Clowns Without Borders - USA

April/May - Dia del Nino y de la Nina

Mexicana booming jumping
bass jingle line
deadened in ear plugs
As takeoff Boeing boeing
Powerful pull pleasure
grabbing straightening spine
lifting orange flow
light planed span
concentrations defined sublime
As long as it rhymes
Straw formed cowboy
hats bob above the
crowd of heads
half protruded seat-tops
focused shapes
heading the same way.

Journal

Thursday, April 23rd
Mexico City Past large concrete stadium under grey smog skies and heavy belching traffic. Opposite the trash littered parking lots is an enclosed not so grassy knoll with several tarped shaded areas. Groupings of people milling around, seated, standing, talking, reading newspapers. Eduardo explains that they are members of the ejido to whom the land belongs. The government built the stadium on their land without their permission and has yet to pay any rent. Eduardo tells me that they have been in litigation for over 20 years. We pick up the paper from a street side vendor….many more stories in La Jornada about Chiapas than last year. A German woman has been deported, she overstayed her visa. Confrontations and a peace march at the new autonomous zone that is surrounded by 1000 military folks and 500 PRIistas, and many peoples locked out from their homes. Still a great deal of tensions around Acteal where the massacres occurred. Paramilitary activities, threats, cars following people home in the black of night. It doesn’t sound like the most welcoming situation.

Saturday, April 25th
The plaza in front of the Cathedral is packed, maybe 5000 people have gathered from over 40 communities…a ‘peligrinage’ (pilgrimage). Each person has a piece of paper pinned to their shirts identifying the zones that they have come from…”los Altos” “communidades del sur”…
The colors of traditional dress flourish in the bright sun. Many participants hold green palm fronds in their hands and they sway with the wind. A sea of green moving softly as people listen to series of speakers and prayers transitioned by the bright playing of a marimba band. A stand in amongst many, some are eating popsicles and some have sat down on the ground, no doubt tired from the long travel to be here today. The Parque Central is full of double-parked buses and passenger trucks and pick-ups. Many of the pilgrims hold up signs, banners, Mexican flags. Many of the banners painted with slogans, often blessing the bishops, Samuel Ruiz and Raul. The feeling is peaceful, there is no sense of agitation. This is not a war party, not a grouping of trigger happy hands. One can sense the yearning, the prayers to let them be. Give us our rights, not your riches.

 
Monday, April 27th
Show in the afternoon in the INI for some 50 kids, displaced from three communities near Chenalho…stories about discordance amongst the families, no clear leadership amongst three disparate groups living communally in a barn like structure. After the show the kids are treated to popsicles, they all line up and one by one tell the young boy working the ice cream cart what they want. There us great excitement as the piñatas are strung up. The kids are separated by age group and each group rings around their piñata strung up over the branch of a large tree. Faces squirm and explode with each stick swing, miss, hit and then scramble on the ground in a big cloud of dust when the piñata breaks. A couple of social workers try to infiltrate the scrimmage to calm the fury of hands scooping candy but they are unable. A huge bag of cheap plastic toys are distributed, the kids are looking happy.

 
Earlier in the day, talks with Pablo Romo about goings on. We meet a community leader from Polho where some 8-10 000 refuges are living and he has come to the Human Rights Center to denounce an action taken by the military that morning: the stopping of the Pastors for Peace caravan from reaching Polho, even though they have Observer’s visas and everything. we talk about my going there and doing a show for the kids. He is all for it, but also mentions how tired the men and women are from maintaining a ‘cinturon’ around the community to keep the military out. I see a photo in the paper of a confrontation between indigenous women an d military men, the women successfully blocking the men from entering their community where they want to set up a military post. A photo of the military siege of Tanniperlas (where the military invaded last week to stop the forming of a new Zapatista autonomous zone) shows huge rolls of barbed wire fencing and scores of military men drenched in gear. It would seem that there are over 5000 troops in Chenalho, one for every 6 residents.

Meanwhile global warming is apparently affecting the spring rains again this year which should have already made some showing. The rainy season starts in the middle of May but the first rains should have already started. There are strong worries that the cycles are truly out of whack which will certainly affect the corn plantings, and harvests next winter. If the corn is planted too late it won’t have time to grow enough by harvest time, after which it gets too cold for the corn to grow more (if I’ve understood correctly…).

There is also great concern about the communities being able to plant at all due to fears of paramilitary activity in the area. One of the women working with the kids today, Pat, tells me how the families (in the INI)only have enough corn to last until Wednesday and she is not sure how things will work out. She is trying to work out an emergency plan with Caritas.

