An Ethnography of Law and Violence in Rural , [Article]

Item Type Article; text

Authors Greenberg, James B.

Citation 1988 Ariz. J. Int'l & Comp. L. 69 (1988)

Publisher The University of Arizona James E. Rogers College of Law (Tucson, AZ)

Journal Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

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Download date 29/09/2021 23:56:43

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Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/659525 AN ETHNOGRAPHY OF LAW AND VIOLENCE IN RURAL OAXACA, MEXICO*

JAMES B. GREENBERG**

Resumen

Las comunidades indigenas en el estado de Oaxaca, M&ico tienen una proporci~n extraordinaria de homicidios. El Profiesor Greenberg, un antrop6logo, ha estudiodo las comunidades Chatinos desde 1973 para tratarde encontrarla causa de esta violencia endemica a la regi6n. Entre las causas de esta violencia se encuentran la posicidn politica y legal de las comunidades indigenas en M.xico, que dejan las comunidades semiaut6nomas, pero, en una situaci6n de descuido y a consequencia no pueden hacer uso del sistema legal estatal y federa4 la rotura de las formas tradicionales de tenencia de tierras que result6 a consequencia de la introducci6n del cultivo del cafe en los afios 1950, conflictos de clase social y racial El Profesor Greenberg utiliz6 datos etnogrdficos, que el personalmente reuniO, como la base de sus observaciones y como un mtodo para describir las complicadas e implacable relaciones sociales en que se encuentran estas comunidades atrapadas.

INTRODUCTION

As an anthropologist, I am not merely concerned with the formal characteristics of a legal system, but also with the way it is embedded in the social, political, and economic fabric of society. The questions which concern me are not just the way the formal system functions, but also how conflicts are created, evolve, and are resolved, whether these processes occur within the legal system or outside of it. Such concerns mean that I am equally interested in those kinds of disputes and contracts which make use of the law, and those which do not. In this article I shall examine conflict and violence among the Chatino Indians of Oaxaca, Mexico and the role that the legal system plays in addressing these problems. Much of my insight I owe to Don Fortino, a good friend, whose family ties have linked him to both Chatino and mestizo societies. (Mestizos are Mexicans of mixed parentage who, despite their Indian ancestry, culturally identify

*Copyright 0 1988 by James B. Greenberg. **Bureau of Applied Research in Anthropology, Department of Anthropology, University of Arizona. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law themselves as non-Indians.) I use his testimony as a means to explore topics of great personal concern: the way the legal system functions, and the violence which is endemic to this region. These topics are of personal concern, not simply as a matter of intellectual curiosity, but because they directly affect my family. The conflicts and bloodshed in the region have cost the lives of many of my wife's kinsmen, compadres,' and many of my friends; it continues to threaten their lives and to affect my own.

THE LEGAL STATUS OF INDIAN COMMUNITIES

The legal status of Mexican Indians and their communities is different from that of Indians in the United States. In theory, Mexican Indians have the same rights, duties, and privileges enjoyed by any Mexican citizen, but in practice this is seldom the case. There are no "Indian reservations" in Mexico, but Indians have nevertheless grouped to form many purely Indian communities. Non-Indian elites, however, who control state and federal government, also control these purely Indian communities. The governmental organization imposed on these Indian communities is in sharp cultural contrast with traditional Indian administration of their communities. I will show in this article that the traditional forms of organization go beyond and often oppose those created by the state. I will further argue that indigenous concepts of law and justice often contradict those of the state, and that the defense of those indigenous concepts itself generates violence. Mexican states are divided into districts, each with a district capital. The state of Oaxaca is divided into 30 districts. Each district comprises a number of municipios (counties) which may contain agencias (townships). The civil officials elected in the agencia must be confirmed by the presidente (mayor) of the municipio and are accountable to him. Frequently, to guarantee the agencia's "cooperation" and smooth administration, the presidente municipal in the county seat names a non-Indian as secretary for the township. The secretary not only insures that legal formalities are observed, but also sees to it that the municipio is the judge and arbitrator in all important agencia matters - the administration of justice, the collection of taxes, and so forth. This arrangement creates a closed circuit between the county seat and the township, and places a substantial obstacle between the township and state and federal levels of government.

'A compadre (literally "co-parent") is a godfather of one's child. An Ethnography of Law and Violence

Although Oaxaca has some 15 different Indian ethnic groups and the largest indigenous population of any state in Mexico, its territorial units have been imposed in such a way as to gerrymander these ethnic groups between its political divisions, which effectively reduces Indian representation and access to power. The gerrymandering of Chatino communities presents a typical case. There are some 30,000 Chatino spread among 23 Chatino villages. The villages are politically divided between two districts: Juquila and Sola de Vega. The district capitals of the same names are dominated by mestizos. (Refer to the map on the following page.) In addition to their control of district governments, mestizos in these districts also control the majority of lower-level governmental units. In the district of Juquila, for example, mestizos manipulate 17 of the 21 Chatino villages directly, through control of either municipios or agencias. The remaining four villages are in a Chatino-controlled or "free" municipio, and mestizo manipulation of them takes a more indirect form. In the four Chatino communities which have the status of "free" municipios, the indirect influence of non-Indian elites is nonetheless sharply felt. Because this status requires that the county government have a republican form of government elected by popular vote and that its internal regime conform to state and federal law, municipio officials are legally accountable to mestizo authorities at the district level. While Indians may hold the elected offices, serious violations of state or federal law may lead to their removal from office and to the demotion of the community's status from that of municipio to agencia, with the resulting lower level of independence. Thus, mestizos are in a position to force the authorities of Indian municipios into actions which favor mestizo interests. Despite the state's imposition of its political and legal systems on Indian communities, indigenous notions of law, justice, and government have not been entirely suppressed. Chatino villages remain corporate entities in their own right. The Chatino are citizens of a village first, a nation second. Despite state and federal constitutions which dictate that local government shall be organized in a particular fashion, Indian traditions have permeated local government organization. The constitutionally mandated posts have become a part of a social ladder in which men, over the course of a lifetime, alternate service in ranked religious posts (which sponsor fiestas for the saints) with civil posts, increasing their prestige and power with each step. Upon completion of this ladder, men become elders of the community. The committee of elders, though it exists entirely outside the framework of the civil government, has veto power in the community 72 Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

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*00 cc -- U 0~ An Ethnography of Law and Violence over the civil government, and may even force elected officials to resign if they go against the elders' wishes. The traditional power hierarchy conflicts with the state-imposed system of government in critical subject areas. Of greatest importance is the exercise of police and judicial powers. Because of their lack of access to political power and their distrust of the non-Indians who control their communities, Chatinos have continued traditional methods of handling community problems. If the Chatino were, in fact, economically, geographically, and politically isolated, these traditional methods might suffice. But unlike Indians in the United States, the legal status of these people does not so isolate them, and the traditional methods are ill-equipped to handle the volume and complexity of the problems facing the Chatino in modern Mexico. Furthermore, the continuation and defense of these methods only entrenches a cultural response that has deadly consequences.

ENDEMIC VIOLENCE

I first visited the district of Juquila in 1973 whi l searching for a village in which to do anthropological fieldwork. On"iie way into the district, I heard stories about people being hacked to death with machetes. Upon my arrival in the Chatino village of Yaitepec, these stories took on a more realistic probability. I went to the village to see if it would meet my research needs, and, as I was talking to the village officials, the village topiles (police) brought in two young men charged with murder. The man at whose home I stayed that first evening had a machete scar running from his eye to his lip and another on his hand where his thumb had almost been severed. Soon I noticed that many men were so scarred. As my fieldwork proceeded, I began to put numbers to these initial observations and discovered a frighteningly high rate of homicides and other attendant violent behavior throughout the Chatino community.2 In an effort to understand the violence and mayhem in the community, I began a search through the municipal archives. There were volumes of depositions describing murders. Although the archives furnished-some details of a case - time, place, manner of death, and name of the accused - they gave precious little indication of the motives. At first, the carnage seemed the result of a senseless series of drunken fights and revenge killings rooted in ancient personal

2See infra text accompanying notes 6-9. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

animosities. Gradually, however, I began to see that this explanation was too simple. Long and bitter battles over boundaries had been fought with the neighboring villages of Yolotepec, Temaxcaltepec, and Juquila, not only in the courts, but in the field as well. A series of homicides were recorded in which the authorities of one village or another were accused of murdering people in these disputed zones. It was evident that litigation was an expensive affair. Money was regularly pumped out of these poor Indian communities, but no resolution of the disputes was ever reached.3 Land conflicts existed not only with other villages, but also between families within a village. Following the introduction of coffee horticulture on Indian lands, the accompanying changes in land tenure (from communal to privatized) sparked a series of blood feuds which pitted family against family. These feuds ultimately divided Yaitepec's two barrios(neighborhoods) and set them against one another. At least one-third of the households in the village had been involved in homicides. The village was in a state of civil war.4 Moreover, Yaitepec was engaged in a prolonged conflict with the "owners" of a coffee plantation, La Constancia. The plantation's land was leased from the village at the end of the last century by a priest from Juquila. This priest had sons, however (though frowned upon, this is not uncommon in rural Mexico), and at his death the priest's sons claimed title to the leased land. The village petitioned for restitution of the land but had no success, and a series of homicides related to this dispute ensued. The archives also revealed that in an attempt to thwart recovery of the land, the plantation owners formed an alliance with one faction of the divided village. By providing the members of the faction with political protection and refuge on La Constancia, they built a private army, which continued to raid the village and kill members of the other faction. Though I witnessed two murders, four shootings, two machete fights, and many fist fights during the 15 months I was in Yaitepec, no one would talk to me about these matters. Even my best informants clammed up the moment I asked, however obliquely, about conflicts. In a small community, with its complex patterns of intermarriage, and

