On June 14, 2006, the police in Oaxaca brutally attacked an annual teachers’ strike being held in the center of the capital city. Maybe they did not see the match as it fell in slow-motion into the tinderbox below, heat undulating off its flame, dark corners jumping into bright focus. Maybe they had never even noticed the groups of people busy in their waiting, building the strong bases for long-burning fires through years of painstaking political process. Maybe they stared in awe as these groups drew instantly near and exploded together in the oxygen vacuum of repression. Maybe they found it beautiful; it must have been completely terrifying.

So how do you respond to thirsty fire, licking at your heels and finding endless kindling in the underbrush of society? Do you let it burn out the forest floor and bring healthy new life into being from below? Or do you fight it with water cannons filled with pepper spray, skies filled with tear gas and helicopters, streets choked with barricades, bullets and batons? Do you try to beat it down, stomp it out, and trap it inside metal and concrete until it burns itself out?

Apparently those are the orders. The tactics the government has been using to destroy the widespread popular movement that burst into life in Oaxaca in the days following June 14th have been cruel, violent and illegal. They have included torture, threats, beatings, imprisonment, murder and disappearances. Many of the 365 organizations that form part of APPO, the Popular Assembly of the Peoples of Oaxaca, have been attacked and threatened. Since June, more than 350 people have been illegally detained. Most of those detained have been beaten and subsequently imprisoned. At least 20 people have been killed; many more have been “disappeared.”

In the brief time we spent in Oaxaca, many of the people directly affected by this violent repression took time to speak with us. Some were members of community and political organizations that form part of APPO; others merely got in the way of police on a determined path of destruction. Some had just recently emerged from serving illegal prison sentences; others were members of families struggling to survive after the loss or disappearance of a loved one.

Their words took the shape of horrifying experiences, deep indignation, anger and fear. They shed light on just how far the state has been willing to go to protect Governor Ulises Ruiz and its own power. And they wanted their words to reach as many people as possible, to radiate out the heat of their righteous indignation at this brutal repression and violence. But I find it impossible to write about the repression without also doing justice to the movement itself. Because their words also reflected life, hope and perseverance. They spoke of a future for Oaxaca and Mexico, one determined by the people themselves. They spoke of real alternatives and political, social and cultural growth. They spoke of the fire that keeps on burning from below.
So here are some of the stories we heard and a few of the moments we witnessed.

Some of them are brutal and horrifying, but true. Others are beautiful and inspiring, and also true. Take what you will, and pass it along…