by Claudia Medina

Imagine. A spark. A flame. And then a hot, powerful fire. Fuelled by frustration, anger, and hope. And a knowing. A growing, collective and almost indescribable knowing - that the existing forces of power are decaying, and they must be replaced by something new before the decomposition becomes irreversibly destructive. For everyone, and everything.

This fire burns in Oaxaca, Mexico and it burns all over this planet. In Oaxaca it reached a peak on November 25th with the mega march of the Popular Association of the People of Oaxaca (APPO) and was met with a cruel and remorseless violence from the state and federal forces.

The day after that march, after a brutal night of intense PFP (federal police forces) and PRI thug violence against the people, the city was strangled by the kind of fear and terror that could only be associated with that of a police state. As one APPO supporter told us, it reminded him of Chile in the 70's. And as we wandered the streets the next day, what we saw brought his words to life.

The walls, once filled with all manner of political graffiti, had been repainted, except for the occasional image of a bird which managed to escape the painters brushes. The smell of chemical warfare hung in the air. Police patrols were everywhere.

Plainclothes paramilitary types were picking up people indiscriminately, terrorizing them. PFP in their riot gear were circling the city in trucks, moving slowly, intimidation their goal. Predatory. Other PFP had established new blockades around the city in addition to their full takeover of the previously APPO occupied zocalo.

The most heartwrenching of these was the total destruction of the once vibrant APPO plantón (occupation) of Santo Domingo.

Where there were once women organizing while knitting, embroidering gas masks and making tortillas, a small group of sweepers and cleaners were literally washing the blood of the street.

Where there once revolutionary songs and videos of previous actions playing loudly, a small band of PRI supporters, (most likely paid for their efforts) were chanting slogans in support of the governor and denouncing the APPO "delinquents".

Where there were once political posters and banners, and all kinds of APPO strategy meetings and discussions, there were now lines of riot police, and a few PRI supporters mixed in with reporters waiting for the governor himself, Ulises Ruiz, to arrive.

Where there were once Indigenous artisans, free of middlemen and selling their own wares on the streets around Santo Domingo, there were now owners of the large tourist shops, surveying the state of their businesses, anxious to see when they could reopen and re claim their piece of the tourism pie.

As the power washers continued eliminating the evidence of the night's violence and the priistas continued their slogans a scuffle breaks out. A brave yet very outnumbered APPO supporter is heard defending the movement in the midst of this PRI crowd. The hostility and repercussions are immediate, the APPISTA is almost mobbed but luckily, escapes in time to avoid the small but rabid crowd's wrath.

Soon after, the PRI slogans intensify, and the reporters start clicking their cameras furiously. It seems as if the governor has arrived. It is a shocking and nauseating sight, to see this man, who has been the cause of so much death and destruction, walk through the plaza so arrogantly, whose cowardice had kept him from any association with the city when APPO was visibly present, who arrived only after the PFP and paramilitaries cleared the way for him.

And as he passes through the gathered crowd, we see something very out of place. An angel, complete with white wings and a halo is standing silently with a metal wash bucket, a bar of soap, and a Mexican flag. At first I think she is also a PRI hired publicity stunt, but Velcrow urges me to look closer. As the reviled governor walks by, the silent angel begins to wash the flag, carefully scrubbing it, rinsing it... it is a powerful statement, and incredibly courageous.

In the midst of hatred and suspicion, the angel manages to say more than any banner, any slogan... her actions cut through the hypocrisy around her. The reporters turn their attention away from the gloating governor, and start to capture the angel's compelling image. She is the angel of justice, of conscience. A silent messenger of truth drawing attention to the Mexican flag, bloodied by dirty politics, greed, and violence perpetrated by the state against the people.

Luckily for the angel, this crowd is not big on symbol and metaphor. She is too abstract, she is not a shouting protestor, she is not wearing APPO colours, she is beyond their comprehension. Had she used words, she most certainly would have been attacked by the mob. Still, her poetic action put her in very real danger.

Finally, the ugly energy of the PRI supporters leaves the plaza as they follow their leader towards the zocalo. The angel goes in the other direction.

We follow her.

In a small plaza she continues her slow and deliberate ritual of cleaning the flag. Police helicopters fly low overhead, circling the little plaza. At times she stops, puts one hand on her heart, and points to the sky with the other. Always silent. The few people that pass by are compelled to watch her ritual. I noticed an elderly campesino man watching intently. After a while he approaches me. "She is an angel of justice, no? She is speaking out against the government" I nod and we smile at each other. The angel continues her deliberate motions, stitching up a tear in the cloth and then hanging up the flag to dry between trees. There is a sad expression on her face, the helicopters continue to circle, but the flag, once dirty, is now repaired and clean. The angel surveys the flag, which flaps in the warm Oaxacan wind, takes it down, folds it carefully, and finally, leaves.

Another round of PFP trucks slowly drive by, their weapons poised at the ready. The governor is on a rampage, sending his henchmen out to cleanse the city of any trace of the APPO movement - they call for the expulsion of "troublemaker" foreigners to ensure that word of this reality doesn't get out, and mar the image of Oaxaca further. At least not in ways that implicate the small cadre of PRI criminals running the place.

But the APPO movement, like the angel, is beyond simple characterizations. Like the angel, it is beyond comprehension to those who only understand rigid ideologies of greed and hierarchy, not community, diversity, and a multiplicity of leadership. Least of all the ideals of life, of a living earth, and people who are committed to collective, responsible, autonomy. So as the angel walked away silently, we saw and understood- she was the messenger of a movement temporarily driven underground, but never truly silenced.

A forest fire fighter once told me that sometimes, on the surface, it seems as if a fire may have been extinguished, but underneath the earth the roots still burn. And these can burst into flame at any time above ground, reigniting the forest. With her wordless ritual, the angel of truth, the angel of hope, assured all those who cared to notice that the APPO flame, the spark, and all others like it, burned on, deep in the earth, ready to surface again.