3P. Dennis, The Uses of Inter-village Feuding, 49 Anthrop. Q. 174, 174-184 (1976). 4.. Greenberg, Santiago's Sword. Chatino Peasant Economics and Religion 171-182 (1981) [hereinafter cited as Greenberg, Santiago's Sword]. An Ethnography of Law and Violence its tangled webs of friendship and compadrazgo,5 it is difficult to trust anyone to keep a confidence except the immediate family. Such talk is dangerous; it could cost them their lives. My access to information about conflict changed when I married a woman from Juquila. Since a careless word to the wrong person not only could be dangerous to me, but compromise them, my wife, her family, and their close compadres began to tell me about the various conflicts, to warn me about certain people, and to explain the Byzantine workings of local politics. I was told how to answer even the most seemingly innocent of questions. My brother-in-law put it to me frankly and bluntly: Don't be so trusting. In America you might be able to, but not here. I don't even trust my own shadow. Look, we have our enemies. Who knows what they might be capable of? If someone asks you when are you leaving, or how long you're staying - if you are leaving on Monday, you say that you are going on Thursday. If they ask you where I've gone - if I am in Yaitepec, you tell them that I went to Panixtlahuaca. Don't trust anyone. I soon realized that it was important for me to understand local politics and to be able to evaluate the social consequences of various feuds. To do this I had to know not only who the principals were, but who their friends, relatives, and compadres were as well. I needed to learn how to evaluate what every killing, every incident, meant in terms of the villagers' social relations, and how these social ties might affect my wife's family. Since social networks extend to villages throughout the region, the relevant social facts I needed required knowledge of social networks and local politics not only in Juquila, but also across the entire region.

ETHNOGRAPHIC CASE MATERIALS Politics of Patronage: Political Intervention

I had only been in Yaitepec a couple of months when an attempt to ambush Don Fortino's son took place. His son and daughter-in-law had gone to Panixtlahuaca to buy some coffee and were on their way back to Juquila when assassins opened fire on their car. It was riddled with bullets, but they escaped uninjured. Fortino's son fled with his family to Oaxaca, leaving his store in his sister's care. Because of our close relationship, Don Fortino confided in me as he quietly went about investigating who was behind the attempt on his son's life. 5Compadrazgo is a form of fictive kinship, established by sponsorship of a child's baptism, confirmation, or marriage, and refers to the relationship between a child's ritual godparents and his parents. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

His son, he explained, had several enemies. Fortino's brother had involved him in his dispute with another family, and his son had gotten into a fist fight with one of them. When this man with whom Fortino's son was fighting was killed, the man's family held Fortino's son responsible. Although his son denied it and the public prosecutor found no evidence to implicate his son, this was of little consequence. His son was not being tried by a court of law; he was being tried by public opinion, rumor, and gossip. Fortino used the same kind of flimsy evidence in his investigations. After searching for someone with a motive, Don Fortino concluded that the village priest and his mistress had been behind the attempted ambush. On the afternoon of the ambush, Fortino's daughter had overheard one of the mistress's maids say to another, presumably referring to Fortino's son's fate: "The barbecue will be here soon, right?" And the other maid told her to "shut up." As to motive: the priest and his mistress were the Fortino family's principal competition, both economically and politically. The priest had set up his mistress as a coffee buyer, and the priest was something of a cacique or patron (political boss). (Fe was the leader of the local chapter of PARM (the Party of the Authentic Mexican Revolution) and opposed the Fortino family, who controlled the local chapter of PRI (the Party of the Institutional Revolution).) The priest not only had the support of the local communal lands organization, but of Indians in surrounding villages. Although there were those among Fortino's in-laws who were ready to take revenge, Fortino discouraged them, fearing a blood bath. Instead, the Fortino family sought to use patrons to get the archbishop to apply political pressure, to put the priest on notice that he would be held responsible if anything happened to Fortino's son. Although it took almost a year, the archbishop finally intervened, and the way was clear for his son to return to Juquila.

A Public Act of Murder: Justifiable Homicide

Shortly after the attempt on Fortino's son's life, Fortino's half- brother and nephew came up to Yaitepec in their truck to buy some hides and attend the fiesta for the village's patron saint, Santiago. They were loading the hides on their truck when I saw them. I had just met and begun to court my wife, and I asked them for a ride to Juquila. Fortino's half-brother, however, was a little drunk and first wanted to watch the horse races, a bloody little event in which horsemen gallop under live chickens hanging from a rope stretched across the road and try to pull the chickens' heads off. I accompanied them up to the little An Ethnography of Law and Violence store that overlooked the road, where a crowd of Chatino spectators had assembled on the patio. Fortino's half-brother bought a bottle of mescal and began to drink. His son kept insisting they should go; but Fortino's half-brother kept saying, "Just as soon as I finish my drink." He was soon roaring drunk. Suddenly, he pulled a gun out of his jacket and, reeling, began to fire shots in the air. A villager behind him pulled a knife and stabbed him in the back. The blade penetrated his lung and he collapsed, drowning in his own blood. His son lunged at the man, who slashed at him, missing only by inches. Before he could act again, knife-wielding villagers surrounded Fortino's nephew and allowed the killer to escape. This was a public act of murder. Unlike an ambush, this public arena was an appeal to the witnesses for vindication. The crowd by their actions showed their tacit approval of the murder. Fortino's half- brother was not only a mestizo from a village with which they had a long history of conflict, but, more to the point, he had come to endanger their lives. As far as many villagers were concerned, it had been a justifiable homicide. The killing had been in the defense of the public, and was perhaps even a laudable act. Despite warrants issued by the district court in Juquila for the perpetrator's arrest, no effort was made to arrest him, and he went about the village as if nothing had happened.

Factionalism and Conflict Mediation

Grief-stricken over his father's murder, Fortino's nephew went into a deep depression. He started to drink heavily. Invariably, when I came to Juquila on the weekend to attend the market and see my future wife, I would find him drunk. Although amiable when sober, he was a classically nasty drunk. His drunken behavior soon occasioned an incident that was to teach me even more about the Byzantine politics of patronage in Juquila. About two months after his father's death, he went into the store of his comadre6 to drink. Women can generally say things that would get a man killed (and because of this, are instrumental in spreading the gossip, rumors, and lies which are the life's blood of local politics). However, when his comadre began to berate him, declaring that if he were a man he would have avenged his father, not let the man who killed him walk around free, and calling him a drunken sot who could

6A comadre (literally "co-mother") is a godmother of one's child. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law only beat up women, he reacted violently. He grabbed a machete and began flailing, cutting his comadre on her arm and scalp, slashing her husband's arm, and even cutting his own leg in the process. I was standing on the plaza talking to my fianc6e and her mother when Fortino's nephew stumbled out of the store, machete still in hand. They began to scream. He dropped the machete and took off running. He cut through the church where a mass was in progress, ran down the steps beside the town hall, and off into the hills. I went into the store to see what had happened. The army nurse had been summoned and was sewing up wounds. A crowd had gathered. The husband, who was the presidente of the Communal Lands Committee, was one of the leaders of the PARM faction, and an ally of the priest who opposed Fortino's family and the PRI faction. The men, all PARM supporters, were enraged by the attack. In their anger, they dredged up old memories. The perpetrator's brother had murdered his wife with a knife and fled the village, but this one wasn't going to get away. They were going to lynch him when they got their hands on him. I felt obligated to warn Fortino about what was being said. His attitude surprised me - "If they catch him, he has it coming" - but it shouldn't have. His actions were not only indefensible, but given the already tense situation between Fortino's family and the priest, this incident could easily spark a blood bath, something Fortino was trying to avoid. That night Fortino's nephew tried to sneak back into town, and was spotted in front of the house where I was staying. A shoot-out ensued. Someone had taken cover in the doorway and was firing what sounded like a .45 automatic. I huddled in a corner out of the line of fire. Bullets came through the door. Although the house was less than 200 yards away from the state police post and army barracks, no one came, and just as suddenly as it began, it was over. His nephew escaped. No one had been shot. The next day, the judge of the district court summoned relatives of the principals involved in the dispute. Village factionalism tends to be a stable, enduring form of conflict in a kind of dynamic equilibrium. As long as the status quo does not change too much, the level of violence which accompanies it remains low. The attempt on the life of Fortino's son, followed by his nephew's attack on this PARM leader and his wife, however, threatened this equilibrium, and increased the tensions between these factions. Because the principals were closely tied to the leadership of the PRI and PARM factions, this conflict had the potential of escalating into a nasty feud, pitting PRI and PARM supporters against one another. An Ethnography of Law and Violence

The judge's only concern was to defuse the situation before it went any further. If they promised there would be no further violence, he would drop the charges against both parties instead of applying the letter of the law. But, if there were any more violence, he would throw them all in jail for five years.

