The Zapatista Movement and Mexicos Democratic Transition Mobilization Success and Survival Maria Inclan All Chapter

The Zapatista Movement and Mexico’s
Democratic Transition: Mobilization,

Success, and Survival Maria Inclan
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THE ZAPATISTA MOVEMENT AND
MEXICO’S DEMOCRATIC TRANSITION
THE ZA PAT ISTA
M OVEMENT AN D
MEXICO’S D EMOCRAT I C
T RA NS IT ION
Mobilization, Success, and Survival
María Inclán
1
1
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ISBN 978–0–19–086946–5
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Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
A Inés, Santiago, Cosmo y Mateo,
a quienes espero poder enseñar algo.
Y a mi madre, Silvia Oseguera Goytortúa,
a quien le debía este libro desde hace rato ☺.
CONTENTS
List of Figures, Tables, and Map ix

Acknowledgments xi
1. Introduction 1
2. Democratic Transitions and Political Opportunities 22
3. Opportunities for Mobilization: Openings, Elites,
Allies, and Threats 45
4. Opportunities for Success: Negotiations, Elites,
and Allies 79
5. Opportunities for Survival: Transnational Solidarity
Networks and Discourse Framing 96
6. Zapatistas between Sliding Doors of Opportunity 131
References 145
Index 159
LIST OF FIGURES, TABLES, AND MAP
Figures
1.1 Repertoire of Protests, 1994–2003 9
3.1 Zapatista Cycle of Protests, 1994–2003 51
3.2 Protests in PRI-and PRD-Ruled Municipalities 52
3.3 Protest Activity during Peace Dialogues, 1994–1996 55
3.4 Military Checkpoints and Positions in Chiapas,
1994–2003 63
5.1 “Que van a meter democracia en Iraq . . .” 109
5.2 National and International Media Attention on the
Chiapas Conflict, 1994–2003 111
Tables
3.1 Descriptive Statistics 71
3.2 Expected Counts of Monthly Zapatista Protests for a
Unit Change in Predictors 77
5.1 Indigenous Peoples and Housing Conditions across
Chiapas, 1990–2010 113
5.2 Illiteracy Rates and Education Infrastructure across
Chiapas, 1990–2010 121
Map
1.1 Geographic Distribution of Protests across Chiapas,
1994–2003 8
ix
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Just like any other Mexican unfamiliar with the repressive conditions
under which indigenous peasants in Chiapas had been fighting for
land and basic human rights since the 1970s, the Ejército Zapatista
de Liberación Nacional uprising caught me by surprise. Most of us
were made to believe that 1994 would be the year in which Mexico
joined the First World. The North American Free Trade Agreement
had been negotiated in the previous two years, and it came into
force on January 1, 1994. Additionally, Mexico was about to join
the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development in
May after overhauling its economy through extensive neoliberal ec-
onomic policies, and there were rumors that President Carlos Salinas
de Gortari was being considered as one of the candidates to lead the
World Trade Organization after his term as president. In the official
discourse, there was no room for a guerrilla movement launched by
impoverished indigenous peasants in Chiapas, but the Zapatistas
crashed the party and opened our eyes.
In 1994 I was an undergraduate in Mexico who was only able
to follow the development of the conflict through news media cov-
erage. I had to wait until I had the privilege of the time and funding
that academia provides to be able to go to Chiapas to learn why a so-
cial movement that was poised for success failed to achieve political
xi
A cknowledgments
autonomy for Mexico’s indigenous peoples, yet has survived and still
stands as an icon to other alter-mundista movements around the
world. The most important puzzle to me was why the Zapatistas had
failed to achieve their political goals when the EZLN uprising had in-
directly pushed forward the country’s efforts at democratization.
Through the years I have been fortunate enough to have the
guidance of Lee Ann Banaszak, Michael Bernhard, Gretchen Casper,
and John McCarthy. The initial research for this book was conducted
between 2002 and 2003 thanks to grants from the Department of
Political Science and the College of Liberal Arts at The Pennsylvania
State University, including the John Martz Award for Research in
Comparative Politics and the Dissertation Support Grant, and a
fellowship for graduate studies from Mexico’s National Council of
Science and Technology (Consejo Nacional de Ciencia y Tecnología,
CONACYT).
Special thanks go to all who guided my fieldwork: Manuel Aguilar,
Luis H. Álvarez, Miguel Álvarez Gándara, Andrés Aubry, Amado
Avendaño, Marco Antonio Bernal, Luis Felipe Bravo Mena, Araceli
Burguete, Luisa María Calderón, Manuel Camacho Solís, Ricardo
Castellanos, José Ramón Cossío, Rutilio Cruz Escandón, Francisco
Gallardo, Alejandro Gómez, Dolores González, Gerardo González,
Rogelio Hernández, José Herrera, Onécimo Hidalgo, Gustavo Hirales,
María del Carmen Legorreta, Gilberto López y Rivas, Manuel López,
Daniel Luna, Blanca Martínez, Joel Padrón, Marina Pagés, Fernando
Pérez, Miguel Ángel Romero, Margarito Ruiz, Bishop Samuel Ruiz
García, Juan Sánchez, Jorge Santiago, Raymundo Sánchez Barraza,
and Oscar Torrens.
During my time in Chiapas I enjoyed the support of Araceli
Burguete and the Centro de Investigación y Estudios Superiores en
Antropología Social (CIESAS) in San Cristóbal de Las Casas. Without
Araceli’s help and the invaluable generosity of the late bishop Samuel
Ruiz, none of the interviews would have been possible. It was
through the accounts of more than forty-five interviewees, which
included activists, journalists, politicians, academics, and members
of the Diocese of San Cristóbal de Las Casas, that I better grasped
xii
A cknowledgments
how social movements emerge and develop amid hostile polit-

ical conditions. I also want to thank Roberto Bautista for spending
countless hours in the CIESAS library with me collecting newspaper
accounts of Zapatista-related events to later construct an archive of
protest activity in Chiapas from 1994 through 2003. From 2008 to
2012, with the support from the Centro de Investigación y Docencia
Económicas (CIDE), I conducted further interviews with crucial
actors involved in the peace dialogues and democratizing reforms.
Many students have helped me along the way as well. María
Fernanda Madrid and Samantha Casas at Universidad de las Américas
in Puebla worked with me transcribing interviews. At CIDE, former
undergraduate students Alejandra Díaz de León, Esteban González,
Luis Palerm, and Cécile Sánchez helped me recreate my protest event
archive after it perished in an unfortunate fire, while Esteban, Anna
Cristina Báez, Guillermo Gómez, Carlos Monroy, Perla Pérez, and
Alberto Villaseñor assisted me with other research endeavors related
to this project.
Colleagues and friends have been kind enough to read pre-
vious drafts of the chapters that compose this book and have
offered insightful suggestions: Paul Almeida, Rosario Aguilar, Lee
Ann Banaszak, Allyson Benton, Todd Eisenstadt, Carolina Garriga,
Ezequiel González-Ocantos, Hank Johnston, Joy Langston, John
McCarthy, Brian Phillips, James Ron, and Kathryn Sikkink. Of
course the comments from the two Oxford anonymous reviewers
and the editorial work of Angela Chnapko significantly improved
this manuscript, and without them it would have never seen the
light of day. I also want to thank Alexcee Bechthold for her always
guidance in producing the integral materials of this book, and
Sharon Langworthy and Tharani Ramachandran for their patient
and detailed copy-editing. The last stretch of writing, reviewing, and
editing would not have been possible without the coaching of Alex
Samaniego, who kept me physically fit and mentally sane.
I also want to acknowledge the unconditional support of my
family, my mother Silvia, Carlos and Erin, Silvia and Juan, Cosmo,
Inés, Santiago, and Mateo. In particular, I thank Juan’s mentorship
xiii
A cknowledgments
and Silvia’s enthusiasm and willingness to read and reread drafts of

chapters time and again. Last but never least are all of those with
whom I have learned and continue to learn to be a better teacher, re-
searcher, and person: Abby Bigham, Jason de León, Sharon DeWitte
and Eric Jones, Erick and Sarah Rochette, Kirk French and Laurel
Pearson, Holly Dunsworth and Kevin Stacey, Johanna and Jade
Bissat, “Jefe” Geoff Vasile, Ellen Quillen, Halla Olafsdottir, Magda
Giraldo, Kim Jordan, Blanca Maldonado, Chris Reenock, Alex
Braithwaite, Pete Doerschler, Chris and Danielle Housenick, Matt
Ruppert, Jake Frederick, Gretchen Brandt, Susi Colín, Andrés Catzín,
Valeska von Schirmeister, Chuy Bernhardt, Erik Feldhaus, Eugenio
Mañón, Marina Michaelidou- Kadi, André Portela Souza, Héctor
Castillo, Javier Aparicio, Kim Nolan, Sandra Ley, Giovanni Mantilla,
Céline González, Gerardo Maldonado, Álvaro Morcillo, and Noelle
Brigden. This life’s journey would not be the same without you.
xiv
THE ZAPATISTA MOVEMENT AND
MEXICO’S DEMOCRATIC TRANSITION
[1]
INTRODUCTION
On January 1, 1994, the Zapatista Army of National Liberation

(Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, EZLN) declared war on
the Mexican government and took over the municipal offices of seven
towns in Chiapas: Altamirano, Chanal, Huixtán, Las Margaritas,
Ocosingo, Oxchuc, and San Cristóbal de Las Casas. Through the voice
of the EZLN spokesman Subcomandante Marcos, the Zapatista cry
¡Ya Basta! was heard almost immediately on national and interna-
tional news networks, giving the group great salience. The dramatic
public appearance of the EZLN marked the beginning of the Zapatista
movement outside its clandestine guerrilla organization, which had
started in the early 1980s.1 Although the Zapatista movement has
not reached the political strength of other indigenous movements in
Ecuador or Bolivia,2 its national and international salience has made
it a model for indigenous and antiglobalization struggles, as well
as for democratization efforts inside and outside of Mexico. More
recently the Zapatista banner has become emblematic of anarcho-
libertarian movements around the world, such as the indignados in
Spain and squatters in Germany.3 Nevertheless domestically the po-
litical force of the Zapatistas is currently marginal despite their most
recent announcement about getting into the electoral politics of the
1. Collier and Quaratiello (1994); Harvey (1998); Legorreta Díaz (1998);

Tello Díaz (1995).
2. Yashar (2005).
3. Aranda Andrade (2014).
1
T H E Z A PAT I S TA M O V E M E N T A N D M E X I C O ’ S D emocratic T ransition
country by putting forward an independent indigenous female candi-

date for the 2018 presidential elections.4 While planning on entering
electoral politics in 2018 may be considered an opportunity for the
Zapatistas to articulate and aggregate the rights and interests of in-
digenous peoples, electoral support that independent indigenous
candidates could gain outside their support bases is rather slim.
The emergence and first stages of the Zapatista movement
(1994–1996) coincided with the most intense phase of the Mexican
democratic transition. Some have even suggested that the emer-
gence of the Zapatistas was an important catalyst for the transition5
and the revival of the indigenous movement in Mexico.6 However,
as Deborah Yashar (1998) pointed out, the indigenous movement
in Mexico and the Zapatistas were not able to take full advantage
of this process, given their failure to make the Mexican government
respond to their concrete demands. The unexpected failure of the
Zapatista movement forces us to wonder why an indigenous insur-
gent movement that was poised to succeed, given the timing of its
emergence during Mexico’s democratic transition and its domestic
and transnational salience, failed to become an influential political
player and achieve its political goals.
One could argue that taking over power has never been one of
the Zapatistas’ political goals, and that therefore we should not be
surprised by its fate or even ask that question.7 Nevertheless, I be-
lieve we need to ask this question and seek to answer it, given that
the EZLN rose up in arms to fight for the political inclusion of the
impoverished indigenous peoples of Mexico. I also believe that the
4. “Plantea el EZLN una candidata independiente indígena en 2018,” La Jornada,

