Washing away the revolution

Since June, protests have reigned in Oaxaca, southern Mexico. As the clean-up of the city begins ahead of the tourist season, protesters have warned that the social problems which caused the riots will not be washed away as easily as the graffiti they left behind. By Marc Lacey

There is a new smell in the air, competing with the aroma of mole sauce that routinely wafts through Oaxaca, Mexico. It is the smell of paint fumes. Work crews are everywhere, retouching the colonial facades that give Oaxaca its charm and draw tens of thousands of visitors each year. But in this politically-charged city in southern Mexico, where protesting is as much a part of the culture as the distinctive cuisine, even the clean-up is causing arguments.

Just weeks ago, Oaxaca was a wreck. Graffiti marred its buildings, burned-out vehicles blocked its roads, and angry protesters confronted riot-equipped police officers around the charming central square.

The protests, which began with teachers seeking a pay raise but grew to include an array of leftist groups and indigenous organisations, are continuing sporadically, but officials have begun trying to scrub away the evidence of what occurred.

Not everybody agrees on the best approach. Carlos Melgoza, director of the Institute for Cultural Patrimony of Oaxaca, which is responsible for sprucing up 482 blocks and 21 memorials in the city, intends to use high-pressure machines to spray sand onto limestone facades to grind away the painted slogans. But Rafael Bergara, who helped in the effort to persuade the UN Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation to designate Oaxaca as a world cultural site in 1987, has argued in the local press that such an approach could do more harm than good and end up permanently damaging the structures.

Cost estimates are also at odds. The National Institute of Anthropology and History put the damage at $30m. The Institute for Cultural Patrimony of Oaxaca says the cost of repairs will be less than a third of that. Estimates from other experts vary widely.

Such back-and-forth is nothing new in Oaxaca, where historic preservation is a topic close to many hearts. When McDonald's planned to open in the central square some years back, Oaxacans took to the streets to keep the restaurant out. Some residents still resent the conversion of a 16th-century monastery into a luxury hotel.
“There's always a debate about everything in Oaxaca,” said Jorge A Bueno Sanchez, director of the botanical garden. He noted that Oaxaca, which is on an earthquake fault line and has had quake damage at various times over the years, has experience remaking itself. “We're used to starting again,” he said.

At the height of the protests, which began in the summer, Oaxaca was a shabby version of its former self. The slogans painted on surfaces everywhere shouted “Assassin!” and “Get Out, Ulises!” Put up by followers of the Popular Assembly of the Peoples of Oaxaca, a loose coalition of protest groups, the messages were aimed at Governor Ulises Ruiz, whom many Oaxacans accused of engaging in heavy-handed tactics in breaking up the teachers' strike and ignoring the people of the state.

The protesters have not changed their demand that Ruiz resign, but the authorities have rounded up many top leaders of the protest coalition. The federal police, who took back the centre of the city from protesters in October, ceded control of Oaxaca back to state law enforcement officials in December. The protesters say they have not given up, but the painting and scrubbing continues.

Private companies have adopted blocks around the central square and have begun repainting buildings there in their vivid blues, reds and yellows. Some of the graffiti is proving hard to wipe out. The giant “666”, the apocalyptic biblical reference that someone scrawled on the front door of the 16th-century Santo Domingo Church, is still visible. Burn marks on some of the limestone outside the church, and in other parts of the city, are reminders of the bonfires that lit the evening air during the protests. Windows remain smashed, including those on the US consulate.

Still, Francisco Toledo, a noted Mexican artist who pours much of his wealth into buying up historic properties and preserving them, said the damage that protesters had left was not as bad as that committed by skateboarders who wore down the limestone with their boards, and drunks who threw bottles at historic artifacts. “The city was not well taken care of before this,” Toledo said. “Now it's worse.”

Claudia Lopez Morales, an architect active in restoring Oaxaca's historical structures, is philosophical about the effects of the protests that remain visible. “Some of this damage will always be visible, and maybe that's not bad,” she said. “What happened is part of our history.” As she walks the cobblestone streets of Oaxaca, she said, she feels a mix of emotions. “There's more damage to the heart of this city than to the buildings,” she said. “We can paint everything, but how do we repair our heart?”
Ruiz, in a recent speech, spoke of his desire to reconcile with the protesters. “We want a new Oaxaca,” he said. But many saw that as just talk and said they were not persuaded.

Jesus Sanchez Alonso, an economics professor at the Oaxacan Technological Institute who sympathises with the protesters, says the real clean-up that Oaxaca needs is of its corrupt and arrogant politicians. “The government doesn't want to change things,” he said. “They want to paint. They want cosmetic changes.”

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