Land Conflicts and Politics of Consensus

The politics of patronage, however, are only half of village politics: the other half is based on the politics of consensus, typically manifested in mass demonstrations or land invasions. As I was soon to learn, although elites try to shape and mold consensus through their patronage, the underground currents of consensus are not easily controlled and often run counter to those of patronage. The authorities in Juquila signed a 25-year lease with a lumber company, Etla S.A., giving Etla the right to cut timber on a tract of land north of Yaitepec. When the authorities in Yaitepec learned of this, they were very upset because they felt the tract in question was on Yaitepec's lands. Although Yaitepec was racked by factionalism and feuding, a threat to its communal lands was one issue that could unite the community, and villagers threatened violence if any of their trees were cut. A meeting was arranged with a representative of the company to ostensibly show him the land boundaries in question. Since this meeting had almost sacred overtones for the village, the full complement of civil authorities hiked up the mountain to a point on the road where the company's man met them in a jeep. Fortino's brother-in-law, Emiliano, who was the head of the village's Communal Lands Committee, showed him a map from 1862, which the villagers preserve as a precious possession. He pointed out the mountain tops and river alignments which bounded the tract which Yaitepec claimed. The Etla representative was not impressed because their map had no notary7 marks and would be worthless in court. Although he wanted to cut the timber now, because of the possibility of violence he agreed to delay cutting along this tract until the boundary dispute between Juquila and Yaitepec could be resolved. The Etla representative suggested that the villagers take their case to the National Indian Institute (NI) which had just opened a center in Juquila. The company would wait.

71n Mexico, the public notary receives legal training and may prepare legal documents as well as notarize them. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

Land Disputes, Land Titles, and State Bureaucracies

The town council held a meeting to discuss the matter. Since INI was a government agency, the authorities viewed it with understandable suspicion. Experience had taught them to be wary of mestizo-dominated institutions and political parties, which are used to manipulate them. Nevertheless, they decided to go to see the director of INI's center in Juquila. The director was a young man, Juquila his first post. The villagers again recited the saga of Yaitepec's battles and showed the director the village's land title. The title turned out to be a copy of a notarized copy made in 1926, of a title issued in 1863, which had been altered, by authors unknown, to be in accordance with Yaitepec's claims. In short, the title was worthless. In defense, the villagers explained that the original title had been stolen by the "owners" of the plantation in collusion with a former presidente. The director gave Emiliano a letter of introduction to INI's lawyers in Mexico City and told him to seek further advice there. He also told him to go before the end of the month or it would be too late. I was asked by the village authorities, in the most formal and polite Chatino, to accompany Emiliano and the members of the Communal Lands Committee to Mexico City as they needed a guide. In Mexico City, INI's lawyer told us that according to INI (whose information had been supplied by the Department of Agriculture), there was no conflict between Juquila and Yaitepec. Moreover, INI's opinion not only favored Juquila, but also Yolotepec and Temaxcaltepec in Yaitepec's land disputes with those villages. The lawyer was pessimistic about Yaitepec's chances of winning their boundary disputes, but as to the dispute with the plantation, the lawyer encouraged the delegation. He said that there might be a chance to win the fight for the plantation land. Since INI failed to champion their cause fully, Emiliano decided to seek aid from the National Confederation of Peasants (CNC). The CNC has advocates to help peasants through the Departamento de Asuntos Agrarios bureaucratic maze, whose labyrinth is designed to empty peasant's pockets and enrich solicitors, lawyers, and its officials. Even with the assistance of a CNC advocate, the Departamento de Asuntos Agrarios was a bureaucratic nightmare. Officials had little time or patience for Indians. We were shunted between offices, endured endless waiting to see someone else, filled out forms, filed petitions, only to be told that we had the wrong form and needed to go back to the other office. It took the advocate two weeks to obtain copies An Ethnography of Law and Violence of the land titles and maps. Finally, the advocate made an appointment to see the director of the Office of Communal Lands. It was the director's opinion that the titles did not support Yaitepec's dispute with Juquila. Since it was INI's opinion that the problem of municipal boundaries should take precedence over conflicts with small landowners, however, the director scheduled a meeting in his office between representatives of Yaitepec, Yolotepec, and Temaxcaltepec for the following month. At that meeting, he told them, if they could not settle the matter among themselves, then the Departamento de Asuntos Agrarios would make the decision. As we were leaving, the director took Emiliano aside and apparently suggested to him that he would see what he could do to help them, if they made it worth his while.

The Bribe: Politics of Consensus v. Politics of Patronage

Upon our return, Emiliano gave a full report to the town council at a well-attended town meeting. A lively discussion of what should be done followed. It was learned that in 1970 the town of Juquila had bribed the director with 25,000 pesos (2,000 U.S. dollars) to get a presidential resolution of boundary disputes, which gave Juquila the tract of land Yaitepec now claimed. Emiliano argued that Yaitepec needed to bribe the director of the Communal Lands Office to "nda fiza" (Chatino for "give force") to their petition. All agreed, and 15,000 pesos were collected for the bribe. Each contribution was more than bribe money; each was a carefully recorded vote of confidence expressing the villagers' consensus. Emiliano and the other members of the Communal Lands Committee set off for Mexico City to keep the appointment in the Office of Communal Lands. Upon their return, I learned from Emiliano that he had gone to see the director of the Communal Lands Office with the CNC advocate who discouraged him from offering the director a "bribe" by saying it was unnecessary. It seems that representatives from Temaxcaltepec and Yolotepec did not show up. Since they failed to come to the appointment, the matter of their boundaries was turned over to a special studies unit for a decision. I also gathered that some sort of agreement had been reached with the advocate and director at this meeting concerning the lands of La Constancia. Apparently, they advised them to invade the plantation, and told them that if there were any problems with the public prosecutor in Juquila, they should come back to them. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

The following morning when Emiliano presented his report to the town council, a heated argument ensued. The presidente and municipal secretary opposed the invasion on firm legal grounds - no written permission had been given. Emiliano accused the presidente and secretary of being traitors to the pueblo. He accused the presidente of dragging his feet because he had his cornfields on lands belonging to the plantation owners and, thus, was their compadre. The secretary was not only cheating the pueblo; worse, he was the head of the communal lands committee in one of the villages Yaitepec claimed had taken its lands. The question was finally put in God's hands. At the end of the meeting, the council decided that the village elders would go to Juquila and ask the priest to come to say five special masses. The decision to put the matter in God's hands was explicitly a vote of no confidence in the presidente and secretary, a vote to bypass their authority and make the decision by community consensus. The masses the next day were well attended. The presidente and secretary, however, were conspicuous by their absence. The special masses, in this context, not only measure the consensus of the community (both in terms of attendance and in contributions to pay for them), but also give such consensus sanctity. After the mass, the money was counted publicly on the church plaza by the authorities, who then declared "ndiya frza ni" ("there is force now"). The money was then taken to the priest, who tried futilely to dissuade the village from invading the plantation. After the priest left, a town meeting was held on the church plaza. All the elders, as well as most of the men of the village, were present. Emiliano argued: "There is force in the pueblo now. Don't be afraid to enter! Our patron saint, Santiago, will give us his sword!" Again he insisted that the presidente and secretary were traitors to the pueblo and should be removed from office. After some debate, the men of the village voted to oust the presidente and secretary, and to invade the plantation the following morning. The next morning the village invaded the plantation. From the various accounts given me, the villagers had cut the fences and were clearing the fields to plant corn when one of the "owners" came out of the woods firing a pistol at them. He was gunned down. In panic the men returned to the village. Emiliano and the Communal Lands Committee immediately set off for Mexico City to report to the director of the Communal Lands Office and to the CNC advocate. I was deeply troubled by this tragic turn of events, and turned to Don Fortino for advice. He suggested that I leave Yaitepec and move in with my wife's family in Juquila. His brother-in-law Emiliano, even An Ethnography of Law and Violence if he were innocent, had been "compromised" and would be blamed for the murder. The bad blood between Emiliano and the presidente forebode no good. My close association with Emiliano could only put me in danger. I followed his advice.

