heads to block the sunlight. A few tourists in gauzy skirts glided by. The pleasant sound of men playing the marimba filled the air.

"It just wasn't polite what Ulises did," said Lucila Velasquez, a teacher and grandmother, as she sat recently listening to the music and looping yarn into the form of a sweater.

The city's residents usually tolerate the protests, comforted by an unspoken contract that teachers will have their say, then leave. Visitors still pour into the city, famed for its ruins and the rich black mole its chefs concoct from simmering chocolate and chilies.

But this year, as the tourism that Oaxaca de Juarez lives on has waned, downtown business owners and workers have grown more agitated. They are particularly peeved that the protest forced the cancellation of Oaxaca's popular Guelaguetza cultural festival.

Paco Contreras, a 24-year-old waiter, was frowning as he served a can of Coca-Cola specially imprinted with the Guelaguetza logo.