“You really ought to go down there.” The very sound “ought to” has always riled my contrary nature. In this case, I knew she was right. Gladys Munoz, a beacon of light sort of woman working out of St. Michael’s parish in Suttons Bay, was urging my semi-conscious and agreeable soul to accompany Chris & Jody Treter to Chiapas, in WAY SOUTH Mexico. The Treters are a coffee savvy Leelanau couple whom I affectionately regard as the coffee kids. They’re proprietors of Higher Grounds Trading Company, which is a 100% fair trade and organic roaster. This is a fitting name for their enterprise, a double meaning, with geographic and ethical basis. I was headed for coffee camp and the outcome, which I could not anticipate, would be magic. Thank you, Gladys.
My delegation ultimately met at Posada Isabel (our hotel) in San Christobal de Las Casas, on December 29. San Christobal looks to be a pulsating cross road for the adventurous, wandering youth, bargain seeking tourists, Mayan aficionados, or those who wish to see the burgeoning markets and numerous shops and restaurants with fresh eyes, away from the beach visitors who flock to Mexico. San Christobal is the heart and center of the indigenous countryside, where 50 or more dialects come down from the mountains to a commercial atmosphere of intimately woven strands of Mayan with Spanish influence.
Ours was an approach to learning and appreciating the numerous and global ramifications of coffee. The camp counselors, our guides- the Treters-, are seasoned travelers there. The political and social and economic themes of coffee farming were shown to us with knowledgeable gusto. The heart of Chiapas coffee appears to be beating like a communal heart among the indigenous Mayan communities in this grand land. Soaring mountains, dramatic range after range, dominate the horizon. Biodiversity is a word that could have been invented for this place. The migratory patterns, wind and sea currents, and tropical growing climes of these hills support richness in natural resources, soaring birds of prey, and tall woody plants. Avocadoes abound, Oranges emanate. Coffee climbs these often steep slopes which might otherwise be called black diamond runs in skier lingo. This portion of the globe wraps around your senses. Northern skin cools as the nights dip to the 40’s. The sun induced warmth during day can usher in the high 70’s. Cacao. Bananas. Grapefruit. Exotic woods. What could be wrong with this picture?
As a delegation, we were witnesses to the launch of “the other campaign” in San Christobal on New Years Day. The Zapatista movement was re-born in the 1990’s in the form of an armed rebellion on New Years Day, 1994. On New Years Day, 2006, it was born again, now morphed into a non violent struggle to change the usual ways of business. Indigenous Mayans’ needs place most of these sweet folks at the very edge of survival. Neither NAFTA, nor the latest Mexican government of Vicente Fox has reduced the difficulty of daily life of. It is, in fact, made more urgent by the intensity of economy. Well being and dignity, health care, food, clothing, infrastructure for water and sewage, roads, fair prices….none have materialized. While the government has poured some money into schools and anti-poverty programs, it keeps a heavy military presence in Chiapas. Congress, meanwhile, has rejected some accords with rebels that would allow greater autonomy. Further, the Zapatistas are one voice in their renewed informational campaign, the other campaign.
La outre’ campaigna will culminate with the Mexican National Elections in July. Yet it does so without endorsing a platform or a candidate. The Zapatistas have grown weary of asking the government for help. They now seek autonomy. It is a fervent intention to bring well being to themselves. Also invited are the downtrodden from around the globe.
Coffee camp opened with a wide eyed glimpse of a participatory democracy, earnest in its quest for a step back from the edge of survival. The Mayan communities of this southern most state of Chiapas, are rural and poor. The women and children are often without shoes. The water source for one village we visited was a good hour walk away, across and up mountainous terrain. Considering the walk back, the boiling and then the REST of the day, consisting of food, wood, coffee harvesting, and so forth,…. and one can grow weary with these proud people. Short in stature and traditionally clothed in elaborately embroidered patterns, the Mayan smiles were forthcoming.
The Treeters, along with a core group (including but not limited to) Gary & Lee Cheadle, Chris Grobbel, Father Wayne ( St. Michaels) and Glady Munoz, have been instrumental in orchestrating a water system for another community, Winik Ton. Some 35 families will no longer make their daily sojourn to a distant water source. This new system, financed through a recent fund raising drive (energized by the Treters and a handful of County volunteers, will be installed by the Villagers within a few months. Our delegation was kindly hosted by Winik Ton council members. As with all of our Mayan encounters, the courtesy and warm feelings abounded. The necessary translation from Mayan to Spanish to English and back again gave us ample time to consider the honesty of their sincerity. Aflame with urgency in their words, and at once understated due to daily requirements of survival, the atmosphere lit a darkening evening sky,,, “brothers and sisters”, “heart to heart”, “your struggle, our struggle”…
The coffee “cherries”, as the beans are referred to, are traveling such a route as to make one regard a cup of coffee with new found respect. No longer can I lose myself in the hazy and ignorant veil of warmth felt through that cuppa joe in my favorite mug. We may wonder and exhibit head scratching at the way we line up for latte in our numerous coffee shops, clad in lycra and leather, bound for the office, the classroom, or the Walmart highways. We radiate a caffeinated glow across the bands of asphalt in our jungle.