Mestizo Reprisals and Politics of Patronage: Legal and Illegal Actions

Emiliano's lot was much as Fortino had foretold. In an obvious attempt to cripple the movement against their lands, the "owners" of La Constancia accused Emiliano and the other members of the Communal Lands Committee of the "assassination." The charges, however, were never proven. In the aftermath of this killing, because the priest had gone to say masses in Yaitepec, the PRI in Juquila blamed him for the invasion as well. To prove that he had tried to prevent the invasion, the priest used his influence in Juquila's Communal Lands Office (controlled by PARM) to convince them to refuse to rent communal land to the people of Yaitepec. Since almost half of Yaitepec needed to rent lands from Juquila, this act of retaliation was particularly brutal. Things, however, went from bad to worse. While in Mexico City, Emiliano apparently obtained the written permission of the director of the Communal Lands Office to take the plantation's lands, and, upon his return, another invasion of the plantation was organized. The plantation "owners," however, had obtained an injunction prohibiting the villagers from taking possession of the lands until the case was settled in court, and when the second invasion took place, the "owners" called in the state police who opened fire on the villagers as they fled, wounding many, and arresting others. Following the second invasion, consensus in the village evaporated. The village again divided into opposing factions, and Yaitepec's land problems were mired in the bureaucracy where they had been pending since 1935.

Factionalism in Yaitepec

After the ouster of the presidente, Emiliano set himself up in Yaitepec as a cacique by expropriating the presidente's official seal. This, in effect, gave him a veto over the town council since he could refuse to stamp any document that he did not like. Unlike his mestizo counterparts, however, whose extensive social and economic networks link them to powerful patrons at the state and national level, Emiliano's Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law base of power lay solely in Yaitepec. While things went well, this was well enough; however, when they began to go badly, it meant Emiliano had nowhere to turn for help or protection. And things soon went badly. Emiliano's seizure of the official seal did not sit well with everyone, particularly with the new presidente. Emiliano had bought a piece of land from the widow of the new presidente's uncle, which the presidente felt by rights of inheritance should have been his. The presidente began to accuse Emiliano of being a cacique and blamed him for the troubles they had with Juquila, the "owners" of La Constancia, and the police. To teach the presidente a lesson, two of Emiliano's compadres pushed him off a cliff, breaking his tailbone. Not deterred, the presidente continued his campaign against Emiliano. His words hit a responsive chord, and an angry mob from Barrio Abajo attacked Emiliano's house, hoping to kill him. Emiliano, however, was at his rancho. In retaliation, Emiliano armed a small army of his sons and supporters, and threatened to kill the presidente.

Blood Feuds The Fate of the Marked Man and the Valiente

Not long after this, Emiliano's son was killed during the fiesta of Santa Cruz in a light with one of his own cousins. In the month that followed, a slaughter ensued. Two or three men from the Barrio Abajo were killed. The death of his son was a compromiso which made Emiliano a marked man. As a marked man, he had two choices: to live the life of an avenging valiente, or flee. Since his son's murder had compromised his family as well, Emiliano sent his other son to Veracruz, out of harm's way, and Emiliano then fled to Juquila, and then to Zacatepec, a nearby Chatino village. Since all his property was in Yaitepec, Emiliano began to go back and forth from Zacatepec to Yaitepec, and when the trouble appeared to have passed, despite Don Fortino's warnings, Emiliano moved back to Yaitepec. He was lighting a sacred candle at the gate to his house when he was shot and killed. Fortino's nephew (Emiliano's son) returned from Veracruz to avenge his father and brother. Like one whose fate was sealed, he chose to live the life of a valiente and, with some 15 followers, went on a brazen killing spree which so terrorized the villagers that they hid in their houses. In the end, according to Fortino's sister, his own friends betrayed him. They murdered him and, to mock his brave heart, cut it out and stuffed it in his mouth. An Ethnography of Law and Violence

As with so much of the violence in the Juquila district, the tragedy of these deaths was interwoven with local political and economic issues. These deaths were not simply the result of a local blood feud; they were the result of conflicts and social processes which went far beyond the boundaries of the village. Like billiard balls which, once set in motion, bound off the banks and crash into one another, blood feuds are propelled by these outside forces. In this game, factionalism and blood feuds serve as mechanisms of social control which undermine the effectiveness of local consensual politics. To extend the metaphor, the games of factional and consensual politics are not played on an even table. Rather, these games are played on a table whose very institutional banks, walls, and obstacles are historical products that have been shaped by the game, and in some of the pockets the balls have greater political and economic weight and size than others. When peasants lose the basis of their security, their land, they enter a weightless world in which, like the valiente, they are able to crash about only self-destructively. Emiliano and his family, like the other casualties of blood feuds, were not merely victims of their enemies, but were pawns in a much bigger game - a class struggle - whose rules they were hardly aware of.

EXPLANATIONS OF VIOLENCE

The homicide rates in the District of Juquila are among the highest in all Mexico.8 The homicide rates in Yaitepec were astounding. The village had an average of 120 murders per 100,000 persons from 1930 to 1949. After the introduction of coffee horticulture in the 1950s, the rate averaged 480 per 100,000 through the 1950s, and 440 per 100,000 through the 1960s.9 Figures for 1973, 1974, 1975, and 1977 indicate an average homicide rate in Yaitepec of 511 per 100,000.10 Yaitepec does not stand alone. High homicide rates are found throughout the district. From 1973 to 1975, the average homicide rate per 100,000 was 284 in the town of Juquila; in Ixtapan, 408; in Panixtlahuaca, 450."1 In 1977, the rate in seven Chatino villages averaged 300 per 100,000.

sHomicide rates in the District of Juquila are five times the Mexican national average. 9Greenberg, Santiago's Sword, supra note 4, at 182. 10M. Bartolom6 and A. Barabas, Tierra de la palabra: historia y etnografia de los Chatinos de Oaxaca 221 (1982). 11id. at 74. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

These rates are somewhat deceptive, however. Since more than 95 percent of the victims are men, these rates must be doubled. A rate of 450 per 100,000 is really a rate for men of 900 per 100,000. Moreover, about 80 percent of these deaths are of men from 15 to 50. Individually, what this means is that there is a better than 30 percent chance that a man will be killed before he turns 50. These cold facts only indicate the magnitude of the problem; they do not express the human side of the equation. Murder is such a common coin in -the region that everyone is affected. Everyone has lost kinsmen, friends, and neighbors to its deadly transactions. Like cancers, the conflicts which underlie bloodshed have complex etiologies, and understanding violence is no easy task, even for those to whom it is a daily fact of life. In the heat of conflict, their perception of violence is distorted by denial, ideology, and passion. Even such thoughtful and intelligent native observers as Don Fortino tend at times to offer either simplistic or ideological explanations for the violence in their communities. It should be noted, however, that the interpretations provided by social sciences are often just as ideological or reductionistic. Neither can be taken at face value. Don Fortino's -explanation of the violence in Juquila is primarily economic: people [ight over land and over the problems caused by the introduction of coffee as a cash crop on communal lands. In Cirdenas" time, when Agrarian Reform came to Juquila, everyone jumped in to reclaim their land rights. Formerly the municipal s(ndico was the only authority on communal lands; now there is a president of the communal lands committee. During the Diaz regime the plantation owners wanted to grab the communal lands of Juquila, but they weren't able to here. In Juquila there are no plantation owners, nor have there been, nor will there be. The people would never consent to any, except the ones at El Plantanar. They were the only ones whom they let have a small area to work, good land for coffee. But in other municipios the plantation owners were more successful, and since the authorities always have had the custom of selling themselves, when there was Agrarian Reform those who had taken the lands of Teotepec and Yaitepec did not surrender them. Instead, they went to Oaxaca, and even to Mexico City, and made agreements; and nothing happened to take away their lands.12 '2Fortino addresses the subject of land reform promised by the Constitution of 1917, which only became a meaningful program in 1934 with the election of President Cdrdenas. Fortino makes three points: (1) while landowners tried to grab Juquila's communal lands during the Dfaz regime, they were largely unsuccessful except at El Plantanar; they were, however, more successful in other municipios. (2) where the local sindico (government official) had previously been the sole authority in charge of communal lands in Juquila, the land reform established a new administrative organization that was linked to the state; (3) while everyone jumped to reclaim their rights when the land reform came, little came of it because the large landholders were able to buy off the authorities, not only on the local level but, more importantly, at the state and national levels. An Ethnography of Law and Violence