October 14, 2016 (http://www.jornada.unam.mx/ultimas/2016/10/14/ezln-estudiara-
candidatura-indigena-a-presidencia-de-mexico), last accessed on February 24, 2018.
5. Stephen (1995); Veltmeyer (2000). Interview with Manuel Camacho Solis, first
Commissioner for Peace and Reconciliation during 1994 in Mexico City, November
2009.
6. See Rus, Hernández Castillo, and Mattiace (2003); Velasco (2003); Higgins
(2004).
7. Holloway (2010).
2
I ntroduction
answer to this question lies in the changing political conditions

in which the Zapatista movement emerged and developed, which
resulted in their not seeking political power. This argument can be
illustrated with a sliding doors analogy, as I argue that the Zapatista
movement developed within almost simultaneous openings and
closings of political opportunities for its mobilization, success, and
survival.
Automatic sliding doors usually come in sets of two, parallel to
each other. The second set of doors is automatically programmed to
open as the first set closes. If the automated mechanism fails and
the second set of doors does not open, adjacent mechanical doors
may be there to prevent getting people trapped between doors. As
I explain in this book, I envision the development of the Zapatista
movement as one for which the first set of doors of mobilizing oppor-
tunity opened after the EZLN’s uprising, but for which the second set
of doors of opportunity for success failed to open. Nevertheless, the
initial mobilization opened adjacent survival opportunities for the
movement and local communities to survive up to this day despite
the obstacles they have faced.
Because the EZLN uprising directly pointed at the exclusionary
and exploitative practices of the Mexican socioeconomic and po-
litical systems, it contributed to the weakening of the one-party
regime during the latter’s last years. It also contributed to the
weakening of the prosperous façade that the regime had tried to
create by implementing economic reforms that allowed the country
to become a member of the Organisation for Economic Co-oper-
ation and Development (OECD) and of the North American Free
Trade Agreement (NAFTA). By pioneering the use of the Internet
to broadcast local social movement campaigns, the Zapatista
movement soon reached global audiences. Additionally, the co-
incidence of the Zapatista uprising with the implementation of
NAFTA and Mexico’s inclusion in the OECD gained the guerrilla
group the attention of the public, the media, the Mexican gov-
ernment, and transnational nongovernmental organizations
(NGOs). All this attention worked as a shield for the poorly armed,
3
indigenous insurgents against a repressive response from the

Mexican state. As a consequence, doors for mobilizing opportunity
opened up and demonstrations flourished.
Demonstrations in support of the Zapatistas also put enough
public opinion pressure on the Mexican federal government to force it
to negotiate with the rebels. Because Zapatista rebels were successful
in triggering negotiations only three weeks after their initial uprising,
it seemed as though doors of opportunity for success were opening
up. In addition, peace negotiations between the rebels and the fed-
eral government coincided with democratizing negotiations among
legislative elites seeking to achieve more transparent and competi-
tive electoral processes. Hence, the scenario appeared to be ripe for
the movement to achieve political autonomy for indigenous peoples.
I argue, however, that precisely because peace and democratizing
negotiations developed almost simultaneously but independently
from each other, opportunity doors for the success of the movement
closed. Hence, what looked like parallel openings for the movement’s
achievement ended up trapping the Zapatistas between opening
opportunities for mobilization but closing opportunities for success.
However, mobilizing opportunities during the early 1990s opened
new opportunities for the movement to survive, given the great
transnational solidarity network built around the Zapatista cause,
which enabled Zapatista communities to sustain a resistance cam-
paign against the Mexican state that still exists.
Studying the development of the Zapatista movement within the
Mexican democratic transition under this perspective offers three
main contributions to the democratization and political opportunities
literatures. First, this study shows how a social movement devel-
oping within a protracted transition may benefit from opportunities
to mobilize but also face obstacles to achieving its political goals. As
mentioned previously, the emergence of the EZLN and the Zapatista
movement opened opportunities for mobilization and the formation
of organizations, especially in Chiapas, although the San Cristóbal
Diocese had contributed greatly for this since the 1970s, creating
a longstanding community of local independent NGOs before the
4
I ntroduction
conflict erupted in 1994.8 These first NGOs functioned as a base

network for those that came after the EZLN’s uprising. The national
and transnational social movement organizations created around
the Zapatistas allowed the movement to sustain a ten-year cycle
of protests and to survive. However, their demands failed to be ar-
ticulated and represented by incoming political elites that emerged
during the first stages of the Mexican protracted transition, and they
did not achieve state-building or policy-influencing opportunities. As
a consequence the Zapatistas, as social movement actors, failed to be-
come influential political actors within the country’s democratizing
negotiations.
Second, contrary to the general assumptions in the literature on
social movements,9 democratic transitions do not always bring polit-
ical opportunities to previously neglected dissident groups. As this
study shows, political opportunities may have different effects on
social movements in different political contexts. Protracted demo-
cratic transitions tend to favor electoral elite pacts without opening
spaces to social movement actors or their interests.10 Third, for the
political opportunities literature this study shows which dimensions
within the political process approach11 are better suited to foster so-
cial movements’ mobilization and survival and which factors tend
to provide better opportunities for social movements to succeed in
achieving their goals.
This study also illustrates the effects of an incomplete democratic
transition on interest representation. Mexico’s democratic transition
has been based only on protracted negotiations to regulate elections
8. Interview with a member of the Centro de Capacitación Indígena, CIDECI,

San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas in March 2003. In another interview also in San
Cristóbal de Las Casas, in April 2003, the coordinator of Servicios Internacionales para
la Paz, SIPAZ mentioned that after the conflict more than three hundred civic organi-
zations worked in Chiapas.
9. Kitschelt (1986); Kriesi (1996).
10. Casper and Taylor (1996); Eisenstadt (2000).
11. McAdam (1982).
5
and electoral campaigns.12 As a consequence, Mexico’s democratiza-

tion process has fallen short of deepening those institutional and
socialization changes necessary to consolidate a liberal democratic
regime. Transitional changes stopped at the electoral level, without
introducing new institutional channels for interest articulation and
representation beyond political parties—not to mention necessary
measures to ensure accountability and fight impunity and corruption.
Moreover, clientelistic practices that prevailed during the one-party
regime have permeated other political parties and civic organizations
due to the lack of accountability mechanisms. The 1995 judicial re-
form fell short of providing guarantees to all members of the polity,
despite having significantly increased the independence of federal
judges and judicial review power of the Supreme Court.13 More re-
cently, a constitutional reform for human rights in 201114 and a
legal reform to the habeas corpus (amparo) suit in 201315 opened
new paths for the protection of collective rights. Nevertheless, these
last efforts have also proven unclear and largely ineffective for so-
cial movement actors to achieve significant social benefits regarding
those rights. Finally, a more comprehensive political reform that will
incorporate minorities into the political process is still pending.
In recent years national opinion surveys, journalists, and
academics alike have highlighted the crisis of representation that
prevails in the Mexican political system.16 The Zapatista movement
and the incipient institutionalization of its demands are only one ex-
ample of those interests that have been left behind within the new
political system in the country. With this book, it is my intention to
12. Eisenstadt (2000).

13. “Decreto mediante el cual se declaran reformados los artículos 21, 55,73,
76, 79, 89, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108,
110, 111, 116, 122, y 123 de la Constitución Política Mexicana.” Diario Oficial de la
Federación, México, Diciembre 31, 1994.
14. http://www.dof.gob.mx/nota_detalle.php?codigo=5194486&fecha=10/06/
2011 (last accessed on July 4, 2017).
15. http://dof.gob.mx/nota_detalle.php?codigo=5294184&fecha=02/04/2013
(last accessed on July 4, 2017).
16. Azis and Alonso (2009); ENCUP (2009); Elizondo (2011).
6
I ntroduction
provide a clearer understanding of why seemingly influential social

movements can end up being isolated or neglected during democra-
tization processes.
THE ZAPATISTA MOBILIZATION CYCLE

FROM 1994 TO 2003
A cycle of protest emerged right after the EZLN and the Mexican
army agreed to a ceasefire, declared by the Mexican government
on January 12, 1994. The images of hostilities between two unbal-
anced military forces—the Mexican army and the poorly armed
EZLN—portrayed on television and the Internet outraged viewers
inside and outside Mexico. As a consequence, sympathizers started
demonstrating across Chiapas despite the strong military cordon
around Zapatista headquarters and strongholds (see map 1.1).
Figure 1.1 shows how the Zapatistas changed their repertoire of
protests over time. The ensuing protests ranged from land invasions
in 1994 and 1995; to meetings and marches supporting indige-
nous rights during peace negotiations between the EZLN and the
Mexican government in 1996; to sit-ins, roadblocks, and the seizure
of buildings and towns during and after the 1997 and 2000 elections.
Most of the land invasions took place in the aftermath of the up-
rising. These overtaken lands later became the Zapatista-controlled
municipios. More than 1,700 land occupations laid claim to 148,000
hectares inside and outside the region of conflict. To quell land
invasions the Mexican government, landowners, and peasants signed
an agreement promising to resolve land invasions that had occurred
prior to April 14, 1994. Peasants were allowed to keep the land but
had to commit to stop invading parcels and ranches, while the gov-
ernment compensated landowners for their loses.17 Land invasions
decreased, but demonstrations continued. Protestors changed
17. Villafuerte et al. (1999).
7
Tabasco
Veracruz
Ocosingo
Oxchuc
Oaxaca Huixtan
Chansi
San Cristobal
Margaritas
Sites of Protests
PROTESTS
1–15
16–68
69–168
N Guatemala
W E
S
Kilometers
0 30 60 120 160 240
Map 1.1 Geographic Distribution of Protests across Chiapas, 1994–2003

Inclán (2008).
80
70
60
Number of Protests
50
40
30
20
10
0
1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003
Year
Blockings Invasions
Marches Meetings
Seizures Sit-ins/strikes
Figure 1.1 Repertoire of Protests, 1994–2003

Inclán (2009a).
mobilizing tactics to meetings and sit-ins around negotiating periods

between the EZLN and Mexican federal representatives and in light of
the major achievement of the initial period of talks in 1994: the cre-
ation of Zapatista-controlled territories, the so-called zonas francas,
in San Miguel, Ocosingo, and Guadalupe Tepeyac, Las Margaritas,
where the Zapatistas maintained their headquarters.
The Zapatista uprising had taken everybody by surprise. Up until
then Mexico had praised itself for being “immune” to the powerful
guerrilla movements that had plagued other Latin American coun-
tries, despite the fact that there had been other rural guerrillas,
during the 1970s in Guerrero, Oaxaca, and Michoacán, as well as a
few urban insurgents in the 1980s in Monterrey and Mexico City.18
Still, up until the Zapatista uprising, the Mexican state had been able
to control them through either repression or co-optation.
With the implementation of NAFTA and Mexico’s joining the
OECD, the country’s international image was of a land of economic
opportunity. An guerrilla group demanding basic human rights for
the most impoverished sectors of the Mexican population— in-
digenous peasants— put in question the responsive capacity of
the Mexican state and the legitimacy of newly implemented eco-
nomic policies. The EZLN uprising put the prevailing socioeconomic
inequalities in the country in the spotlight while the political elite was
trying to portray the country as a developing nation taking its first
steps into a globalized free-market economy. In addition, through his
savvy use of the Internet at the time, Subcomandante Marcos’s char-
ismatic and witty communiqués kept the national and international
communities informed and mobilized around the movement. It was
not long before the Zapatistas became known as a peaceful guerrilla
organization, and their “war” with the Mexican government became
one of “ink and the Internet.”19 This led to a large presence of local
18. Tello Díaz (1995); Trevizo (2011).

