Cancun Dispatch: 9/11

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CANCUN CITY, MEXICO -- I awaken on the grass near the fountain at kilometer zero, the intersection of Coba and Bonampak that leads into the hotel zone. The gray mist is still cool and the light is silvery on the fountain, where strange Mayan crocodile figures rise from the water. I've been sleeping next to the Korean's tent, at the vigil they set up near the spot where their companero, Kyoung Hae Lee, stabbed himself to death yesterday in protest of the WTO.

The night of the 10th, we join the vigil after our full-moon ritual in the park next to the convergence center. About 40 of us gather, make a circle, invoke the elements, and do a spiral under the full moon. Some of the punks join us, and a few of the local people who have been at the cultural events in the Parque de Palapas nearby. The mood is somber, because of Lee's death -- but as we circle, looking at the parade of faces, the different shapes and colors and ancestors looking through our eyes, the energy builds to a beautiful peak. Then we scatter to join the wake at the auditorium at the Casa de la Cultura, where the campesinos have been camping.

The service is a truly syncretic mixture of cultures. The campesinos have set out an ofrenda, an altar, of flowers and candles and pictures of Lee, arranged in the shape of a giant cross. They are on the microphone, offering traditional prayers in Mayan and and songs and prayers to the father, son, and holy ghost. The Koreans move forward, bow to the altar in a Buddhist salute. For Koreans, yesterday was a day to honor the ancestors. Because they could not be home to perform the rites, they had brought a casket with them, which they burned at the barricade so that the ancestors could open the way. Then Lee stabbed himself, becoming an offering.

When the Koreans march out, Brush and I march with them, along with about a hundred other people. Some of our group follows in cars, or goes back to the house to get stuff. The streets are dark and empty, the police hang back, and the crowd grows as we reach the circle where two canopies have been set up on the grass circle surrounding the fountain.

There is a line of cops behind the barricade, and soon they are reinforced by Federal and judicial police and a group in white coveralls who goosestep in chanting in unison. A group of students run forward, link hands and stand in front of the police, a visual symbol of our intention to protect the Koreans, who are being threatened with deportation by the government. For a while, the situation seems tense, but then it settles into calm. The students relax and pull back, and we all stroll around greeting and talking to each other. We establish little groupings on the grass. Some people fall asleep, while a few stroll up to the police lines. I see three young Mexican men, all with that tough, masculine body language, approach the police lines and talk with them. "We are students," they are saying. "We are human beings, just like you. The WTO is the enemy of all of us."

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