A lot of the fights over land are really over coffee. In the 1930s, the Chatino began to plant a little coffee a long time ago, but very little just for their own use, because coffee was only worth 12 centavos a pound. But they didn't start to plant coffee in quantity until the price began to go up, because it wasn't worth very much, and required a lot of work. About 1950, it reached a price that was fair, even profitable. The one who gave the business of planting coffee real impetus was Don Genaro Ayuzo. The Chatino planted coffee not only on Don Genaro's advice, but on that of finqueros from La Soledad, from La Aurora. Everyone had worked there. They brought back with them the enthusiasm for the work. There they began to have more faith in the coffee trade. In Juquila, it was Don Genaro, I can testify, who pushed the development of the coffee trade. It was he who inspired the people to plant coffee, who persuaded them it was profitable. He not only pushed it, but he bought it from them, and went on giving better prices until they reached where they are presently. He still continues to buy, and the people continue planting. The pueblos which have the most land of their own for coffee in the district of Juquila are , Acatepec, Jocotepec, Temaxcaltepec, Nuevo, and San Juan Lachao Viejo, too. Yolotepec has a fringe of land on the border with Yaitepec. Some pueblos like Ixtapan are too hot for coffee. Yaitepec works in Las Placitas, and they have a lot of coffee, too. Juquila does, too.13 When I was growing up the only killing I knew about in Juquila was that of Timoteo, the father of Josefina. . . . Apart from the revolution there were very few killings. When the people of the pueblo began to plant coffee .... that's when things began to become very violent. . . . Utale! People started accusing one another of witchcraft and started killing witches. Jesus, by now they've killed a lot of them. . . . People began to go around buying pistols, in order to walk around celebrating this work, "that I'm very macho," and I don't know what else. Well, if anyone gave them difficulties, they'd kill them. The killings became very intense .... When the price of coffee went up, every one wanted to plant coffee and harvest it the next year. There was too much ambition and greed. People began to grab land, fence it in so that no one else could enter, which meant that others who had desires to plant a plot couldn't. There was the difficulty. In the house of Cresencia was where the casualties began to occur, when she began to sell mescal there. That's where it began. Soon after, it was becoming a custom that over that way, on that path, there would be a continual succession of fatalities. Many men have been killed there, but in vengeance, over these things, over land. In the heat of mescal that they offer, these shameless men reach the degree of killing one another. 13Fortino lists the towns and areas in which coffee is grown in the region. Not all the towns in the district produce coffee. Coffee is best grown in a temperate climate, and little is grown in the hot lands or in the cold highlands. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

All the towns where coffee has been introduced are bitterly divided, because there is very little free land left in which to plant coffee. Now they are just blocking things, because some greedy individuals grab a good-sized perimeter of land in which one could plant 100,000 trees, and they go plant 100 trees here, and 100 there, all around the edges of this property, so that no one else will enter, and then they plant a few trees in the center. This simply blocks the economic development of the pueblo; but the authorities haven't filed papers to reduce these people to what [area] they can work. Because they can't. Because then there are conflicts. If they do something, it is not a just little conflict, it turns into a big one: killing, grabbing land, and everything. All those towns where coffee has been introduced have the same characteristics. They are divided and fight among themselves. It was outsiders ...who stirred up trouble and it was money which talked - even setting brother against brother. These "friends" have a lot of money whereas the poor Indians don't have anywhere to work. ...Native sons are denied lots while rich outsiders have the money to grab them.... Their land has been taken over by these outsiders.' 4 Although Fortino stresses that much of the violence in the region revolves around land and coffee, he also underscores the ethnic and class dimensions of these struggles. He alleges that outsiders have played a central role in the violence that divided these villages: "Native sons are denied lots while rich outsiders have the money to grab them." Among the factors he names as contributing to homicide is the widespread acquisition of guns made possible by the money from coffee. Don Fortino also links alcohol to violence, and holds "macho ideology" at fault for bloodshed in this context. He blames much of the violence and factionalism in the district on battles between caciques, that is, the attempts of "political bosses" to hold onto lands, or to control the coffee trade. He also underlines the frustration at the lack of justice which causes poor peasants and Indians to take the law into their own hands. Elsewhere, he connects character to violence: it is a result of stupidity, lack of culture, or education; it stems from being hot-tempered, or from jealousy, envy, or criminal character, or it is simply the result of having become accustomed to doing evil deeds.' 5 As may be seen in this capsuled summary, Don Fortino's understanding of violence is fairly complex. To explain it, he employs a mix of material, social, political, and psychological factors. However, if we are to understand the ideological aspects of his account, how he uses these factors needs to be examined in greater detail.

14J. Greenberg, Our Struggle: Life and Violence in Rural Mexico (forthcoming from University of Arizona Press, Tucson, Arizona) [hereinafter cited as Greenberg, Our Strugglel. 151d. An Ethnography of Law and Violence

Historical Perspective on Conflicts over Land

A little history is necessary to understand the problems created by the introduction of coffee. Coffee was introduced as a cash crop in the 1870s to replace cochineal, an insect-derived dye-stuff. After the commercial value of cochineal was destroyed by the invention of aniline dyes in the 1860s, cochineal merchants from Miahuatlfn turned their attention to coffee. When the Porfiriato (1880-1910) defined the communal lands of Indian communities as corporate property and put them up for sale, mestizos from Miahuatldn flooded into the district of Juquila and grabbed large expanses of communal lands for coffee plantations. During this period, Chatino communities only lost about 10 percent of their lands to these plantations, but, in this mountainous region, these 6 were their best lands.' The Chatino perception of those who came to take their lands and exploit them is reflected in their world view. Theirs is a searing critique of the capitalism forged in colonial Mexico and depicts the system as a diabolic form of cannibalism. In their symbolic landscape, the devil is cast as a rich mestizo plantation owner in constant need of workers for his many enterprises. He lures Indians to his abode with promises of wealth, only to devour them. An added allegorical inference is that hard work does not lead to wealth, but rather that riches come as a result of making a pact with the devil, the real owner of all the riches on earth. 17 The pacts are symbolic of capitalist contracts. The pacts are said to be written in blood, and in them, the devil agrees to provide people (by definition, witches) with money in exchange for their souls. The money obtained from such diabolic contracts is, however, sterile and incapable of multiplying itself once paid. Like selling land, peasants who sell their souls trade the real sources of security for the mere appearance of security. Given this world view, the devil's use of contractual instruments to steal a person's soul mimics the behavior 8 of capitalists who appropriate the land and labor of Indian peasants.' The Chatino reacted violently to the "diabolic" Porfiriato laissez-faire legislation used to expropriate their lands and to the "evil" contractual practices which reduced them to debt peons on coffee plantations. In 1896, the Indians of the region led a rebellion known

16B. Rojas, El caf6 49-69 (1964) [hereinafter cited as Rojas, E! cafe]; Greenberg, Santiago's Sword, supra note 4, at 39-50; Bartolom6 and Barabas, supra note 10, at 43. 17Greenberg, Santiago's Sword, supra note 4, at 92. 18J. Ingham, Mary, Michael, and Lucifer Folk Catholicism in Central Mexico 105-110 (1986). Arizona Journal of Internationaland Comparative Law as the "War against the Pants," in which they tried to kill every mestizo outsider in the region, whom they identified as wearing pants.' 9 Although Federal troops quickly and brutally suppressed this outbreak, Zapata's promise of "land and liberty" lead the Chatino to support the Zapatistas in the Mexican Revolution. Although the Mexican Constitution of 1917 contained provisions for land reform, it was not until the Cirdenas administration (1934-1940) that any real advance was made. Despite the land reform effort under the Cdrdenas administration, however, Chatino communities did not recover any of the lands they had lost to coffee plantations during the Porfiriato.What the land reform did do, though, was prevent plantations from expanding their holdings. Between the mid-1930s and the 1950s, rising demand for coffee on the international market encouraged North American coffee buyers to push local Mexican growers to expand their production. They offered growers interest-free loans if they would increase production. 20 Unable to expand their plantations directly, the growers turned to the peasants, offering them low-interest loans as inducements to plant coffee. Initially, only mestizo peasants took up this offer.21 Chatino authorities resisted planting coffee on their communal lands for fear that coffee would lead to the alienation of land from the community. After World War II, the price of coffee, which had hovered around 18 pesos per kilo, began to rise sharply, and by 1948 it had reached 34 pesos. 22 In Yaitepec, the first reports of coffee being planted appears in the municipal archives in 1949. In the early 1950s, the price of coffee reached an all-time high on the world market. With coffee buyers more than willing to help finance the move into coffee, Chatino resistance faded, and there was a rush to plant coffee. As Chatino authorities feared, the move into coffee had profound consequences on land tenure. Under the traditional system of communal tenure, land was allocated by the village council to

19C. Esteva, Geografia del Estado de Oaxaca 228 (1913); Basauri, Tribu Chatinos, 2 La poblaci6n indfgena de M6xico 501-502 (1940); B. Rojas, En Ancas de Rocinante: Segunda parte de las Epistolas del Gringo Bias al Cubano Jos6 20 113-14 (1980). Bartolom6 and Barabas, supra note 10, at 44. 2 2Rojas, El cafi, supra note 16, at 114. 22 Downing, La penetracion de los sectores privado y publico en las zonas cafetaleras de M.xico, in Conflicto entre cuidad y campo en America Latina 289 (1. Restrepo ed. 1980). An Ethnography of Law and Violence households on the basis of need. Households held usufruct rights23 and could pass these on to their children, but could not sell or otherwise alienate them. If the holder of the right died without heirs or left the village, the council would reassign the right. The flexibility of the usufruct rights system worked well with traditional crops and farming methods. But the village encountered new problems with the introduction of coffee. As long as corn was grown (interlaced with beans and squash) and a slash and burn system of horticulture was used, field location was not critical. Under a slash and burn system of production, plots can only be worked a year or two before they must be abandoned and left fallow for at least three years, preferably longer. The special needs", of coffee agriculture disrupted traditional horticulture and altered the communal system of land tenure. Unlike corn, coffee trees represent an almost permanent investment in the land: they typically do not begin to produce until their fifth year and may produce for up to 100 years. This permanent use of the land effectively removes that land from other uses, a disruption of the traditional slash and burn methods. Moreover, unlike corn, coffee requires special growing conditions. Coffee can only be grown in a temperate zone. Further, because its leaves will burn, trees need shade, and certain slopes are too sunny. In Yaitepec, since coffee could be grown on only 198 hectares of the village's land, these growing requirements put such lands at a premium and quickly transformed such land into de facto private property. As early as 1949, coffee growers in Yaitepec began to petition for titles to their lands. Sales of fields first appear in the municipal archives *in 1950, and during the rest of the decade a lively land market flourished in which coffee plots were bought and sold within the community. By the 1960s, "communal land" had been transformed into "private property" which was owned by only a few people. The pattern and degree of this concentration may be gauged from data on the distribution of property of 150 households over a 50-year period. Property values from 1922 municipal tax assessment records for the households were compared to the 1973 distribution of coffee