19. Fuentes, cited in Bruhn (1999). Moreover, it is difficult to consider the EZLN
a full-blown guerrilla organization when its weak military capacity was exposed after
pictures of the uprising showed guerrilla militias carrying rifle-shaped wooden sticks.
Even Subcomandante Marcos mentioned that the EZLN was a guerrilla in a quest for
10
I ntroduction
and transnational NGOs in the region of conflict, which protected

the rebels against possible repressive measures and strengthened the
movement outside Chiapas as well.
The first round of negotiations began on January 21, 1994, and
lasted until March 2, 1994. Its main achievement was the recogni-
tion of the Zapatista-controlled area formed by the land seized by
the indigenous rebels during the uprising. However, soon afterward
negotiations broke down. The Zapatistas announced that the first
gains were not nearly enough to resolve the conflict. Instead the
EZLN proposed a direct dialogue with domestic NGOs and called for
a National Democratic Convention to be held in order to peacefully
transition to democracy.20 Thousands of people representing national
human rights and indigenous organizations attended. International
observers and the press were also invited.21 Meanwhile, on August
21, 1994 elections were held, and the hegemonic Party of the
Institutional Revolution (Partido Revolucionario Institucional, PRI)
won both the presidential and Chiapas gubernatorial races. However,
it faced significant loses at the local level. The military presence in the
region increased dramatically.
On December 19, 1994, the EZLN launched a new, peaceful attack,
occupying 38 of the 111 municipalities in Chiapas and declaring
them to be rebel territory: Altamirano, Amatenango del Valle, Bochil,
El Bosque, Cancuc, Chamula, Chanal, Chenalhó, Chilón, Comitán,
Huitiupán, Huixtán, La Independencia, Ixtapa, Jitotol, Larráinzar,
Las Margaritas, Mitontic, Nicolás Ruiz, Ocosingo, Oxchuc, Palenque
Pantelhó, Las Rosas, Sabanilla, Salto de Agua, San Cristóbal de Las
peace (hence the white handkerchiefs wrapped around their weapons during peace
negotiations) and that its struggle was not going to be fought with bullets but with
words, although its members never surrendered their weapons (Subcomandante
Marcos, “Ponecia a 7 voces,” July 31, 1996.)
20. CCRI-EZLN, “Segunda Declaración de la Selva Lacandona,” June 12, 1994.
21. http://palabra.ezln.org.mx/comunicados/1994/1994_07_01.htm (last accessed
September 4, 2017); Centro de Documentación sobre Zapatismo (CEDOZ), Cronología
1994–2013, http://www.cedoz.org (last accessed on September 4, 2017); and http://
www.bibliotecas.tv/chiapas/jul94/09jul94a.html (last accessed on October 14, 2017).
11
Casas, Simojovel, Sitalá, Socoltenango, Teopisca, Tila, Totolapa, La

Trinitaria, Tumbalá, Venustiano Carranza, Yajalón, Zinacantán.22
The Mexican army was sent to re- establish the constitutional
order, the identities of the ski-masked Zapatista leaders were re-
vealed, and arrest warrants were issued for them. The Ministry of
the Interior identified Subcomandante Marcos as Rafael Sebastián
Guillén Vicente, Comandante Germán as Fernando Yáñez Muñoz,
Comandante Vicente as Javier Elorreaga Berdegué, Comandanta
Elisa as María Gloria Benavides Guevara, Comandanta Gabriela as
Silvia Fernández Hernández, and Comandanta Sofía as Mercedes
García López.23 However, when the army arrived the insurgents
had already retreated to their controlled territories, except for San
Andrés Larráinzar, a locality Zapatistas still hold to this day. To re-
duce tension and increase his legitimacy, the incoming president,
Ernesto Zedillo, proposed the creation of a legislative mediating
commission, the Commission of Concord and Pacification (Comisión
de Concordia y Pacificación, COCOPA). The EZLN responded by calling
for an end to military hostilities against its supporting communities.
Demonstrations increased again, demanding the resumption of
negotiations and gaining great national and international attention
and support for the movement.
In March President Zedillo signed the Law for Dialogue,
Reconciliation and Just Peace in Chiapas. It guaranteed the sus-
pension of military operations and the arrest warrants against
EZLN leaders as long as negotiations lasted.24 Soon thereafter the
negotiating parties and members of the newly formed COCOPA met
in San Miguel, Ocosingo, to discuss the logistics and the agenda for
the upcoming peace talks. A new negotiating opportunity opened up.
22. La Jornada, December 20, 1994.

23. Other names were released without being associated with any of the Zapatista
leaders. Arrest warrants were also in place for them. La Jornada, February 10, 2005.
24. http://zedillo.presidencia.gob.mx/pages/chiapas/docs/ley-dialogo.html (last
accessed on September 4, 2017); and Centro de Documentación sobre Zapatismo
(CEDOZ), Cronología 1994–2013.
12
I ntroduction
Peace talks resumed on April 22, 1995, in San Andrés Larráinzar

or San Andrés Sacamch’en de los Pobres for the Zapatistas.25 Again,
this was a major mobilizing event. The EZLN invited a large group
of activists and intellectuals as advisers to take part in the various
negotiating meetings. Indigenous communities were mobilized to
form cordons around the negotiating site as security shields for as
long as negotiations lasted. Both sides presented their proposals.
The EZLN took this opportunity to call on domestic and foreign
NGOs and activists to launch a National Consultation for Peace and
Democracy to decide the future of the EZLN. Negotiations resumed
again in July. However, they did not reach any agreement.
The consultation called by the EZLN was held on August 15,
1995.26 The results indicated that the general public wanted a peaceful
solution to the conflict in Chiapas and that the EZLN should pursue
having an affiliated political organization.27
Meanwhile, the Mexican president, through the COCOPA, invited
the EZLN to take part in the political reform round tables organized
by the political parties.28 Because of its long-lasting distrust of polit-
ical parties and institutional politics, the EZLN decided not to par-
ticipate and proposed a dialogue with local and transnational activist
organizations instead. So as not to cut off dialogue with the govern-
ment, the EZLN invited the COCOPA to take part.29 The COCOPA
agreed to participate under the condition that the EZLN would return
to the negotiating table. The EZLN consented and met again with
25. The Zapatistas renamed it after it became the only municipality the EZLN was
able to retain as a main rebel locality after the December 19, 1994 occupation.
26. La Jornada, August 16, 1995. Bernal Gutiérrez y Romero Miranda (1999); and
Centro de Documentación sobre Zapatismo (CEDOZ), Cronología 1994–2013.
27. The discussion included questions about whether: (1) the public was in favor
of a peaceful agreement between both sides; (2) the EZLN should become a polit-
ical force; (3) there was a need for a Zapatista Front of National Liberation; and (4)
a major political reform was needed (http://enlacezapatista.ezln.org.mx/1996/02/
14/resultados-de-la-consulta-a-las-bases-zapatistas-sobre-la-mesa-1-de-derechos-y-
cultura-indigena/, last accessed October 14, 2017).
28. La Jornada, September 6, 1995.
29. Centro de Documentación sobre Zapatismo (CEDOZ), Cronología 1994–2013.
13
the federal government negotiating team in San Andrés Larráinzar

in September 1995. This time they settled on six negotiating themes,
which were to be addressed in a progressive order as agreements for
each of them were reached: (1) indigenous rights and culture, (2) de-
mocracy and justice, (3) wealth and development, (4) reconciliation
in Chiapas, (5) women’s rights in Chiapas, and (6) the cessation of
hostilities. So the first issue on which they were to negotiate was in-
digenous rights and culture. Zapatista mobilization activity resurged.
On the second anniversary of the uprising, in its “Fourth
Declaration of the Lacandon Jungle,” the EZLN called for the for-
mation of a broad opposition front that would serve to launch
the Movement of National Liberation (Movimiento de Liberación
Nacional, MLN): Zapatista Front of National Liberation (Frente
Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, FZLN).30 This new political
force was intended to be independent from the EZLN but to ag-
gregate and articulate the Zapatista principles and demands. It
was supposed to be nonpartisan and autonomous and not to seek
political power.
In February 1996 the EZLN met again with the governmental del-
egation in San Andrés Larráinzar and signed the first set of accords
on indigenous rights and culture. These came to be known as the San
Andrés Accords. They were the only agreements ever reached. They
were composed by four documents that granted the recognition of
autonomy to the indigenous peoples and communities. This first doc-
ument established a new pact between the indigenous groups and the
state. The second suggested specific policy proposals supported by
the government and the EZLN. The third document established spe-
cific reforms for the Chiapas case, and the fourth consisted of some
amendments to the previous three documents.31 Again, Zapatistas
and their sympathizers and supporters guarded the San Andrés
meetings, holding security belt sittings around the meeting place.
30. CCRI-EZLN, “Cuarta Declaración de la Selva Lacandona,” January 1, 1996.

31. Hernández Navarro and Vera Herrera (1998).
14
I ntroduction
In the following month the two sides were supposed to begin

negotiating the second round, on issues of democracy and justice.
The EZLN intended to use this second round of talks to broaden the
scope of its demands to the national level. However, the national gov-
ernment had other plans. Its negotiating team had the intention to
keep negotiations on issues at the local and state levels.32 The clear
difference between the two perspectives soon brought negotiations
to gridlock, and then to an end, when the federal government refused
to recognize the previously signed accords on indigenous rights and
culture. Protests erupted again in favor of the Zapatista cause.
In April 1996 the EZLN held the First Continental Encounter for
Humanity and against Neoliberalism in the Zapatista community La
Realidad.33 For the first time the EZLN was advocating causes out-
side its own struggle. It portrayed the Zapatista demands as part of
a worldwide cause against neoliberalism and used the globalization
process to its advantage to cross borders and join forces with other
antiglobalization movements.
In July the EZLN and the COCOPA organized the Special Forum
on the Reform of the State in San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Chiapas.34
The forum was organized in a similar fashion to the National
Indigenous Forum held by the EZLN in January. The two groups
wanted to use this forum to press for the opening of negotiations
on democracy and justice to other different civic organizations. Just
after this meeting, the EZLN organized the First Intercontinental
Encounter for Humanity and against Neoliberalism in the Zapatista
community Oventic.35 Round tables were also held in the other four
Zapatista centers of authority. This was the second time the EZLN
32. Interview with Miguel Angel Romero Miranda (member of the Peace
Negotiation Delegation 1995–1997), Mexico City October 2002.
33. Centro de Documentación sobre Zapatismo (CEDOZ), Cronología 1994–2013.
34. http:// e nlacezapatista.ezln.org.mx/ 1 996/ 0 6/ 1 4/ c onvocatoria- a l- foro-
especial-para-la-reforma-del-estado/ (last accessed on September 4, 2017).
35. http://enlacezapatista.ezln.org.mx/1996/07/27/ccri-cg-inicio-del-primer-
encuentro-intercontinental-p or-l a-humanidad- y - contra-el-neoliberalismo/ (last
accessed on September 4, 2017).
15
had organized an event on an international scale calling for a fight

against globalizing economic policies. This time the meetings lasted
for two weeks, and ended just before the EZLN met again with the
government in San Andrés Larráinzar.
In September the dialogue between the EZLN and the federal
delegation hit its final impasse after President Zedillo failed to rec-
ognize the San Andrés Accords signed in February and therefore
prevented indigenous people from gaining political autonomy. In
response, the EZLN began a resistance campaign, using a variety
of tactics. Subcomandante Marcos went silent. From 1997 until
2000 he refrained from publishing major communiqués. Zapatista
communities rejected any state social programs, as they were
perceived as counterinsurgent tactics to weaken the movement in
the region. Zapatista communities and supporters also stopped
paying for public services like electricity. The Zapatista leaders’
vow of silence reduced the cycle of protest to its lowest point in
1997. At the same time, the military presence in Chiapas grew
significantly,36 and tensions between pro-and anti- Zapatista
communities heightened over land and communal projects. Local
authorities harassed and isolated dissident communities to prevent
the movement from growing. Local party bosses took advantage of
these disputes to arm non-Zapatista communities. Ill feelings and
hostilities mounted in both the northern and highlands regions
until, on December 22, 1997, an anti-Zapatista group massacred
forty-five persons in the town of Acteal, Chenalhó, enabled by
the inaction or under the auspices of the authorities.37 President
Zedillo responded by sending more troops to the region to pre-
serve order and contain violence and protests. Although the mil-
itary presence helped to quell violence, protests flared up again,
now demanding the recognition of the San Andrés Accords and the
withdrawal of the army from the region.
36. Global Exchange and CIEPAC (1999).