Now awareness alerts my memory place that this coffee in my hands has appreciated in value. The “cherries” are shelled from their mucous home. Washed, often with hauled water. Dried, sorted, and bagged, carried, again. Now, sold to the coyote, (the middleman buyer for world coffee markets. Or sold to the Treters, in concert with a cooperative, to purchase fair trade(1..40/lb.)(twice the coyote price), organic (not the historic plantation practice), and shade grown (sustainable) coffee.
And then the beans travel, now to Vera Cruz, on to Toronto, finally to the roaster, in this case in Leelanau County. NOTE: New Orleans lost one warehouse of coffee in the notorious Katrina event. Regrettably this included a six month supply for Higher Grounds and their cooperative buying association. Thankfully the farmers had received their money, but the scramble was on for the Treters. Shippers, handlers, brokers, certifying boards, roasters, packagers, marketers, distributors, warehouses, retailers, all stand between me and that cup of black jolt.
Our delegation was a practice in small group dynamics. We were challenged by necessarily uncertain moments. The Treters exceeded themselves in offering a glimpse of a real post modern revolution, an inside view of one very large commodity with global tentacles. Coffee is touching governments, transnational corporations, bankers’ bankers, you name it, not to mention the Mayans whose civilization has known 500-700 years of glory, 350 years of colonization and domination, and at least that many on the short end of the capitalism stick.
Demographically, our delegation came from N. Michigan, mainly from Leelanau and Benzie Counties; and we came from across the country, most from afar having found their way to the Treters through the electronic buzz of the Fair Trade channels. We were treated to a special perspective, not at all like the average Mexican holiday at the beach. Largely activist minded, intellectually curious and seeking to learn more, we had a professor from Vermont and a Buddhist ex-Marine from LA. Students from Grand Rapids and Lansing to Illinois and Washington DC. Two vans full, we scoured the turf for clues as to what we were witnessing. We were instructed on the appropriate manners (photos or no, or later), the local history in broad strokes, yet informed with vignette and detail as we visited craft cooperatives and NGO’s, receiving information and facts of the real state of Chiapas.
We did not have to look far for history when visiting Acteal/ Las Abejas. This is a sister city village to Suttons Bay, thanks to the Treters’ initiative some 4 years ago, along with an enlightened embrace received from Suttons Bay Council and citizenry. On December 22nd 1997 pro-government paramilitaries entered the community of Acteal, and over the course of several hours, massacred 45 refugees there, mainly unarmed women and children belonging to the pacifist group, Las Abejas (Zapatista sympathizers).. Before my eyes was a small wooden church in the town. The night sky was poised for remembrance. My gaze fell before a mass grave site. My tears chilled my cheek. I heard the cacophony of ancient words…mother, daughter, son, brother, and sister…. all poignant words calling to me through the Acteal night, from another world beneath my feet and lacing my faith. I calculated the difficulties of forgiveness. How could I feel at once so clear and helpless to know of this current of long struggle.
My pesos leapt from my pocket at the women’s craft cooperative in Acteal. My purchase of carefully embroidered and sewn garments and cloths, it became a prayer for divine light. If I can help the artisan and share her beauty to the north of the border now turning fence, the purchase can be dignified with intention. Confessions of a child within can surface in the perceptions of a witness to chaos. The traditional dress here varies in colors and patterns from one community to the next. It speaks of historic identities. All combinations suggest an ordered beauty.
Our delegation members agree that a cup of coffee can never be perceived the same again. Coffee camp provided an informative overview of coffee, from the Mayan highlands to my favorite mug.. We also viewed the heart of revolutionary resolve. The Zapatista voice is real. We walked among and talked with indigenous men and women who are joined in classic sensibility of true participatory democracy. The student in me recalls school history class. The echoes sound like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…in any language.
By Philip Hamburg
Photo credit: Philip Hamburg
I tend to be a fan of the Riesling grape when grown in Leelanau County and on Old Mission. But the Pinto Grigio (aka "Pinot Gris") also produces some very fine wines. Jancis Robinson, queen of British wine writers, dismisses the wines made from the grape as "a sea of reasonably undistinguished dry white with low aroma and noticeable acidity."