23Usufruct rights were originally defined under Roman law as rights to use land and keep the fruits of one's labor. In pre-Hispanic .Mexico, macehuales (free peasants) held usufruct rights to community lands, but not to particular parcels. Although such rights could be inherited by direct descendants, they could not be otherwise transferred. This type of land tenure is still the basis of access to communal lands. Such lands may be assigned to members of a community for their use, but cannot be sold or otherwise alienated from the community. See N. Farriss, Maya Society under Colonial Rule: The Collective Enterprise of Survival 180 (1984). Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law and corn land, and total lands. Even in this subsistence-based economy, property has always been fairly concentrated. For instance, in 1922 the bottom 50 percent of the households held only 25 percent of the assessed property, while the top 10 percent held 38 percent. It is also apparent that the introduction of coffee, although it more than halved the land available for subsistence, did not appreciably change the relative distribution of corn lands. In 1973, 204 households with subsistence cornfields were distributed much like the property values of the earlier subsistence economy in 1922. Coffee lands, however, had become extremely concentrated. In 1973, of the 178 households with coffee plots, the bottom 50 percent only held 3 percent of the coffee lands. The top 10 percent of the coffee growers control 67 percent of the coffee lands. Since most households follow a mixed strategy of planting corn and coffee, the effect of the extreme concentration of coffee lands has been to significantly change the distribution of their total lands. Unlike the earlier subsistence economy, under the present system of production, the bottom half of the households with land hold only 13 percent of the total land, while the top 10 percent of the households possess 47 percent of the village's arable lands. This process of concentration of coffee land is not peculiar to Yaitepec. As Hernandez Dfaz notes for the Chatino village of Panixtlahuaca, "those who possess 5 or more hectares of coffee, and which represent 10 percent of the households, control more land than all those with 2 hectares or less, who represent 62 percent of the growers." 24

Conflicts over Privatization of Communal Lands

Chatino feelings about the alienation and privatization of their lands have been well-expressed by a Chatino writer: For us, things should be collective. What we have learned, for example, is that the land was given to the community and not to individuals by the gods. That is why it was worked in common and no one felt they were the owner of the land they worked. Moreover, it is our belief that there is not just one god, but many, and among them all, they collectively created the things they give. Cornfields do not grow by themselves. They need earth, sun, water, wind, seeds, and our work. That is why we ask for the aid of the gods where they live and not in the church. . . .The harmony of the work between men and the gods is what makes it possible for us to eat

24J.Hernindez Dfaz, -lcaf6 amargo: diferenciaci6n y cambio social entre los Chatinos 94 (1987). An Ethnography of Law and Violence

and live as a community. If our gods created things together and aid us in life collectively, we cannot be better than them if we do and possess things individually. 25 As this quote indicates, the Chatino concept of communal land - as a sacred trust given by the gods - is substantially different from that of the states. The Iatter (in which lands vested in the nation are ceded to a community) is closer to the English concept of property rights. Where rights to land are based on a sacred trust (like the Israeli concept of the "promised land"), these rights cannot be superseded by a mere piece of paper, such as a title or bill of sale. Because land for the Chatino has a sacred dimension, certain kinds of conflicts, such as threats to communal land, may lead to demonstrations, mob attacks, or land invasions. Although patrons may attempt to manipulate these conflicts to gain political support, such manifestations generally reflect a consensus of barrio or community interests. For instance, Yaitepec's conflicts with Yolotepec and Temaxcaltepec over village boundaries have caused repeated incidents of violence, approaching warfare, each time villagers from these towns attempt to plant fields in the disputed areas. Although troops may be called in to keep the peace for a time, usually little if anything can be done to reach a settlement between them. Even where the government steps in to resolve a boundary dispute, its legal decision is rarely accepted by the losing side. As. previously indicated, conflict is not exclusively between communities. As capitalist development transformed communal lands into private property, conflict has become increasingly common within communities as well, Intra-community conflicts in Yaitepec follow barrio lines. As Fortino's testimony indicates, such division of communities has occurred wherever coffee was introduced. In part, schisms in the community occur along barriolines because barrios are communities within the community. Barrios in Chatino communities are not merely neighborhoods: they have their own rituals, fiestas, and their own representatives in the town's civil-religious hierarchy. In addition, people tend to marry within their barrio,creating dense social ties. Furthermore, rifts along banio lines parallel economic realities. Yaitepec, for instance, has been split along barrio lines since the introduction of coffee. The significance of the role that coffee plays in causing the split may be gauged from the distribution of the coffee

2Cruz Lorenzo, De porque las flores nunca se doblegan con el aguacero: tradicio% recuperacion de la tierra, la mujer y el poder en la comunidad Chatina de , Juquia, Oaxaca, I El Medio Milenio, Oaxaca, Mdxico 28, 31-33 (April 1987). Arizona Journal of Internationaland Comparative Law

lands between the two barrios. Although only 45 percent of the households in the community live in the Barrio Abajo, they have 72 percent of the coffee land in the village. Barrio Arriba, with 55 percent of the village households, holds only 28 percent of the coffee land. 6 And there lies the rub.2

Class and Ethnic Dimensions of Conflict

Fortino also observes that these conflicts over communal lands have class and ethnic dimensions. As coffee lands have become de facto private property, the exclusive right of access of native sons to community land has been eroded. Fortino asserts that "rich mestizo outsiders" have used their political connections, knowledge, and money to deprive Chatino "native sons" of their communal lands. In Chatino communities, to deny one access to land is to deprive one of livelihood. Fortino argues that since Chatinos lack the political clout and savvy to recover their lands through legal means, they have used violence to defend their interests. In reality, Fortino's picture of mestizo outsiders against Chatino native sons over-draws conflict based on ethnicity. As mestizos and Indians have migrated and raised families in Juquila, the distinction between "insiders" and "outsiders" has blurred; but, the categories are still utilized to justify or deny claims to communal resources. Fortino is a good example. Although his father was a "rich mestizo," Fortino claims to be a "native son" because his mother is Chatino, because he was born in the village, and because he performed those material services - labor drafts, service in community offices - required of village citizens. "Native son" status has more to it than just ethnicity. Fortino's picture of conflict drawn from class distinctions is also more complex than at first it appears. In painting the conflict as between poor native sons and rich mestizo outsiders, Fortino affirms the egalitarian norms of Chatino society, but denies the seriousness of the conflicts between its members. Again, Fortino's own claim to land provides a good example. Fortino believes his claim to land was based on the usufruct rights of a "native son." His claim, unlike those of "outsiders," was not greedy: his field was not that large; he had not taken "enough land for five or 10 people." Fortino further distinguishes his claim from "outsiders' claims in procedural terms. He established his usufruct rights by first following appropriate traditional procedures: clearing,

26Greenberg, Santiago's Sword. supra note 4, at 196. An Ethnography of Law and Violence planting, and fencing the field. (The first step towards privatizing land is to fence the land.) He then acquired formal title to the land by following appropriate legal procedures. He petitioned the presidente municipal for title to the land, which, when granted, formalized his rights. Thus, when the people of Barrio Grande in Juquila invaded his cornfield and cut down the fence, Fortino attributed this action not to the desire of the pueblo to defend its communal land, but rather to the underhanded scheme of a former mestizo presidente, who stirred up the people against Fortino. In other words, despite the fact that Fortino's "native son" status is somewhat questionable, the fact that he followed procedure and was not "greedy" is sufficient in his mind to warrant privatization of former communal land. His ethnicity is not in question; someone else's is. He has not stolen communal land; he was not "greedy" and he followed the procedures. By contrast, Fortino argues that rich, mestizo outsiders grab communal lands through chicanery. A former mestizo presidente, for instance, acquired "title" to a large rancho by confiscating and destroying municipal land records. Thus, when the presidente tried to fence the land, the pueblo's invasion, fence cutting, and murderous intent was a justified defense of communal land interests. Despite the falsity of the claim, however, the presidente's son-in-law, a "native son," continues to enjoy usufruct rights to the property. Thus, both the class and ethnic dimensions of Fortino's explanation of violence are more complex than meet the eye. "Native son" status has more to do with one's connection to the village than simply ethnicity, and the ability to convert communal land to private land has more to do with the size of the holding and adherence to procedure than simply wealth and power. The blurred ethnic lines and hybridized procedures for converting communal land to private land permit small-scale transformations in land tenure. And the fear of violence prevents large-scale transformations and maintains the concept (if not the reality) of communal land.