37. Agudo Sanchiz (2005); Estrada Saavedra (2007); Hirales (1998).
16
I ntroduction
Roadblocks, marches, and seizures of buildings arose out of

conflicts following local and national elections in 1994, 1997, 2000,
and 2003. These protests targeted local and state authorities, accusing
them of committing fraud or not fulfilling their campaign promises
once in office. A new wave of protest arose after the 2000 presidential
elections, in which for the first time in more than seventy years, the
PRI lost the presidency to Vicente Fox, the candidate of the rightist
National Action Party (Partido Acción Nacional, PAN). Initially, Fox’s
victory brought new hope to the Zapatistas. During his presidential
campaign Fox had promised to honor the San Andrés Accords and
send the Indigenous Rights Bill (Ley COCOPA)—drafted after the
accords in 1996—to the Mexican Congress. The EZLN responded
positively to Fox’s proposal to resume the interrupted dialogue but
set forth two new conditions: the withdrawal of seven of the military
encampments surrounding the Zapatista territory and the liberation
of all Zapatista prisoners.38 Protest activity increased again, now in
support of the Indigenous Rights Bill.
Fox partially kept his promise. He removed the army from the
region of conflict, sent the Indigenous Rights Bill to Congress, and
liberated most of the political prisoners. However, the dialogue never
resumed, and because Fox never rallied his political party in favor of
the bill’s approval, the bill that ended up being approved was only a
diluted version of the San Andrés Accords and the COCOPA Law.39
Despite the increase in protest activity in 2000, the Zapatista cycle
of protest lost momentum in 2001. Feeling betrayed once more,
Zapatistas abandoned their protest activities for good. Instead they
turned their efforts to setting up their Juntas de Buen Gobierno in
their five regional authority centers.
Since 2001 the Zapatistas have only held demonstrations on the
anniversary of the EZLN uprising. Subcomandante Marcos, now
38. Subcomandante Marcos, “Carta a Vicente Fox como nuevo presidente,”

December 2, 2000.
39. http:// w ww.jornada.unam.mx/ 2 001/ 0 8/ 1 5/ l ey.html (last accessed on
September 4, 2017).
17
Comandante Galeano, publishes sporadic communiqués in support of

major domestic conflicts, such as the dissident teachers’ movement,
the disappearance of the Ayotzinapa students, or the nomination of
the Zapatista candidate to the 2018 presidential elections (María de
Jesús Patricio or Marichuy, a nahua woman from Tuxpan, Jalisco).40
His communiqués are now jointly signed with the new Zapatista
spokesman, Subcomandante Moises. With this it seems as though
indigenous politics is making a comeback in public opinion and the
political agenda, but that remains to be seen, as Marichuy has al-
ready pledged not to seek political power but only to spoil the polit-
ical parties’ party.41 The Zapatistas and their supporters are currently
focused on sustaining the autonomy of their resisting communities,
despite lacking legal recognition.
OVERVIEW OF THE BOOK
Chapter 2 presents the theoretical arguments of the book. I base my

hypotheses on the literatures on political opportunities and demo-
cratic transitions. In particular, I discuss the political opportunities
that a protracted democratic transition may open to social
movements generated by democratic transitions from below. The
chapter is organized in three sections. In the first part I review the lit-
erature on political opportunities and democratic transitions to offer
a few hypotheses about the type of mobilization opportunities pro-
tracted democratic transitions may open to a social movement. More
specifically, I analyze the four dimensions of political opportunities
that the literature has traditionally considered crucial factors in the
development of a social movement, to determine to what extent
they functioned as mobilization opportunities for the Zapatistas.42
40. http:// w ww.proceso.com.mx/ 4 88450/ e zln- e lige- a - i ndigena- n ahua-

candidata-2018 (last accessed on July 1, 2017).
41. http://www.animalpolitico.com/2017/06/siete- frases- conocer-marichuy/
(last accessed on July 1, 2017).
42. McAdam (1996).
18
I ntroduction
In my sliding doors analogy, these initial mobilization opportunities

represent the first set of sliding openings for the emergence and de-
velopment of a social movement. These factors are (1) negotiating
periods as well as changes in power as signs of openings in the polit-
ical system at the local and national levels; (2) the timing and com-
petitiveness of elections as a measure of the relative vulnerability of
political elites; (3) the presence of a potential political ally in power;
and (4) the Mexican’s state capacity for repression, measured by
numbers of military positions in the region of conflict. I compare the
explanatory power of these political opportunity theory dimensions
to another factor that the literature has highlighted as a crucial var-
iable for mobilization, namely the availability of a network of preex-
isting organizations.43
To assess the opportunities that the Zapatista movement had
to succeed in achieving its political goals, in the second section of
chapter 2 I incorporate arguments from the literature of dem-

ocratic transitions from below. I compare some of the political
conditions faced by insurgents in El Salvador and South Africa
during their paths to democracy and contrast them to the ones that
the Zapatistas encountered during Mexico’s electoral democratiza-
tion. I focus on three factors. First, I consider the extent to which
parallel but separate peace and democratizing negotiations can
open or close opportunities for success to the achievement of social
movements’ political demands. Second, I question the vulnerability
of elites to insurgent demands during a democratic transition when
democratizing negotiations are held parallel with but separated from
peace dialogues. Third, I speculate that lacking alliances with political
elites in power may hinder opportunities for a social movement to
attain its political goals.
In the final section of the theory chapter I review the arguments
in the literature on social movements, resource mobilization,
and framing processes to hypothesize about the role of local and
43. McCarthy and Zald (2002).
19
transnational solidarity networks in allowing a social movement to

survive, given the changing political conditions stated previously.
I argue that as sliding doors of political opportunity for success
closed, opportunities for the survival of the movement opened up
through solidarity networks and discourse framing.
In chapter 3 I empirically test the political opportunity hypotheses
drawn in the preceding chapter to explain the Zapatista mobilization
cycle from 1994 through 2003. The results of the analysis show that
contrary to what was expected, changes in rule helped to decrease
the Zapatista mobilization cycle. These results suggest that while
democratizing openings diminished contestation in those more dem-
ocratic political settings, they provided opportunities to insurgent
social movement actors to refocus their contentious activity against
the remaining closed and repressive local political environments. At
the national level, peace negotiations encouraged protest mobiliza-
tion only temporarily.
Chapter 4 analyzes the causes of the relative failure of Zapatista
insurgents to achieve their political goals. Comparing the results
of Mexico’s democratization and the relative failure of EZLN
insurgents to become influential political actors to the outcomes
of other democratic transitions from below allows me to define
under which conditions different dimensions of the political pro-
cess approach open or close opportunities for social movements to
succeed.44
In chapter 5 I contrast the assumptions about the role that
mobilizing networks and discourse framing play in sustaining a so-
cial movement’s objectives to the development of the Zapatista
movement. Using illustrations from Zapatismo, I show how despite
lacking opportunities for success the initial openings that provide
mobilizing opportunities may be enough for a movement to con-
struct a transnational network of support to maintain its campaign.45
44. McAdam (1982).

45. Tilly and Wood (2009).
20
I ntroduction
In doing so, I also highlight the long-term effects of transnational or-

ganizations in shaping a local movement’s discourse over time, which
in turn may contribute to its survival.46 This analysis also permits
the identification of some of the unintended consequences of trans-
national solidarity. In the case of Zapatismo, as the movement grew
closer to transnational struggles it became estranged from the do-
mestic public eye and political agenda.
The concluding chapter presents the arguments about why the
Zapatista movement had such a unique development and outcomes.
Through a brief comparison of the Zapatista movement to other in-
surgent movements within democratic transitions, as well as to other
indigenous movements in the region, I present the conditions that
allowed Zapatistas to flourish and survive while failing to achieve
their political goals. In doing so, I summarize the main arguments,
methods, and evidence employed in this book and offer some new
hope for the incorporation of the movement’s interests given the re-
cent political reforms in Mexico, which seem to gradually be opening
political participation channels to independent and dissident actors.
46. Hirsch (1986); Diani (2003); McAdam (2003).
21
[2]
D E M O C R AT I C T R A N S I T I O N S
AND POLITICAL
OPPORTUNITIES
INTRODUCTION
Almost immediately after the Zapatista uprising on January 1, 1994,

a transnational movement emerged advocating indigenous rights, de-
mocracy, and antiglobalization economic policies. Zapatista spokesman
Subcomandante Marcos spread the movement’s communiqués rapidly
through national and international media, pioneering the use of the
Internet to mobilize local and transnational social movement solidarity
networks of sympathizers, activists, and supporters. Support for the
Zapatistas’ cause grew rapidly inside and outside the region, due in part
to the legitimacy of the Zapatistas’ claims of impoverishment in rural
Mexico, but also to national and international media portrayals of the
armed conflict as a David and Goliath fight between the poorly armed
EZLN and the dominant Mexican federal army.
The relevance of the Zapatista movement goes well beyond
reawakening the indigenous movement in Mexico.1 It also empowered
human rights and pro-democracy groups and organizations in the
1. Interviews with members of the National Indigenous Congress (Congreso

Nacional Indígena, CNI) and the Zapatista Front of National Liberation (Frente
Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, FZLN), Mexico City, November 2002. I trace the
beginning of the Zapatista movement back to the late 1960s, when the National
22
D emocratic T ransitions and P olitical O pportunities
country.2 It appeared as though the Zapatista movement within

Mexico’s democratic transition would be another example of an
insurgent social movement triggering democratic change from
below. Parallel to the development of the Zapatista movement and
peace dialogues between EZLN leaders and representatives of the
Mexican federal government, political elites negotiated the reforms
that allowed the country to become an electoral democracy. In mo-
bilization terms, and using Elisabeth Wood’s (2000) concept, the
Zapatistas seemed to be on the path to becoming an influential po-
litical counter-elite movement, as they were able to sustain a cycle
of protests from 1994 until 2003, along with at least ten years of
clandestine organization prior to the EZLN uprising, and through
their insurgent mobilization they made regime elites negotiate
peace agreements with them at the same time that political elites
were negotiating democratizing reforms. However, as we know now,
the Zapatista demand for autonomous political power for indige-
nous peoples still remains unaddressed, despite the passage of the
Indigenous Rights Bill in 2001.
Why did such an influential insurgent movement that developed
within a democratic transition fail to have its demands fully met? As
previously stated, I believe the answer to this puzzle can be illustrated
by an analogy of parallel sliding doors of opportunity in which, as an
insurgent social movement develops within a democratic transition,
it goes through opening and closing doors of opportunity for mo-
bilization, success, and survival. As mobilizing opportunities open
up, opportunities for success may close down, and social movement
actors may get “caught” between sliding doors of opportunity; failing
Confederation of Indigenous Communities (Confederación Nacional de Comunidades

Indígenas, CNCI) was established (Inclán and Almeida 2013) and not only state-
controlled indigenous organizations began mobilizing, but also independent groups,
with the help of the progressive sector of the Catholic Church, (Washbrook 2005).
2. Interviews with members of the local branch of Alianza Cívica in San Cristóbal
de Las Casas, Chiapas, March 2003, and of Amnesty International and Servicios y
Asesoría para la Paz (SERAPAZ), Mexico City, October 2002.
23
to accomplish their political goals, they are yet able to survive given
the initial mobilizing openings.
The rationale behind this analogy is based on the idea that not all
democratic transitions open opportunities for social movements to
develop and succeed. Depending on the type of transition, different
political opportunities become available for the mobilization, success,
and survival of social movements. I argue that while in some cases
insurgents in oligarchic societies have been able to forge a path to de-
mocracy from below through their sustained mobilization,3 insurgent
movements emerging during protracted democratic transitions may
encounter opportunities for mobilization but may also face obstacles
or closing opportunities to achieve their political goals. Nevertheless,
the initial mobilizing opportunities may open survival opportunities
for them, especially if there is a solidarity network that supports the
movement’s cause and helps to keep the movement discourse frame
relevant over time.
This idea is further developed in the next sections of this chapter.
To identify the general political opportunities available to insurgent
movements within a democratic transition, I review some of the
arguments of the literatures on democratic transitions from below4
and protracted democratic transitions.5 In particular, I compare the
characteristics of the Mexican protracted transition,6 which was
“catalyzed” by the Zapatista insurgency, with some of the features of
other insurgent paths to democracy experienced in El Salvador and
South Africa, as described by Elisabeth Wood (2000). Then I differen-
tiate the opportunities for mobilization and success that a protracted
transition may open for insurgent social movements from those
opened by insurgent paths to democracy. Based on the literature,
I propose that political opportunities functioned as such for the mo-
bilization, but not for the success, of the Zapatista movement within
3. Wood (2000).
4. Bratton and van der Walle (1992).
5. Casper and Taylor (1996).
6. Eisenstadt (2004).
24
Mexico’s democratic transition. Finally, I discuss the factors that

allowed the Zapatistas to survive given their lack of opportunities
for success.
INSURGENT PATHS TO DEMOCRACY