Tuesday, April 28th
Two shows today, the first in the morning in a tiny communtiy, Coralito, where Alejandra takes me since she has to deliver parts, what looks like a gear mechanism for an electric saw. The second show in the Casa Juventud Del Bosco, a suburb of San Cristobal, where three displaced communities from around Acteal are living. I am rather exhausted at 10pm sitting in Bed at Alejandra’s house and tomorrow is an even bigger day. I will go with Rosario form Melel Xojoval ( the organization that works with street kids and kids from displaced families) to Acteal where the massacre took place four months ago. I will perform in Acteal Autonomo (Zapatista) and Acteal Abejas (neutral) and then go to Polho.

It will be the first time that I will pass through an immigration post who have recently expulsed 30 foreigners and ‘invited’ many more to leave. Being expulsed has been the principle fear, danger of being in Chiapas this time as the government is making a strong effort to empty the region of observers. After talking with many people, it would seem that the most likely worst case scenario is that they will take away my tourist visa and give me a piece of paper saying that I have to leave Mexico within a certain number of days. Then my name will be put on the list , which means I am in the immigration’s computers and likely to be given a hard time, and very limited stay, the next time I try to come to Mexico.

The chances of something worse, such as being arrested or accompanied directly to the airport would seem to be pretty non-existent. Perhaps if I were engaged in some political activity or my visa was expired but hey I am a Payaso. The man from Polho on Monday explained how the kids were getting sick d how the kids were getting sick, too hot in the day and too cold at night. I hope that I can take them out of that reality into their imagination and have some fun.

 
I did today, especially singing ” Yuba” crooning style getting on my knees to one of the community women, a bit that I did once last year…great laughs and warm feelings as the embarrassed woman hides her head in her shawl, she is laughing deep inside. At the end of the Del Bosco show a repeat of several coin sneezes to some of the latecomers brings on those high howling ‘hiiiis’ , their unique vocal form of glee that is such music to my ears.

Wednesday, April 29th
Exhausted is but a word that barely begins to describe my physical being. The day began at 7am and ended after 9pm. The Taxi driver who took us up to Acteal might have made pole position at the Monaco Grand Prix the way he took the multiple curves as we flew through the semitropical mountainous pathway to Acteal.

 
One military checkpoint but no immigration controls to my great relief. The military were rather seriously equipped and were checking all identities and vehicles searching for weapons and who knows what. They were happy to hear that I was a Payaso, and a couple of coin sneezes smoothed us right through. On the way back I found myself disappearing coins for the entire chain of command. Luckily they didn’t ask me to juggle. At that point I had just finished my third show, a Polho, for the displace peoples of many communities.

The first show at Acteal Autonomo was in full mid-day heat, humid, the air smoky from all the crop burnings going on. Some 200 kids and community members present. We have brought multiple piñatas for after the shows, and while the kids are swept up in the game I hear Conches being blown. Next door at the Abejas community there is an interfaith celebration going on, the whole community gathered. A group of Aztec dancers have made a pilgrimage from Mexico City and have just walked from nearby Polho to do a ceremony. Indeed as I walk down the side of Acteal, high up in the mountains, the end of the road, houses dispersed; the dancers head down the mountain side towards nearby Polho to do a ceremony. Big feather headdresses, bells on their feet, smudgepots, drums and an out of tune mandolin strum furiously by a long haired hippy type. They have shown up unannounced and are climbing down the narrow mountain path to the gathering.

An hour and a half later they are still dancing lost in their ceremony of repetitious dances, constant drum pounding and occasional ritual moments. I have lost interest quite some time ago and the experience has turned into a zen-fulll waiting for them to end so that I can perform. I am not the only one who has lost interest but the community is full of respect and I watch kids play marbles back behind the “Peace Camp” building.

Finally they finish up and head down to the church and cemetery to continue their ceremony at which point I am asked to start my show. It is a little strange as a portion of the 6-800 Abejas are watching down the steep grade to where the Aztec dancers are still blowing Conch horns. The kids however are totally focused on my entrance and more are rushing to come sit down. With the first laughs as I try to stand on my suitcase the rest of the community leaves the Aztec dancers to do their thing and turns to see what is going on. Some strange white guy with three hats on his head is trying to get on top of a suitcase on totally uneven ground, a near impossible task I find our. I do succeed for a short while and the energy of the audience is huge, the laughs explosive and the focus complete. I whirl into the YooWho journey greatly rewarded by many smiles and laughing moments from all sides.

Thursday, May 1st
Labor day bus ride up over the mountains back to Tuxla for the plane ride home. No walkman to block out the sound of the movie “Smoke Jumpers.” Starts with a scene of the jumpers training in their Headquarters high in the Colorado mountains. A man unicycles through the back of the gym scene then reappears in the foreground and idles in place while juggling next to the hero man who pats him on the back as he heads off. I wonder what that is in terms of omens, certainly just how futile Hollywood life can be waiting for that big break…and there it is transmitted in direct to the Chiapan mountain switchbacks. I look down the steep forested side as we climb higher, olive green beauty to the sound of burning timber and chainsaws. movie burning timber and chainsaws.