MECHANISMS OF SOCIAL CONTROL

Social relations in these communities are shaped by conflict. As conflicts are played out, old social orders are reworked and new ones are created. It is therefore essential to understand how conflicts either expand or are resolved. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

Factionalism

Individuals and groups in conflict often seek alliances. In Juquila, because many conflicts are intense and violent, alliances are necessary, if not to win, then just to survive. When people are involved in conflicts, they are prone to interpret every gesture as being for or against them, and to see people as either friends or enemies. Since neutrality is unacceptable, they construe any association with their enemies as an alliance and any fence-sitting as a betrayal. As a result, conflicts drag individuals, families, groups, and institutions into them. The conflict thus grows in scale to involve the participants in still other conflicts.2 7 In blood feuds, for example, fights between individuals escalate with each killing; each killing creates new enemies. As the conflict spreads through kinship networks, it takes on momentum. Once started, it is difficult to stop, and many people may be killed as an entire town is engulfed by violence. Disputes can grow to include such a large segment of the community that the dispute becomes a referendum on issues confronting the community in its relationship to the larger society. What starts out as a personal dispute may widen to include important local leaders, regional political movements, state political parties, and governmental bureaucracies. As the dispute progresses, factions representing all the major components of the village's social universe line up on sides. Such disputes become the focus of gossip within social networks, shaping public opinion on any variety of issues.28 Apart from shaping public opinion in the disputing process, gossip also plays an important role in containing conflicts. As a mechanism of social control, like public ridicule, shunning, and ostracism, gossip is a means of censuring people. Because it need not be true, but merely believed, people fear gossip 29 and will go to great lengths to avoid being the subject of it. What is more, as gossip stains family honor as well as personal reputation, members are pressured to toe the line and avoid embanassing the family. Although social networks may spread blood feuds, the dense criss-crossing of kinship and friendship alliances within the village also serves to check their expansion. Social networks often incorporate members who are related to close friends or kinsmen that an individual

27 L. Romanucci-Ross, Conflict, Violence, and Morality in a Mexican Village 29-32 (1973). 28p. Parnell, Law and Creativity: The Innovation of a Contemporary Mexican Legal System (forthcoming from University of Arizona Press, Tucson, Arizona). 29Like witchcraft accusations, gossip is a labelling process; see H. Selby, Zapotec Deviance: The Convergence of Folk and Modem Sociology 92 (1974). An Ethnography of Law and Violence can hardly stomach or may even roundly hate, but will treat with at least a minimum of courtesy for the sake of others. Because social networks provide offsetting restraints on the expression of violence, although the families of victims and assassins may hate one another, they often remain in the village, crossing paths daily; however, the desire for revenge often lurks beneath this peaceable surface. Since each new killing sees a realignment of loyalties, the potential for violence remains. As nearly everyone in the village is related, when a killing occurs, the social restraints checking old hatreds may disappear, and blood feuds may flare up again. Because such feuds engender chronic tensions and distrust, when social checks disappear or alliances change, people may be killed out of desconfianza, a distrust that the person will not remain uninvolved and must therefore be eliminated as a safety precaution. As local conflicts escalate they may jump to new and more inclusive levels of organization, pitting groups against one another at regional, state, and national levels. However, because local conflicts often become state or federal issues when state or federal troops are summoned, state and federal authorities are loath to become entangled in such struggles, unless local officials are unable to deal with them and petition the government to intervene. When the state and federal authorities do become involved, it often leads to confrontations between the local populace and the state or federal troops. Because state and federal involvement often entails loss of local autonomy, repressive measures by the police and the army, and costly court battles, Indian communities are reluctant to ask the government for help in their affairs.

Patronage

Without patronage, the state political apparatus is effectively closed to the commoner. In the absence of patronage, the only weapons that peasants have are forms of mass protest such as land invasions or mob violence. Patrons or caciques (political bosses) rise to power by providing leadership on local issues; but, because their power is based on the ebb and flow of local issues, the politics of patronage has a cyclical quality. The more serious a conflict, the more likely a patron is to become involved. When this happens, what may have been a personal conflict-enters a new arena: it becomes part of the factionalist struggles within the community. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law

The greater a patron's personal following and power, the more likely he is to resort to force to maintain his power. As his power increases, however, so generally does the resentment of him, particularly by those who lose in the power struggles. As violence and the patron's abuse of power increase, people will oppose him by switching their allegiance from one cacique to another. This gives the new cacique a free hand to exploit the community; the cycle of violence and oppression is likely to repeat.

Police and Army

The principal weapons the state uses to control violence and maintain its monopoly on the legitimate use of force are the armed forces (army and police) and the court system. Their limited effectiveness in controlling violence in Juquila is the result of several structural contradictions. Although Indian communities can call upon state and federal troops to make arrests, in practice Chatino authorities almost never do. In part, this is because underpaid police forces are notoriously corrupt; more importantly, it is because homicides between villagers create deep schisms in the community. Any action against offenders would constitute "taking sides," and would invite reprisals. Given the constant threat of violence, the understandable attitude of Indian authorities is to "leave punishment to God." As a result, reports of homicides by the civil authorities to the district court generally read, "Killed by a person or persons unknown." Witnesses, who cannot count on police protection, and fear reprisal if they testify, are unwilling to get involved. And even when arrests are made, few result in convictions. There is a police force in Chatino communities, generally comprising young boys, aged 13 to 18. These boys basically serve as topiles (errand boys) for the civil authorities. Because the government fears that Indians might use weapons in revolt or against other Indian communities, these local Indian constabularies are unarmed. As a result, when violence occurs, unarmed topiles are extremely reluctant to attempt to arrest armed culprits.With retribution left to God (and the victim's family), ineffective intervention by the state, and unarmed local constabulary, blood feuds fester and erupt. While violence is directed at other Indians and poor peasants, it poses little threat to the state, and little effort is made to apprehend the perpetrators of crimes. But with an increase in battles between villages, invasion of plantations, and murder of "elite" citizens, the state's reaction is *much more forthcoming. Battles between villages An Ethnography of Law and Violence over boundaries now invariably result in the state asserting authority. Troops are sent in to secure the peace, and legal steps are taken to resolve the problem. (These legal measures rarely decide anything, however, and merely set the stage for the next round of violence.) The invasion of plantations by peasants also results in state response. Typically, finca (plantation) owners obtain injunctions against the peasant community, but if the invasion persists, troops are called in and the peasants are evicted, often by force.30 The use of force to defend the status quo is not without danger, however each time it is used, conflicts are reinforced.

Mediation and Justice Systems

Individuals in Chatino communities who have kin and friends on both sides may act as mediators in a variety of conflicts, even violent ones. This form of third-party mediation is common. In general, the more closely mediators are related to each of the parties concerned, the more apt they are to succeed in their efforts as peacemaker.3' For example, Fortino once forcefully took a gun away from the public prosecutor at a dance because the man was threatening people with the gun. Fortino was ready to beat him or worse, when the comandante approached Fortino to,-mediate the matter. Fortino was being very macho, and so the comandante took a non-confrontational approach, appealing to him to surrender the gun out of friendship rather than authority, saying, "I've always loved you, please give me that gun." When such informal efforts at mediation fail, village authorities become involved. Typically, the town council enters disputes after complaints are made. Although such appeals to the town council are a signal that the conflict is escalating, they also indicate that the dispute is still amenable to mediation. In Chatino villages both plaintiff and defendant are amply plied with mescal and are encouraged to speak from the heart and to re-enact their quarrel there before the council. Since the council is composed of fellow villagers, "the men ... rendering judicial decisions know the defendant well.... They