VERSUS PROTRACTED DEMOCRATIC
TRANSITIONS
According to Elisabeth Wood (2000), democratic transitions from

below in oligarchic societies may only lead to stable democratic
regimes when sustained insurgent mobilization turns insurgent
leaders into influential political actors, whom economic and polit-
ical elites can no longer ignore and repress, and must include in their
democratizing pacts. This has been the case in democratic transitions
in El Salvador and South Africa, where although insurgents could
have been contained easily by the military, their extended and sus-
tained mobilization activity forced economic and political elites to
compromise their interests with those of insurgent leaders in order
to achieve a more democratic and stable political regime. Only in
these two cases, Wood argues, can insurgents be considered neces-
sary counter-elites, because without them the countries’ ongoing
political crises could not have been solved. The insurgent leaders
not only represented their own interests at the negotiating tables,
but they also stood for other excluded sectors in their respective ol-
igarchic societies. They were able to do so by making the achieved
accords hold up despite the infighting generated by those reached
agreements among insurgent factions. Hence, including insurgent
leaders in democratizing negotiations became a priority in these
two oligarchic societies because the costs of their sustained insur-
gent mobilization posed a real threat to the pursuit of the economic
elites’ interests under continued recalcitrant authoritarianism. The
interests of insurgents and economic elites became intertwined as
the insurgency was sustained and the costs to repress and coerce it
25
grew to the point that political negotiations were necessary to re-

solve the conflict. Eventually, both sides began to see a peaceful so-
lution as in their best interests, if not their only option. As a result,
economic elites in El Salvador and South Africa convinced regime
elites about the benefits of negotiating democratizing pacts with
insurgent leaders in order to re-establish political stability and eco-
nomic activity.
For insurgent leaders, more democratic institutions of interest
representation guaranteed the political inclusion of previously
marginalized sectors of the population. For economic elites, they
guaranteed the constitutional protection of the status quo distri-
bution of wealth. In turn, regime elites in these oligarchic societies7
realized they no longer had to rely on extra-economic coercive con-
trol of labor to prevent the loss of income due to insurgent mobiliza-
tion.8 Economic elites ensured a commitment to neoliberal economic
policies, and insurgent counter-elites achieved positions of power
and status, as well as political participation for the marginalized and
disenfranchised. Hence, through sustained popular mobilization, in-
surgent social movements opened an insurgent path to democracy, as
they not only responded to changing political opportunities during a
democratic transition, but through their mobilization opened their
own opportunities for success.
The duration and level of violence of the Zapatista insurgency
are not comparable to the violence sustained by insurgents in El
Salvador and South Africa. Hostilities between the EZLN and the
Mexican federal army lasted only twelve days—although the clan-
destine mobilization of the Zapatistas before the uprising had been
going on for at least a decade9—while the Salvadoran violent conflict
7. Oligarchic societies are those “in which economic elites rely on extra-economic
coercion of labor by the state for the realization of incomes superior to those possible
under more liberal, market-based arrangements” (Wood 2000, 6–7).
8. Extra-economic coercion is intended to control labor through “gross violations
of fundamental liberal rights of association, speech, free movement, self-ownership,
due process, and equality before the law” (Wood 2000, 7).
9. Tello Díaz (1995).
26
lasted for over twelve years, and in South Africa popular mobiliza-
tion against apartheid went on for over forty years. The ten-year
Zapatista cycle of protests could be considered a long-lasting pop-
ular mobilization initially triggered by insurgency, but the Zapatista
cycle of protest was not what triggered peace negotiations. It was the
timing of the EZLN uprising, together with the great national and
international attention that Zapatistas gained during the first twelve
days of hostilities, that helped them to rapidly become salient insur-
gent social movement actors—potential counter-elites in Wood’s
words—with whom regime elites had to promptly negotiate peace
accords to ensure a smooth transition to an electoral democracy and
to a more market-oriented economy. Protracted democratization
reforms were negotiated among incumbent and opposition political
elites separately, but at the same time that Zapatistas were holding
peace negotiations with representatives of the Mexican federal gov-
ernment. Given these conditions, I argue that Zapatistas were poised
to become influential counter-elites, but the parallel scenario in
which peace and democratizing negotiations took place prevented
them from doing so. In the next sections of this chapter I present
hypotheses to explain this seemingly unexpected result.
POLITICAL OPPORTUNITIES
IN PROTRACTED TRANSITIONS
A protracted democratization process is defined in the literature as

a long transition from either military rule or a one-party regime
that involves a lengthy period of negotiations among political elite
actors leading to incremental reforms that regulate electoral com-
petition but do not necessarily liberalize the political system be-
yond guaranteeing free and fair elections.10 According to Todd
Eisenstadt (2000), these incremental reforms allow incumbents to
10. Casper and Taylor (1996); Eisenstadt (2004).
27
reach their optimal outcome by granting minimal concessions to en-

sure continued opposition participation in negotiations and in elec-
toral competitions, while at the same time gathering information
about the opposition electoral popularity. Such a protracted path
to transition helps authoritarian incumbents channel potential
mobilizing actors against the regime—strikers, students, peasants,
and insurgents— into the electoral process, because opposition
parties are forced to remain loyal to the quest for regime change be-
fore they can begin articulating social movements’ interests during
democratizing pacts and electoral campaigns.
Protracted democratic transitions allow authoritarian
incumbents to prolong their control of the political system. They
allow incumbents to hold onto their strongholds of power, while op-
position parties seek to gain power gradually at the local level first,
before toppling authoritarian incumbents at the state and national
levels.11 As a result, pro-democratization social mobilization and po-
tential insurgency remain at the margins of the transition and their
leaders stay outside the negotiating tables. Nevertheless, I argue that
the unevenness of such a democratization process may provide in-
surgent social movements with different opportunities for mobiliza-
tion, success, and survival at different levels.
A protracted democratic transition prolongs the liberalization
process before the first more free and fair competitive elections take
place. Gradually more liberties are granted to dissident actors, and
incumbent regime elites begin refraining from using harsh repressive
measures to maintain their legitimacy. This way regime elites con-
trol possible insurgencies at the same time that they conduct pro-
tracted negotiations with political elites in the opposition. Insurgent
social movement actors might suffer from their exclusion from the
negotiating tables; however, given the liberalizing conditions, they
have more room to organize and mobilize despite the efforts of in-
cumbent and opposition elites to channel their interests through the
11. Cornelius (2000).
28
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make a suitable return for so valuable a consideration, accompanying his
apology with a small present of mats, cocoa-nuts, and a preparation of the
ripe bup, that had an agreeable sweet taste. It was after dark when our party
left the village, and went to the beach to embark. They had already left the
shore a few yards, when some natives came running down, and called for
them to return, saying, the chief had another mat for the captain. They
landed, when they were told, that the mat was in the village, and that Huzzy
must go for it. The captain, not choosing to send for the mat, put off again.
In a few moments two or three other messengers came running to the beach,
calling for the boat to return. When she had pulled in a few yards from the
shore, they said that the chief wanted Huzzy to go up to the village for the
mat, and that he did not wish to keep the axe, which he had sent back to the
captain, unwilling, as we supposed, to lay himself under so great an
obligation as its acceptance implied. The captain refused to take the axe,
telling the messenger to say to his chief, that what we had given, we never
took back, and, with this, left the shore and returned on board. The tide had
risen considerably over the coral bank, and the party found the surf
somewhat dangerous in returning, having their boats nearly filled with
water.
The dress and general appearance of these people, as well as their

language, was the same as that of the natives of the Mulgraves. Their
canoes were also the same. We saw only three or four with sails, which
were hauled upon the beach. The power of the great chief must, therefore,
consist in his dominion over other islands to the northward and westward of
him, where there is an almost connected chain for several hundred miles,
and from which, when he undertakes an important enterprise, he must, in a
great measure, draw his resources. It was probably with the object of
collecting forces for the great chief, that Latuano visited so many islands
during his exile from his own, and to which he was at last restored by
foreign aid.
At eight in the evening, we made sail to the northward and westward,

with a fresh breeze from the eastward. The weather was clear, and we stood
on under easy sail all night. Early in the morning land was discovered,
bearing nearly west, and soon afterwards more land was seen to the north.
The last was Ibbitson's Island, and appeared to be separate from that
discovered first. It is not improbable, however, that they are connected by
coral reefs, that were too distant from us to be observed.
The land was all low, and had the appearance of the Mulgraves and
other coral islands. At meridian, we hove to, and put off in two boats.
Having passed to leeward of the island, we crossed a drowned reef, that
extended as far as the eye could reach to the N.W., when we found
ourselves in an inland sea, which was extensive and quite smooth. That part
of the island where we landed was about five miles long, and a quarter of a
mile wide. Upon the margin of the inland sea, there were a number of huts,
but when we landed, not an inhabitant could be seen. The huts had
evidently been but recently occupied. The island was covered abundantly
with cocoa-nut and bup trees, and a few of the bread-fruit were here and
there to be seen. On the shore of the inland sea the water was smooth and
unruffled, and the humble but neat dwellings of the natives, scattered about
amongst the cocoa forests, presented a scene of quiet and repose, peculiarly
soothing to the mind, contrasted with the eternal war of breakers on the
ocean side. We had not been long on shore before we found a few old
people, who had concealed themselves in the bushes, and, although they
were at first afraid of us, they became less timid, and increased in number,
when we had presented them with some pieces of iron, and a few old
buttons. In return, they gave us mats, fishing-nets, cocoa-nuts, and bup,
with the last of which they filled our boat. Their dress and language was the
same as at the Mulgraves, and their habitations and canoes were also the
same. Amongst all these islands, the natives ascend the cocoa-nut trees, in
the way I have described at the Marquesas. Here we saw several very old
people, some of whom had lost all their teeth,—a circumstance we had not
before remarked in any of these islands. There were also two or three
cripples, who were not less remarkable, being the first we had seen. All the
females were very old, and, upon inquiring the cause, they replied, that the
young men had sent the young women away, for fear they would be given
presents. Two or three large sail canoes came from a great distance over the
inland sea, and approached us without fear. The natives told us that they had
never seen white men before.
The captain landed upon a different island from myself, and the natives,
having fled from their habitations as they did upon the island where I
landed, he sent a few old people, that were found, commanding all the
inhabitants to return to their homes, and, fearing his displeasure, in a few
minutes their huts were occupied in the same manner as though the white-
faced strangers had not appeared amongst them.
At five, P.M., we returned to the schooner, with our boats laden with
fruit, and soon afterwards made sail, shaping our course for the Sandwich
Islands. We were favoured with south easterly trades, blowing in fresh gales
for a number of days, which rendered our passage materially shorter than it
would probably have been otherwise. But what was still less to have been
expected than a south-east trade in the northern tropic, was a strong current,
that set us at the rate of thirty to forty miles a day, N.E. from the latitude of
sixteen to twenty-five north. Part of the time that we experienced this strong
current, the wind was blowing a double-reefed top-sail breeze from East
and E.N.E., differing only from two to four points with the opposite
direction of the current. When we arrived in the latitude of twenty-three
degrees north, the trades left us, and the winds became variable. At
meridian of December the 24th, we were, by our calculation, thirty miles
from an island, said to have been discovered recently by a whaler, and
which we made to bear from us E. by N. Our latitude observed was twenty-
five degrees fifty-seven minutes, N. Longitude, by chronometer, one
hundred and eighty-six degrees twenty-seven minutes, W. We ran off to the
eastward all the following day, and at meridian, December 25th, observed,
in latitude twenty-six degrees, N.; longitude one hundred and eighty-three
degrees twenty minutes W., without having seen the slightest indications of
land.
On Christmas day, we gave the crew a dinner of turtle, which were still
fat, and very delicious. We had fed them occasionally upon bup and other
vegetation, that was found upon the islands.
December the 27th, we came within the vicinity of another new

discovery of a whaler, and at meridian, had it bearing, by our calculation,
S.E. ten miles. We ran for it until six, P.M., December 28th, when no
appearance of land being in sight, we hove about, and stood to the
northward, for a newly discovered reef, which, at meridian, bore from us,
by calculation N. by E., distant one hundred miles. Latitude observed,
twenty-six degrees ten minutes N.; longitude, by chronometer, one hundred
and seventy-six degrees fifty-one minutes, W. The reef for which we were
now steering was called, by the discoverer, Clark's Reef. It was said to
extend sixty miles, in a south-west and north-easterly direction, and we
thought it impossible that it should escape our observation, if laid down any
where near the given latitude and longitude.
At nine, P.M., December the 30th, we were within twenty-five miles of

the centre of the reef, by our calculation, and as it was blowing a gale, and
we were scudding before it with an unusually high sea, we hove to for the
night. At three, A.M., we again made sail, and ran for the centre of the reef.
At meridian, December the 31st, the centre of it was still twenty miles from
us, bearing N. E. by N. From meridian to one, P.M., we steered N. by E.,
and then bore up, and steered east all the rest of the twenty-four hours,
without seeing the reef or any indications of it. At meridian, observed, in
latitude twenty-six degrees forty-seven minutes, N.; longitude, by
chronometer, one hundred and seventy-two degrees eleven minutes, W.
We continued on to the eastward, with the hope of falling in with two