I look down and there is a stretch of burnt hillside and tree stumps, but this one was planned, now ready for the corn planting, just waiting for the rains. No rain: no corn, no food, no smoke jumpers who can save you.

Tuxla-Mexico City-Guadalajara, a day dazed in airplane haze as I drift back to yesterday’s shows: the first for the street kids of San Cristobal in the cupola of the park behind the Santa Domingo church. The kids are tough, not easy to laughter but I manage to find a few avenues to fun . The piñata proves to be a great struggle for the Melel volunteers trying to maintain some semblance of order. These kids, the shoeshine boys, the Chamulan girls selling the little homemade Zapatista doll (so well made for so little money) have their strong sense of independence. There are some 200 kids expected but only about half show up.. Today, the Dia del Nino (Day of the Child) is too great a day for business to be watching a show. it is kind of ironic that this day meant to celebrate would be too good to waste.

The women from Melel Xojoval tell me how the shoe shine boys want to set up their own organization to protect their rights. there is also demand to set up a savings bank. I eat lunch with Pablo Romo whom I meet at Freyba (Centro Derechos Humanos Frey Bartolome). He is being interviewed by a team from Televisa (national TV). There is an interviewer, a cameraman, a soundman and a communications man or so he would seem as he has two cellular phones that keep ringing as if in a comedy show. At the end of the interview, the interviewer takes a long phone call after which he says something to Pablo that causes him to shake his head in disbelief. It turns out that a Lieutenant Colonel from Guadalajara has killed 12 soldiers and wounded 7 others in Comitan, a town on the way to the Guatemalan border. The official version is that the officer ran the victims over with a truck but Pablo tells me that they were gunned down with a machine gun. We are eating lunch at “El Teatro” a nice French/Italian restaurant, a short excursion into a world of wider luxuries. Pablo tells me that you can’t eat at every restaurant in town as many have waiters with very large informant ears.

During Pablo’s interview, the cameraman scanned to where several human rights workers are conferring with Corinne, a Swiss coordinator. As the TV story is about accusations against Freyba engaging in illegal acts of inviting foreigners in to supposedly engage in forbidden political activities , the TV people want images of foreigners. The camera pans to me and I place the large envelope of photos that i have brought to give to Pablo between myself and the camera. I sense the camera still there and pull out one of the photos for the camera eye. It turns out to be one of children parading dressed as seven dwarfs wearing clown noses, appropriate I figure. Then I stick my nose and eyes out between the envelope and the photo and sure enough the camera is still on me. Well if they use the footage, hopefully it will create some laughter.

The afternoon show is at La Primavera, a school on the edge of San Cristobal that is being used as a refugee camp for displaced communities. A good 300, mostly kids watch the show. They have great fun and don’t seem to notice my state of exhaustion which I feel towards the end. I have left my cane in Polho and I use a big stick instead. My voice is shot and when I try to yodel “YooWho” a raspy broken sound comes out of my mouth. The kids are asking for more and so I pick up my ukulele to try the same stunt as in the morning where I got the street kids to sing along with me as I made up a gibberish song. The kids recognized and welcomed the improvised nature of the moment, and became enthusiastic about what I could make up next, repeating all the phrases as best they could and breaking into laughter as the phrases became more and more ridiculous. But I am unable to repeat the mornings success as neither my voice nor my creative process are willing to cooperate. i break it off and thank the kids who follow me in my retreat crowding around me as I collapse on one of the playground’s large cement sit down squares. I am holding the large jumble of opened suitcase stuffed with props, ukulele and folding chair. to my surprise Rosario gets all the kids to sing a song for me to which they add a verse about the funny man with the colored tie.

Slowly the bus descends towards a vast cloud canopy, to the infinite horizon of diversity. Two days ago high in the Chiapan Sierras amongst thick banana like leaves reaching well over my head, I watched a boy scramble down the nearly vertical slope of the Acteal mountainside to recover a marble that escaped their game behind the Campamiento Civil por la Paz. To my amazement he came back up with the marble and the boys resumed their game in the red soil.

Acteal Abejas was surely the highlight show, the community gathered for the interfaith celebration, an altar with candles burning and green needles covering the ground amongst simple hand wrought benches…the laughter was generous and I brought out the playful side to eager delight in this town that had known such tragedy. During the show I glimpsed several military trucks full of soldiers passing on the road above. I t would be hard and I did not try to imagine what it must be like to live there with all the hidden paramilitary pressures, surely never to far from the consciousness of these peoples.

I DID NOT GO I did not go visit the church where the actual massacre took place. It was an unconscious decision. I wondered where it was, a little ways down the mountainside I found out from the sounds of the Aztec Dancer’s conch sounds resounding through the valley. Perhaps it was better that way, allowing me to bring in fresh, untainted energy. Just what is the role of the payaso. I know my feelings run deep for these humans not seeking luminous power but only a simple living. I hope that the rains come soon.