30Greenberg, Santiago's Sword, supra note 4, at 75-81. 31As O'Nell also observes, "the requirements of reciprocity and the need for cooperation from others serve fundamentally to inhibit expressed hostility .... If hostilities do arise, continuing interdependence will force some readjustment in their relationship which normally seems to minimize the significance of hostility as an interpersonal problem." O'Nell, Nonviolence and Personality Dispositions among the Zapotec: A Paradox within an Enigma, 2 J.Psychol. Anthropol. 301, 322 (1979). Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law have a fair pre-hearing knowledge of his personal history, and may use it as evidence in his favor, or to his disadvantage." 32 If they feel one is lying, they may laugh or jeer at him;33 however, their "main efforts are devoted to soothing the two parties so that they will not bear grudges against each other."34 Since their aim is to mediate disputes, not to punish crimes, in the end they rarely reach a clear-cut decision; instead they often fault or even fine both parties. Fortino virulently denounces the state system of justice. Since people with money can buy and bend the law to suit their purpose, he believes that justice is worthless and has never existed for the poor Indian. Moreover, Fortino argues, Indians and mestizos do not enter the court on equal footing, and this is not simply a matter of money, but of social networks and familiarity with the state system, all of which give the advantage to mestizos. In what approaches an apology for the "criminal" violence in the countryside, he contends that Indians turn to violence out of frustration with their lack of recourse to adequate means of defending their rights and claims. Although there is more than a grain of truth to Fortino's allegations, it should be understood that this explanation contains several oversimplifications. The problem is not merely that justice is distorted to favor the wealthy, but that various notions of justice are in competition. The crux of the issue is that the state legal apparatus, which has been an instrumentality of domination since colonial times, is counterpoised by indigenous principles of justice. The state's definitions of crime often run counter to village definitions. For example, where communal lands are threatened, every possible means considered honorable and justifiable - including violence - is used by the Indians to protect the lands. (It should be noted that while violence involved in "fighting for the pueblo" may be honorable, violence involved in individual disputes is generally condemned.) Similarly, though killing a witch may not be considered a crime by villagers, it would be considered a homicide under the law. Revenge killings may likewise be justified within village society. Many conflicts are created when state law is imposed over traditional law. Conflicts over land or inheritance are a case in point. Claim to the same property may be based on legalistic concepts, such

-2Nader, An Analysis of Zapotec Law Cases, in Law and Warfare: Studies in the 33Anthropology of Conflict 124 (P. Bohannan ed. 1967). See Greenberg, Santiago'sSword, supra note 4, at 71-72. As O'Nell notes. this kind of "hostility management ... permit[s] people to express hostility toward others in front of community authorities." O'Nell, Hosilty Management and the Control of Aggression in a Zapotec Community, 7 Aggressive Behavior 351, 357 (1981). 34E. Vogt, Zinacantan: A Maya Community in the Highlands of Chiapas 280 (1969). An Ethnography of Law and Violence as title, adverse possession, or paying taxes, while a conflicting claim is based on traditional concepts, such as inheritance rights, usufruct rights, or communal tenure. The Indians' administration of justice is also quite different from that of the state.35 District judicial systems wield enormous power. In contrast to Indian courts, which seldom impose severe sentences, district court decisions can be accompanied by heavy fines or long jail terms. Unlike Indian courts, which attempt to settle disputes through mediation and consensus, district courts are constitutionally empowered to impose agreements and levy fines on transgressors. District courts differ in an another important aspect: they are dominated by mestizo culture, both formally and informally. Presentation of cases in district court must follow the formal rules of evidence and procedure. As important to the Indians, however, is the fact that district court justice is often influenced by the politics of .patronage. A person's economic status and political connections often ,determine the outcome of a case, and Indians, peasants, and the poor are at a distinct disadvantage.

THE EFFECTS OF VIOLENCE

Violence is costly. When men are killed, their wives, daughters, and mothers are often impoverished. Widows are not only deprived of their husband's labor and income, but, after the expense of his funeral and the division of his estate among grown children, they are left with little to live on and generally are forced to*sell what lands, cattle, or other resources they have left in order to survive. Even if their menfolk are not killed, but merely wounded, the medical costs may bankrupt the family. Similarly, when men are forced to flee the village, women are often left in dire straits. If perpetrators are caught, the family faces legal costs as well as the expenses of maintaining the family member while in prison.36 Such violence has contradictory effects on the distribution of wealth in the community. At the same time violence impoverishes some families and would seem to impede the formation of capital by forcing them to sell their resources, it provides the basis for other families to

35See Nader, supra note 32; J. Collier, Law and Social Change in Zinacantan (1973); and Parnell, supra note 28, for a discussion of the interface between state and indigenous legal systems in Mexico. 361n the district jail, prisoners are not fed, but must buy their own food. Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law accumulate land and wealth. By forcing the redistribution of wealth and resources, violence within the community may in fact increase wealth differences within it. Such conflicts are also a revenue-raising device for the state.3 7 As Dennis points out, the government has a vested interest in maintaining the system of on-going feuds between villages: they not only serve to divide and rule, making villages dependent on the central government for arbitration, but provide an endless source of revenue as such disputes are dragged out.38 Inevitably, litigation pumps vast sums of money out of the community. Aside from filing fees, seals, and stamps, which enrich state coffers, such disputes provide a steady source of fees and bribes for lawyers, patrons, judges, and bureaucrats. As a result, even within the village, the attitude of authorities may be: "Well, let them fight. It means more revenue for the village treasury." 39 In addition to reducing the communal lands of Chatino communities, forcing many villagers to migrate seasonally to work on plantations in the area, capitalist development has had another effect: the deep divisions and vicious blood feuds engendered in this process have given rise to a steady stream of refugees. As of 1980, about 12 percent of the 30,000 Chatino had left their home communities to live elsewhere in the state. The 1980 Census shows that 3,097 Chatino are found in municipios outside of the region. Of these, 77 percent are in the City of Oaxaca or its surrounding villages, and 13 percent have moved to coastal villages, probably to work on plantations. The remaining 10 percent are spread in small numbers throughout the state.40 The social effects of such migrations on the Chatino villages are twofold. First, exposure to the wider society has a strong acculturative influence on peasants. As they return, their home communities are exposed to all kinds of new and often conflicting cultural values, which tend to erode the mechanisms of social control within the village.41 Secondly, violence may follow refugees. Even if they flee to other villages, there is no guarantee that trouble will not follow them since both sides of a feud may have its refugees.

37Like fiesta systems, litigation serves "'to siphon off surplus wealth, but with the important difference that none is redistributed among community members for consumption." Dennis, supra note 3, at 182. 3 391d. at 177-183. 1d. at 40 178. Secretarfa de Programaci6n y Presupuesto, y Censo General de Poblaci6n y Vivienda, 4 1980, Estado de Oaxaca (1984) 11980 Mexican Census]. 'Restrepo, Social Change and Rural Violence in Columbia [sic],in Masses and Mobilization 507-588 (. Horowitz ed. 1970). An Ethnography of Law and Violence

The costs of flight, however, are high. Such refugees must leave their houses, animals, relatives, and social networks of assistance behind them and start over. Because they cannot claim land as "native sons" in other towns, they must work as peons or day laborers. As a result, they are often impoverished. In the face of such hardships, many, like Fortino's brother-in-law Emiliano, elect to return to their villages even though it may mean death.

CONCLUSIONS

Capitalist development is not uniform. Its sundry forms are historically specific responses to pre-existing political and economic conditions. In Mexico, colonialism gave birth to particularly predatory forms of capitalism which put all social relations, including those among the Chatino, into a pressure cooker. The way conflicts are expressed, however, and the forms they may take, are just as complex as their cause. Although all social groups possess their own peculiar conflicts, the processes which lead to them are often external. This is because each group, whether large or small, formal or informal, local or regional, has its own niche in the political economy. As a result, each, depending on its composition, size, and political weight, has its own proclivities for particular forms of violence, and uses distinctive arenas for settling disputes. Because the political-legal apparatus of the state not only fails to recognize many indigenous legal notions, but often propagates legislation that runs counter to these, conflicts of interests are inevitably generated. Moreover, in political and economic struggles between Indians and mestizos, Indians are often unable to influince external powerholders. When their interests are threatened they may have little alternative but to take the law into their own hands. In contrast, because mestizos generally have greater access to patrons, they are more likely to use legitimized forms of violence by calling on the court, army, or the police to fight their battles. The point is that within larger political and economic entities, the specific location occupied by families, communities, political parties, and ethnic groups not only gives each a distinctive set of structural problems and conflicts, but also constrains their choices, making certain forms of violence more likely. The sundry conflicts present in the region are, broadly speaking, reactions to the historical development and penetration of a very predatory form of capitalism rooted in the colonial past. Even conflicts rooted in the pre-Hispanic past have survived and continue to bear their deadly fruit because they were carefully nurtured by the colonial Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law administration. Up until now, the response to this rampant form of capitalism has been manifested in what Hobsbaum 42 would term "primitive" rather than modem forms of social protest: movements, banditry, mafias, blood feuds, mob violence, and village insurrections. While these reactions often have been misdirected, more revolutionary and politically based forms of class struggle are likely to arise because repression is a continuing feature of the political landscape. Perhaps the most pernicious effect of violence is the way it erodes trust. As violence has engulfed communities, the dense networks of kinship, friendship, and reciprocities which promoted village solidarity have given way to a culture of suspicion whose basic tenet is distrust. Without trust, the ties which build solidarity are the same ones which destroy it. In this culture of suspicion, every association is seen as an alliance, every change, a betrayal. And, most tragic of all, although violence rarely settles anything, but merely clears the way for more violence, it has become an accepted way of handling disputes.

4 2 E. Hobsbaum, Primitive Rebels: Studies in Archaic Forms of Social Movement in the 19th and 20th Centuries (1959).