islands and a reef, of another whaler's discovery. Our confidence in their
given latitude and longitude, however, was quite destroyed by frequent
disappointments, and we now looked for their discoveries, as we would
have sought for lands, known only in the tradition of the natives of some
unfrequented island, with the hope of finding them, but with little
expectation of success. It happened with these, as with all the rest of the
new discoveries we had looked for. We passed within a few miles of the
latitude, and ran down from one to two degrees of longitude, without
observing any thing that indicated the vicinity of land.
On the second of January, 1826, we ran off to the southward of east for
Ballard's Island. During the middle of the day, the sea, from being very
heavy, became comparatively smooth, and continued so for sixty miles,
when the heavy swell again set in from the westward, as before.
At three, P.M., on the fourth of January, a rock was reported from the
mast-head, eight leagues from us. It proved to be Ballard's Island, as it is
called. At eight on the following morning, we passed within two hundred
yards of it. It is about two or three hundred yards in circumference, and
rises two hundred feet from the sea. On one side it has a considerable
inclination, where seals had crawled up, and several were basking in the
sun, almost to the very top. Large flocks of birds were perched upon its
ragged sides, or wending their flight around it. Not the least sign of
vegetation was any where to be seen. Near its base, was a small rock, from
ten to twenty feet above the water level. Ballard's Rock rises in three equi-
distant peaks, the centre of which is the highest, and all of them, to the very
base, are white with bird-lime. A high surf breaks all around it. Our
observations placed it in north latitude, twenty-five degrees two minuses;
west longitude, one hundred and sixty-seven degrees fifty minutes.
On the evening of January the fifth, the weather became squally, with
constant flashes of lightning and distant thunder. From south to west, and
N.W., the heavens were obscured with a heavy black cloud, which rose with
great rapidity. We furled all sail. When the cloud ascended our zenith, it
became perfectly calm, and a roaring was heard in the air for several
minutes, like that of wind through the tops of pines, when hail-stones of an
unusual size began to fall upon our deck, accompanied with very sharp
lightning and heavy thunder. The hail was of short duration, and passed
over without a breath of wind.
The nearest of the Sandwich Group was Bird Island, for which we
steered, and on the ninth of January, at eight in the morning (having the
preceding night been enveloped in fog) it was discovered close to us. We
tacked and stood close in with the south-west side, where was a small sand-
beach, fifty to a hundred yards long.
The captain, taking the Globe's whale-boat, went in shore to fish, but
seeing a few seal upon the sand beach, was induced to land. It soon
afterwards became squally and blew with great violence. The surf upon the
beach rose with the wind, and, when the captain, after a short examination
of the island, attempted to return, he found it impossible to launch his boat
through the surf, and was reduced to the necessity of passing the night upon
the island. It blew a gale and rained in torrents all night. The captain and his
boat's crew took shelter in a cavern upon the sea-shore, where they had not
been long by a comfortable fire they had made, when, by the rising of the
tide the sea broke in upon them, and they with difficulty escaped to the side
of the rocks, and thence upon the sand-beach. The island was high and
almost perpendicular, and with the floods that fell and rushed down its steep
sides, rocks of a large size were disengaged from their beds, and came
tumbling down in every direction, to the great peril of the captain and his
boat's crew, sufficiently uncomfortable from the torrents of water that were
falling and driving upon the gale. After a little search, they found an asylum
in a cave at the side of a mountain, where they passed the night. In the
morning, when they ascended the mountain, the schooner was no where to
be seen. It was high and steep, and she had beat up within a few miles of the
island and passed their line of sight. Their disappointment and chagrin was
inexpressible, supposing, from the schooner's not being in sight, she had
been driven off, and that it would be a considerable time before she could
return, and afford them that relief their situation so much required, being
very much fatigued and exhausted from their exposure. At day-light, the
weather cleared and the wind moderated. We beat up and hove to off the
sand-beach nearly as soon as the boat we had sent with refreshments.
When the captain saw the schooner approaching close in with the
island, he made a last effort to launch his boat. They succeeded in getting
her into the breakers, but the first heavy roller that broke under them
severed the boat amid-ships, and the captain upon one end of her and a man
that could not swim on the other, were hove up safely on the beach by the
succeeding wave. The rest of the boat's crew were good swimmers, and also
landed in safety. Our boat was not far off when this occurred, and anchoring
as near as possible to the shore, the men, all but one, swam off to her
through the surf. The only way we could devise to get the captain and
seaman off, was to float a cork-jacket on shore, at the end of a line, which
being put on by the captain and seaman, alternately, and a rope tied round
them, they were hauled through the surf without any other injury than
swallowing a quantity of salt-water.
Bird's Island is an uninhabited rock, about a league in circumference,

and the highest part from five to eight hundred feet above the ocean. Where
our boat landed, is the only spot where a landing could be effected, and
upon that side alone it has an inclination by which it may be ascended.
Every where else it is perpendicular, and at a distance, looks like the work
of art. It has a scanty vegetation.
At five, P.M., January the 11th, we made sail for the island of Oahoo,
with a fine breeze from the westward and pleasant weather. At daylight, on
the following morning, we saw the small island of Onehow, and soon
afterwards, the highland of Atooi. During the whole day, we were coming
up with and sailing along on the west side of Atooi, moving at the rate of
eight and nine miles per hour. Of a clear day, it may be seen at least fifty or
sixty miles. We did not approach nearer to it than eight or ten. It had the
appearance, at that distance, of beautiful table-land, being every where very
regular and of nearly the same altitude. Towards evening, on the 12th of
January, we made the island of Oahoo, and should have been at anchor in
Onavoora on the following day had we passed between Atooi and Oahoo,
but from some mistake about the prevailing winds on the opposite side of
Oahoo, we continued on round the north end of it, and did not anchor at
Onavoora until the sixteenth. Two or three American merchant vessels were
lying there, with which we exchanged salutes. The Dolphin was the first
American man-of-war that ever entered a harbour of the Sandwich Islands,
and the firing of the guns, and the report widely circulated that an American
man-of-war had arrived, brought the inhabitants from far and near to the
shore of the harbour to witness the novel sight. Several of our countrymen,
who were traders here, and had been expecting us for some time, came on
board to offer their congratulations, and invite us on shore to partake of
their hospitality. It was highly gratifying to us upon landing, to meet nearly
all of our countrymen residing at the Island, who came down, en masse, to
the beach, to welcome us on shore, in the most kind and friendly manner.
We were a little disappointed, however, when we came to look round and
found that none of the missionaries had partaken in the general sentiment.
They were also our countrymen, and from the character of benevolence and
philanthropy they had assumed to themselves, we had a right to expect they
would have been amongst the first to hail us with a welcome to their lonely
abode. We expected, indeed, that they would not only have received us as
countrymen, but as friends, whose kindness, and sympathy would be highly
acceptable to them in their peculiar situation.
From the shore we were escorted to a large frame building called the
wooden-house, then occupied by our countryman, Captain Wilds, where a
handsome dinner was prepared, to which every luxury was added that could
be obtained from the shipping or the shore. We were much surprised on
landing, to find a rabble of naked and half-naked natives, amounting to
many hundreds, as we had been taught to believe, from the various
information we had received, that their condition was much improved, and
that they were far advanced in civilization. They were of all ages, and
formed a more varied and fantastic group than I had any where seen, even
where no degree of civilization had taken place, from an intercourse with
white men. Some of them were quite naked; some had their native dress of
tappa cloths; some had on cotton shirts, some a pair of old trowsers, and
some nothing but an old jacket. Many of them had adorned their heads with
wreaths of red and yellow flowers, and some their necks and wrists with
necklaces and bracelets of shells. They expressed the greatest pleasure at
seeing us, shouting and crowding around, so that we could not get along
without pushing them out of the way. In appearance, a comparison of them
with the natives of the Marquesas or Mulgrave Islands, would have been
greatly to their disadvantage. On the following day, we were again invited
to dine at the same place, where we met a second time with our
countrymen, and interchanged with them those sentiments of friendship and
sympathy that naturally arise on meeting in a strange land, and which are
felt by Americans with peculiar force. It appeared to us that they could not
sufficiently express their gratification at seeing us at Oahoo, by the most
unremitted attention, for they continued to feast and give us parties every
day for more than a week, and until our various and pressing duties made it
inconvenient for us to partake of them. On the first sabbath after our arrival,
I went to the place of worship appointed by the missionaries for the natives.
A large building, formerly occupied for this purpose, had been destroyed a
short time previous to our arrival, and as they had now no house sufficiently
large to contain the whole congregation, the place appointed for worship
was an extensive enclosure in the rear of a large frame building, which is
occupied as the dwelling of the young king. Within this enclosure, was
assembled about a thousand people, as I supposed, seated on the ground.
Some of them were dressed in silks, cottons, and calicoes, and others were
in their native dress, being quite naked, except about the waist. They were
in the open air, without any protection from the sun, which was pouring its
vertical rays upon them. Mr. Bingham, the head of the mission, was
addressing them in the language of the island, and when he saw me at the
outer edge of the circle, very kindly beckoned me to come round where the
queen dowager was seated. He was standing there himself. A native was
holding an umbrella over his head, and around him were seated all the chief
men and women, some in chairs, and some of them on the ground. With one
or two exceptions, they were all people of uncommon size. Some of them
were quite neatly dressed, but others had displayed a most whimsical and
ridiculous fancy. When I came near Cahumanu, who was the favourite wife
of the departed and highly distinguished Tamahamaha, she extended her
hand to me and bade one of her attendants bring me a chair. The service
lasted about an hour, when the assemblage dispersed, and the natives ran
away as much pleased as so many children let loose from school. At the
close of the service, I promised myself so much politeness on the part of the
distinguished personages present, as to receive from some of them an
invitation to go into their houses, as I was in the uniform of a foreign
officer; but in this I was altogether disappointed. I had the satisfaction of
speaking, for a few minutes, with Mr. Bingham, whose attention was soon
called from me by the presence of some chief, with whom he wished to
exchange a salutation, and after recognizing two or three of the chiefs
present whom I had seen before, I was suffered to depart without receiving
any further notice.
On Monday, I made a call of ceremony on the high chief Boque, who

was one of the attendants of the late king Rio Rio, on his visit to the king of
England. He was a man of about thirty years of age, upwards of six feet,
and stout in proportion. He had a flat nose and thick lips, but the general
expression of his face was that of benevolence and good nature—an
expression truly characteristic, according to the testimony of those who
have had an opportunity of knowing him well. We found him sitting in a
chair at a table, with a desk before him, upon which he was making pot-
hooks after a copy, having just commenced learning to write. He got up and
shook hands with us, as did also his wife, who was seated on some mats at
the other end of the hut. Boque was dressed in a coarse linen shirt and
trowsers, having a pair of heavy shoes on his feet, without any stockings.
Queen Boque was nearly as large as her husband, and looked a good deal
like him. She had on a plain white muslin cap and dress, neither of which
were very clean or neatly put on. It was, however, in as good taste as could
be expected in so rude a state of society, but I thought it less becoming than
would have been her native dress. She invited us to be seated, and made an
attempt at politeness, such as she had seen practised in England, having
accompanied her husband thither. The hut was an oblong building, about
sixty by forty feet. Its simple structure was the same that has been in use in
the islands from time immemorial, being poles laid over crotches, upon
which the rafters rested, and differing in nothing from the habitations of the
poorest people, except that the crotches, poles, and rafters, were longer, and
there were more of them. It was thatched from the top all the way to the
ground, with a thick covering of grass. The interior was all in one
apartment, from the top of the rafters to the hard beaten ground floor. There
was nothing ornamental, and no superfluous furniture. A bedstead standing
in one corner, with some pieces of white tappa cloth of the island for
curtains, whereon was laid a pile of mats for a bed; two or three piles of
mats laying along near the centre of the hut, raised one or two feet from the
floor, by being piled one above the other, for beds or lounging places; two
or three old chairs; a plain table of small dimensions, and a dressing-case
with a mirror in it, was all of Boque's furniture, either useful or ornamental.
Besides these may be mentioned a few hollow gourds for poye, (a favourite
food of the Sandwich Islanders, made from the tarrow,) hanging at the side
of the hut.
Leaving Boque's palace, we went with the intention of making a similar

call upon the high chief Crimacu, known to strangers who have visited the
island, by the name of Billy Pitt. He was the high carnie, or great friend of
Tamahamaha, in whose wars he was greatly distinguished for personal
prowess, sagacity, and wisdom. When we came to his hut, we found him
sleeping in a swinging cot, with several attendants sitting round, one of
whom was fanning him. He was in very ill health, having for a long time
been afflicted with the dropsy, and we departed without waking him. His
hut differed in nothing from that of Boque, except that it was not so large,
and had a greater profusion of mats in it. It was standing in one corner of an
extensive plain, that was partially enclosed by a wicker fence just at the
outskirts of the town of Onaroora, and all around it was growing wild grass
and weeds, except where the footsteps of the people, who passed to and
from the hut, had trodden them down. It looked but little like the habitation
of a man who had been a great warrior, and associated as second in
authority with one who had conquered and ruled over thousands of men.
One would naturally suppose that in emerging from a savage state, with
absolute power, he would have made an attempt, at least, to imitate the style
and manners of the white men with whom he was constantly meeting, and
always on terms of friendship.
After we had interchanged salutes with the shore, chief Boque came on
board on the 17th, to make us a visit of ceremony. He was dressed in a
splendid English major-general's uniform, and made a very handsome
appearance. He remained and partook of a collation with us, at which
several gentlemen were invited to meet him, and in all respects acquitted
himself in a more polite and becoming manner than could have been
expected from one whose opportunities had been so limited. He drank
sparingly of wine, and left us at an early hour, notwithstanding the
solicitations of the company for him to remain. A few hours after he had
landed, I met him again, and should hardly have recognized him but for his
large stature and good-natured face. He had stripped himself of all his
finery, and was walking over the plain from his house with nothing on but
his marrow, and a piece of tappa cloth of the island thrown loosely over his
shoulders. I asked him why he had taken off his uniform, to which he
replied, that it was too warm.
Our countrymen, to vary the entertainments they were constantly giving

us, and thereby make them the more acceptable, proposed that we should
make an excursion to a valley, called by them Pearl River, from the pearl
frequently found in a small stream that passes through it. As horses could
not be obtained for all, part of the company went by water, whilst the rest,
four or five, mounted on horseback. The distance was about fifteen miles. I
made one of the land party, and we set off early in the afternoon. There was
no road, and in many places not even a footpath. The whole way was over
hill and dale, and through swamps. We had to jump fences and ditches
made through tarrow-patches, and ascend by narrow paths, difficult and
dangerous cliffs. All the afternoon was occupied in this manner, and it was
sundown when we arrived at our place of destination. One old native made
bold to oppose us in jumping our horses over his fence, and was so
obstinate in his refusal to let us pass, that for a time we thought we should
have to relinquish our excursion—a reflection not very agreeable, after
having advanced more than half way over so wretched a road. Finally, when
all other arguments had failed, some one of the party, thinking that the
native opposed our trespass upon his premises with no other object than to
lay us under contribution, gave him half a dollar, which did more for us
than all our threats or persuasion. Instead of opposing, he afterwards
pointed out to us the best way. From Onavoora to Pearl River, the country
was thinly inhabited. We met with no considerable village or rich valley.
Our road lay near the edge of a wide marsh, that intervened between us and
the sea, in the opposite direction from which, an undulating country
extended three or four miles, when it was interrupted by the high and
uninhabited range of mountains that run through the centre of the island
from one end to the other. It was Saturday evening, when we arrived at
Pearl River, and, according to the doctrine in which the missionaries had
instructed the Sandwich islanders, their sabbath had commenced. The hut
that we were to occupy belonged to Captain Dana, an American gentleman,
to whom we were indebted for many hours of agreeable pastime. Besides
the hut, he possessed other property in the valley, which gave him an
influence with the chief of it, that enabled him to command whatever it
produced. When we arrived, the chief was seated on a mat, near Captain
Dana's hut, moody, and, apparently, very stupid. The arrival of so many
strangers, in a place where a visiter was scarcely ever seen, produced a
lively interest amongst the villagers. All of them seemed to partake of the
general excitement, but the chief, though celebrated for his hospitality, was
now sunk in the most listless apathy, and apparently scarcely sensible of our
presence. When he was told that we wanted supper, and preparation made
for our accommodation on the morrow, he replied, that it was the sabbath,
and neither then nor on the morrow could fire be made, as it was forbidden
by the Almighty. Upon being asked how he knew that it was forbidden by
the Almighty, he said, that Mr. Bingham had seen the Almighty, who told
him so. This was a great check to our promised enjoyment, and one that we
were quite unprepared for, as no prohibition of making fire on Saturday, or
any other night, was in existence at Onavoora. We saw but a poor prospect
of getting supper or any thing, indeed, until we returned, unless we fasted
on Sunday, and that our religious scruples did not call for, if it were not
unavoidable. We were unwilling, however, to interfere with the established
observances, which had been thought necessary to civilize and improve the
condition of the people, and bore our disappointment in silence. After
wandering about the village for a while, which was small, and scattered
over a sterile ridge, we were relieved from our unpleasant dilemma by a
native, we had taken with us as cook and interpreter, who was commonly
known upon the island by the name of Joe Banks. He had received some
education, and had been a convert to the missionaries, from whom he
afterwards seceded. He did not like fasting any more than ourselves, and set
about haranguing the chief, to convince him of the error of his opinion, with
respect to the making of fire. Joe was not wanting in either talent or
volubility; and, to our great satisfaction, we soon found him on good terms
with the chief; a fire was made, and soon after a kid and a pig brought up
for slaughter. I observed, that the chief's skin was very rough and in scales,
resembling somewhat the shell of a small terrapin. Upon inquiring the
cause, they told me, it was the effect of the ava-root, of which he was
undergoing a course. He had almost finished the course, and his skin was all
peeling off. It was the effect of the ava, that made him so stupid, and under
its operation he was a most disgusting looking object. The natives of the
Sandwich Islands are very much subject to cutaneous irruptions, which are
troublesome, and, when of long standing, often dangerous. To eradicate
this, and some other offensive diseases, with which they are afflicted, they
sometimes go through a course of the ava. It is taken in quantities from a
gill to half a pint, of the juice of the green root. It is chewed, and the juice
spit into a gourd, if intended for the use of another person than the one who
prepares it, and is said, when taken, to deprive the person of muscular
power. In a few moments after swallowing the potion, he loses the use of all
his limbs. He experiences an agreeable sensation, and is conscious of every
thing that transpires, but without the power of speech. He lies in this
helpless condition for several hours, when he recovers his strength in a
measure, and is left in the condition of a man that has been very much
intoxicated. This, to have the desired effect, is repeated daily for about a
month; when the disease is cured, the skin all comes off, and a fair and
shining one is left in its place. When once it was settled between Joe Banks
and the chief of Pearl River Valley, that fire should be made, and our supper
cooked, he provided for us in the most sumptuous native style. We had pigs,
goats, fish, tarrow, and potatoes, in the greatest profusion. All was cooked
after the manner of the natives, and as the same method is practised
generally amongst the islanders of the Pacific Ocean, and knowing, from
experience, that it is a very good one, I will here describe it. A hole is first
dug a foot or two deep, and large, according to the size of the thing to be
cooked. A fire is then made in the hole, and, when it is burning well,
covered over with stones of a convenient size. When every thing is in
readiness, the stones being well heated, they are taken off, and the hole
cleared out. A layer of stones is then placed all round the interior, upon
which is lain the meat, after being well wrapped up in green leaves. Over
this is placed a thick layer of stones, which is covered with grass, or
something dry, and then with earth. If vegetables are to be cooked, they are
lain on the top of the upper layer of stones. The young tops of the tarrow are
usually wrapped up in leaves, and cooked with the meats in the manner
above described. It is a very excellent green, and called by the natives
lewoca, from which the method of cooking takes its name. Early in the
morning after our arrival, we arose, to look upon the wild beauty of the
valley, and wander through what, at a distance, appeared to be its meadows
and lawns; but, to our great disappointment, in descending from the hills,
the green level fields that looked so pleasant at a distance, were all cut up in
tarrow patches, flooded over, and intersected in every direction with ditches
and embankments. A scene, so uninviting, soon induced us to relinquish our
anticipated pleasure, and return.
In the course of our morning's walk we came to the house of an

Englishman, who, a few years previous, arrived at the island in a Peruvian
man-of-war, the seamen of which had risen upon their officers, and ran
away with the vessel. He had taken to himself a native wife, and, to all
appearance, had fixed here his abode for life. His hut looked extremely
comfortable—not less so, indeed, than that of the chief, and besides other
property that he had acquired, he had a fine flock of sheep feeding near his
residence. He politely invited us into his house, which we declined, as we
were returning late to breakfast.
After breakfast we set off in our boat to visit a small island near the sea
shore, where there were a great many rabbits. We passed along several
miles of an inlet of the sea, before we came to it. It was half a mile long,
level, and overgrown with high weeds. The rabbits were so numerous, that
the island was every where perforated with their burrows, and one or more
would be found in almost every bunch of high grass that we came to,—so
tame, that we could frequently take them up in our hands. We caught more
than a dozen of them in this way, in the short time that we remained. Some
years previous, an old Spaniard, by the name of Menini, who had settled at
Onavoora, put one or more pairs of rabbits upon this small island, and
prevailed upon the chiefs to tabboo them. From that time they had not been
disturbed.
After returning to our dinner, we all set off on our way back to
Onuvoora. To vary the scene, I relinquished my horse and took passage in
the boat. We sailed for several miles among marshes and barren islands,
upon a salt water inlet, up which a ship of heavy burthen might pass for a
considerable distance. The whole way was quite void of interest. When we
got to the sea, we had a head wind to row against all the way. A reef
extended out from the shore, beyond which we were compelled to go,
making the distance so great, that the evening was far advanced before we
got to the Dolphin.
Not long after our return from Pearl River, I set out one day with an
American gentleman, to ascend a high and steep mountain, that rises back
of the village, which the natives, many years ago, fortified with a few heavy
pieces of cannon. We crossed the plain, which is a mile or a mile and a half
wide, when we came to the base of the mountain. It was seven or eight
hundred feet high, and from below, seemed to rise almost perpendicular
from the plain. A winding footpath, however, showed us that it had long
and frequently been ascended by the natives, and encouraged us to make the
attempt. We had often to stop and get breath, but at last accomplished our
object, by gaining the summit and entering upon a small plain. Here we
found several huts, that were occupied by the families of the men appointed
to guard this important post, into which we entered to obtain leave to
examine the fortification. The people were very friendly; they not only
granted us permission, but hospitably proffered us some excellent melons,
which were very refreshing after our laborious ascent. There were only
three men in the fort, one of whom, that appeared to have the command,
politely waited upon us in our walk round. The guns were mounted on a
platform, at the very edge of the precipice that overlooked the harbour and
town. They were of thirty-two pound caliber. It must have been a work of
inconceivable labour for the natives to get them upon this great eminence.
The carriages and all their fixtures were very much decayed, and totally
unfit for use. The situation is very commanding, and notwithstanding the
distance, the battery would be formidable to an enemy in the harbour. From
this eminence, we had an extensive and beautiful prospect, comprehending
the valley and harbour, many miles at sea, and along the sea-coast in either
direction. The river, that waters the valley, broken in cataracts as it rapidly
descended to the sea, showed to its greatest advantage, and the valley,
covered with its tarrow patches, corn, and potatoes, presented a landscape
resembling finely cultivated fields and waving green meadows. In front,
was the thatched village of Onavoora, the huts looking like heaps of dry
straw; beyond it, the harbour and shipping; and still farther, at sea, a long
range of white foaming breakers. On the extreme right, was the valley of
Pearl River, bounded by high and rugged mountains; and to the left, the
cocoa-nut groves of Whytete and Diamond Rock, with its adjacent sterile
hills, covered with volcanic cinders.
From the top of the hill, we descended in a different direction on our

return, with a view of passing through a part of the valley that runs far back
from the shore between the mountains, where it appeared to be finely
cultivated and well inhabited. We had not gone far from the fort, when we
found ourselves near the centre of what had been the crater of a volcano,
and which, from its resemblance, has given the eminence the name of the
Punch Bowl, by which it is familiarly known amongst foreigners. The crater
is about a quarter or half a mile in diameter, and from one to two hundred
feet deep. When we descended to the valley, which was not without
difficulty, our way was every where interrupted by tarrow patches, their
ditches, and embankments. After crossing a small valley, we came to an
elevated piece of ground, where the natives who cultivated the tarrow
below, had built their habitations, and around them planted groves of
Banana. It was a fine morning, and the people of both sexes were
industriously engaged in their appropriate occupations. Some of the women
were roasting tarrow, and others making it up in poye. The latter operation
was interesting to me, as I had never seen it before. When the tarrow is
roasted, and the skin taken off, it resembles a potatoe; it is then put into a
tray, and with a long, smooth stone, beaten up as fine as possible,
occasionally mixing a small quantity of water with it; after it has been
beaten in this way, it is worked over a number of times, to get all the lumps
out; it then has the appearance of a thick paste or starch. A soon as it
foments a little and becomes slightly acid, it is used. When in this state, it
will not last long before it becomes very sour, and is then considered so
unwholesome, that unless the people are very poor, it is thrown away.
After satisfying our curiosity in seeing the women make poye, we
descended the hill where several men were preparing a tarrow patch. It was
forty feet square, excavated a little, and an embankment two feet high
thrown up all around it, descending with a considerable angle from the top
to the base, making it very broad at the bottom. The labourers had advanced
thus far, and were beating the area and inner sides of the embankment with
broad heavy paddles, going over it a great many times. It appeared very
hard and firm when we saw them at work; but still, they told us, that they
had to beat it a great deal more. When this is completed, the tops of the
tarrow that have been cut off for the purpose, are set in the ground and
lightly flooded with water; after it has taken root and began to grow
thriftily, more water is let in upon it; the tarrow well grown, will generally
be covered with water to the depth of one or two feet. It is about the size of
a beet, and takes a year or more to come to its greatest perfection. It has
clusters of broad bright green leaves, that in shape and appearance are a
good deal like the common pond lilly. It is a very nutricious vegetable, and
constitutes the principal means of subsistence of the Sandwich Islanders.
The huts of the natives were very small, and although in the midst of
cultivation and fertility, the inhabitants seemed to be wretchedly poor. They
did not appear much more civilized than the natives of the Marquesas; their
habitations were certainly less comfortable. Returning to the village, we
saw a number of people scraping sticks that looked like our elder, and
preserving the inner bark. Upon inquiring its use, they told us it was to
catch fish with. When eaten by the fish, they come to the top of the water
and are taken out by hand. It is said, the fish are not the worse for this.
On our arrival at Oahoo, the Dolphin was out of repair in every respect,
and it was indispensably necessary to refit her, before we proceeded further
on our return to the coast of Chili or Peru. Whilst the masts were out, and
the vessel was undergoing general repairs, the captain received a letter from
Captain Edwards, of the ship Loudon, of New-York, stating that he had ran
upon a reef, on the Island of Ranai; besides a valuable cargo, he had a large
amount of specie and bullion on board. The chief Thunder, (chief of Ranai,)
was encouraging the natives of the island to plunder him, and finally, that
his life and treasure was in the greatest jeopardy. Although not incumbent
upon him as a duty, Captain Percival, with a promptitude highly creditable
to himself and the service to which he belonged, chartered a vessel, and
with the crew of the Dolphin, and Boque, the Governor of Oahoo, sailed on
the same day that he received the letter. He found the situation of Captain
Edwards not less critical than he had described it to be. The natives had
already plundered him of a part of his cargo, and his own crew was in a
state of mutiny. Employing the authority of Chief Boque, and the
indefatigable industry of his own crew, Captain Percival caused the stolen
goods to be restored, and the cargo and treasure of the Loudon to be safely
landed at Oahoo. When all this had been accomplished, Captain Edwards
refused to pay the charter of the vessel that was employed for his relief, in
consequence of which, a quarrel arose between himself and Captain
Percival, that eventuated in consequences injurious and disagreeable to both
parties, and after our return home, became a subject of judicial
investigation. By this investigation, which was brought on at the instance of
Captain Edwards, an opportunity was afforded to Captain Percival and the
officers of the Dolphin, to vindicate their characters, which they did, in
every instance, to the entire satisfaction of their government and
countrymen.
Whilst Captain Percival was absent at Ranai, Captain Jackson, of the

brig Harbinger, of Boston, addressed a letter to me, stating that his store in
the village had been broken open, and robbed of goods to a large amount,
and requesting my assistance to recover them. The matter was laid before
the chief, Crimacu, who instituted a search, and on the following day, sent
for Captain Jackson. At his hut, were assembled most of the foreigners of
any respectability on the island, and many of the natives to witness the
result of the inquiry. Some of the thieves had already been detected, and
now stood before the chief, who, although very ill, sat up to question them
about the robbery. They confessed their guilt, and in answering the
questions put to them, convicted others, who were sent for and brought in,
until the number amounted to six. They had shared their booty, and were
sent out, with guards, to bring it from their different places of concealment.
It consisted, principally, of fine calicoes and cloths, which had been put in
tarrow patches, and oil casks, and when returned, were so damaged, as to be
of but little value to the owner. When the chief got through with the inquiry,
and had collected all the goods that could be found, he asked Mr. Jackson
what punishment he would have inflicted upon the offenders. Mr. Jackson's
reply was, that he wanted restitution made for the loss he had sustained, and
that he would leave the punishment to the chief, according to the usage of
the islands. The chief contended that the men were all poor, and had nothing
wherewith to pay. He said that the chiefs were also poor, and denied the
justice of compelling them, under any circumstances, to pay for the thefts of
the people. He offered to put the culprits at Captain Jackson's disposal, or
inflict upon them whatever punishment he should prescribe, according to
the laws of his own country. Captain Jackson refused to say what
punishment the men should receive, and only contended that the chief was
bound to see his property, or an equivalent, restored to him. The matter was,
for some hours in debate, when the chief compromised with Captain
Jackson, by promising to have a quantity of sandal-wood collected for him
within a prescribed period. The thieves were set at liberty without
punishment, in consequence of which, it was surmised by some of our
countrymen, that the chiefs had been concerned in the theft. This, I thought,
a very unjust suspicion, as the investigation took place so publicly, that the
fact, if it had been so, could hardly have failed to appear in the course of the
inquiry.
The magnanimity of Crimacu,[14] in promising an equivalent for the

damaged goods, which he was not bound to do by the customs of the
Sandwich Islands, or the laws of civilized communities, gave me the
highest opinion of his character. It appeared to me that he first objected to
remunerate the merchant for his loss, with no other motive than to produce
discussion, from which he might learn what would be done in more
enlightened countries, in a similar case. He was told of the different
punishments that the culprits would be subject to under the laws of America
and England, but nothing could be advanced, even supposing that he was to
act in accordance with the laws of those countries, to prove that the chiefs
or king of the islands, were in any other way responsible for the thefts
committed by individuals, than to make them stand forth and suffer in
person for their offences. He remarked, that the information he received
from individuals of the same country, with respect to their laws and
customs, was often at variance, and so contradictory, that he was frequently
at a loss to know what he should do to answer the ends of justice, and give
satisfaction to the strangers who came to the islands. He declared, that the
chiefs of the Sandwich Islands, wished to do like other people.
Amongst those with whom we held frequent and friendly intercourse,
was an Englishman, by the name of Wilkinson, who had taken passage to
the Sandwich Islands, in the Frigate Blonde, when she went there with the
remains of king Rio Rio, and who had banished himself from his own
country to this distant region, with a view of becoming a planter of the
Sandwich Islands. He had been, according to his own statement, a planter in
the West Indies in early life, and subsequently on his return to England,
joined a troop of horse, of which he was a captain, destined for Spain,
during the war in the Peninsula, where he served for a considerable time,
but at the close of the war, having left the army, and met with a reverse of
fortune, he had determined to make the experiment in which he was now
engaged. A bold one, it must be confessed, for a man, at the age of forty-
five, and with an enfeebled constitution. Aided by Captain Byron, (who,
from his high rank, and the flattering mission upon which he had been sent,
was well prepared to assist him,) Mr. Wilkinson obtained from the chiefs
the first deed that ever was granted by them, for two hundred acres of land.
It was situated about six miles from Onavoora, on elevated ground,
bordering upon a narrow valley that winds through the mountains for
several miles back from the sea. The chiefs granted the deed with great
reluctance, notwithstanding the respectable source from which the petition
came, being extremely tenacious of that command and sovereignty of the
soil, that enables them, at pleasure, to dispossess the occupant. They the
more willingly relinquished the spot that Mr. Wilkinson had fixed upon for
his residence, as it was situated upon land so high, that it could not be used
for the culture of tarrow, and was at the time unoccupied. With uncommon
industry, although cramped by the want of money, that would have given it
its full effect, he had reclaimed from a wild state, about fifty acres of land,
which, when we arrived there, was planted with sugar-cane, corn, potatoes,
bananas, &c., thus providing for his immediate wants, whilst the cane
promised a rich harvest, that would amply reward him for his toil, whenever
he could complete his machinery for the manufacture of sugar. In this,
however, to all appearance when we were there, he would encounter great
difficulty, as materials were not easily obtained; and although there were
some mechanics on the island, their constant employment in the village,
where they could frequently see their countrymen, and withal, their
fondness for pleasure was likely to deprive him for a long time of their
useful services, without which, he could do nothing. Connected with his

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The Zapatista Movement and Mexico’s

Democratic Transition: Mobilization,

Mobilization, Success, and Survival

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

© Oxford University Press 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

You must not circulate this work in any other form

CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress

List of Figures, Tables, and Map ix

how social movements emerge and develop amid hostile polit-

and Silvia’s enthusiasm and willingness to read and reread drafts of

On January 1, 1994, the Zapatista Army of National Liberation

1. Collier and Quaratiello (1994); Harvey (1998); Legorreta Díaz (1998);

country by putting forward an independent indigenous female candi-

4. “Plantea el EZLN una candidata independiente indígena en 2018,” La Jornada,

answer to this question lies in the changing political conditions

indigenous insurgents against a repressive response from the

conflict erupted in 1994.8 These first NGOs functioned as a base

8. Interview with a member of the Centro de Capacitación Indígena, CIDECI,

and electoral campaigns.12 As a consequence, Mexico’s democratiza-

12. Eisenstadt (2000).

provide a clearer understanding of why seemingly influential social

THE ZAPATISTA MOBILIZATION CYCLE

17. Villafuerte et al. (1999).

Map 1.1 Geographic Distribution of Protests across Chiapas, 1994–​2003

Figure 1.1 Repertoire of Protests, 1994–​2003

mobilizing tactics to meetings and sit-​ins around negotiating periods

18. Tello Díaz (1995); Trevizo (2011).

and transnational NGOs in the region of conflict, which protected

Casas, Simojovel, Sitalá, Socoltenango, Teopisca, Tila, Totolapa, La

22. La Jornada, December 20, 1994.

Peace talks resumed on April 22, 1995, in San Andrés Larráinzar

the federal government negotiating team in San Andrés Larráinzar

30. CCRI-​EZLN, “Cuarta Declaración de la Selva Lacandona,” January 1, 1996.

In the following month the two sides were supposed to begin

had organized an event on an international scale calling for a fight

36. Global Exchange and CIEPAC (1999).

Roadblocks, marches, and seizures of buildings arose out of

38. Subcomandante Marcos, “Carta a Vicente Fox como nuevo presidente,”

Comandante Galeano, publishes sporadic communiqués in support of

OVERVIEW OF THE BOOK

Chapter 2 presents the theoretical arguments of the book. I base my

40. http://​ w ww.proceso.com.mx/ ​ 4 88450/ ​ e zln- ​ e lige-​ a -​ i ndigena-​ n ahua-​

In my sliding doors analogy, these initial mobilization opportunities

43. McCarthy and Zald (2002).

transnational solidarity networks in allowing a social movement to

44. McAdam (1982).

In doing so, I also highlight the long-​term effects of transnational or-

46. Hirsch (1986); Diani (2003); McAdam (2003).

Almost immediately after the Zapatista uprising on January 1, 1994,

1. Interviews with members of the National Indigenous Congress (Congreso

country.2 It appeared as though the Zapatista movement within

Confederation of Indigenous Communities (Confederación Nacional de Comunidades

Mexico’s democratic transition. Finally, I discuss the factors that

INSURGENT PATHS TO DEMOCRACY

According to Elisabeth Wood (2000), democratic transitions from

grew to the point that political negotiations were necessary to re-

A protracted democratization process is defined in the literature as

10. Casper and Taylor (1996); Eisenstadt (2004).

reach their optimal outcome by granting minimal concessions to en-

11. Cornelius (2000).

The dress and general appearance of these people, as well as their

At eight in the evening, we made sail to the northward and westward,

Map 1.1 Geographic Distribution of Protests across Chiapas, 1994–2003

Figure 1.1 Repertoire of Protests, 1994–2003

mobilizing tactics to meetings and sit-ins around negotiating periods

30. CCRI-EZLN, “Cuarta Declaración de la Selva Lacandona,” January 1, 1996.

40. http:// w ww.proceso.com.mx/ 4 88450/ e zln- e lige- a - i ndigena- n ahua-

In doing so, I also highlight the long-term effects of transnational or-