Diario de Oaxaca: A Sketchbook Journal of Two Years in Mexico

Diario de Oaxaca: A Sketchbook Journal of Two Years in Mexico

by Peter Kuper

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Painting a vivid, personal portrait of social and political upheaval in Oaxaca, Mexico, this unique memoir employs comics, bilingual essays, photos, and sketches to chronicle the events that unfolded around a teachers' strike and led to a seven-month siege. When award-winning cartoonist Peter Kuper and his wife and daughter moved to the beautiful,


Painting a vivid, personal portrait of social and political upheaval in Oaxaca, Mexico, this unique memoir employs comics, bilingual essays, photos, and sketches to chronicle the events that unfolded around a teachers' strike and led to a seven-month siege. When award-winning cartoonist Peter Kuper and his wife and daughter moved to the beautiful, 15th-century colonial town of Oaxaca in 2006, they planned to spend a quiet year or two enjoying a different culture and taking a break from the U.S. political climate under the Bush administration. What they hadn't counted on was landing in the epicenter of Mexico's biggest political struggle in recent years. Timely and compelling, this extraordinary firsthand account presents a distinct artistic vision of Oaxacan life, from explorations of the beauty of the environment to graphic portrayals of the fight between strikers and government troops that left more than 20 people dead, including American journalist Brad Will.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Kuper has long been among the most politically engaged and stylistically distinctive artists working in comics, and both qualities take center stage here. This dazzling annotated sketchbook recounts two years Kuper and his family spent living in Oaxaca, Mexico. Anticipating a sojourn from American politics, Kuper instead found himself in a city roiled by a teachers' strike that was violently suppressed by the regional government. He recorded his observations in his sketchbook and in illustrated letters home, crisply reproduced in this bilingual (English and Spanish) book. Kuper's facility with diverse art media shines in early pages covering political action, as colorfully penciled protestors stand against rigidly inked military barricades set against the lush backdrops of Oaxaca. As the populist forces are rapidly suppressed, Kuper records a panoply of further visual impressions: beaches, stores, dogs, vendors, ancient ruins, street art and many, many insects. Throughout, Kuper's letters, rooted in personal observation but clearly intended as eyewitness reports for public consumption, provide helpful context. And if his increasingly profuse style mixing suggests a departure from earlier visual in the book, the final observations about a beautiful, merciless natural order obliquely ratify the political convictions that open the book. (Sept.)
Boston Globe
The book, its text in English and Spanish, is beautiful, a real production: The textured, embossed cover evokes Mexican tiles, giving this Diario de Oaxaca elegant gravity and permanence.

New Yorker
[Kuper's] attempt to escape the last years of the Bush Administration led him to relocate to a town that turned out to be under martial law, in an area plagued by riptides, eco-tourists, and stray dogs, all faithfully-and hilariously-documented here.
Library Journal
Diario de Oaxaca. (Oaxaca Diary: A Sketchbook Journal of Two Years in Mexico) Kuper, Peter. U.S.: PM Press. 2009. 209p. ISBN 978-1-60486-071-9. $29.95. GRAPHIC MEMOIR STARIn 2006, illustrator Kuper moved from New York to the impoverished but ethnically and historically rich southern Mexican city of Oaxaca, bringing his wife and pre-teen daughter. The region was wracked by a massive teachers’ strike that made headlines worldwide, by the corruption of the state’s notorious governor, and by conflicts in the streets involving tens of thousands of protesters and troops—an interesting place for a politically minded artist to be. Kuper has done covers and other illustrations for a host of major topical publications including TIME, Newsweek, the Progressive, and the New York Times, and has for more than a decade drawn the “Spy vs. Spy” comic series for MAD Magazine. This is the appealing product of his two years in Mexico. Kuper’s diary entries, paired with a side-by-side translation into Spanish, help set the context for the 150-odd pages of paintings, sketches, cartoons, and collages that are the highlight of this book. Kuper’s offbeat eye and his MAD sensibility make for some striking images—comical ones, too, such as his Day of the Dead tribute to the Peanuts gang, which shows the skeletal dog Znupé digging through a boneyard while his Charlie Brown ruminates about death. Fans of comics and art lovers will appreciate Kuper’s unusual take on a remarkable place. Recommended for libraries, particularly those with graphic art and design collections, as well as general bookstores.—Bruce Jensen, Rohrbach Lib., Kutztown, PA
Comics Journal by Rob Clough
May be Peter Kuper's greatest accomplishment as an artist. It flatters all of his strengths as an artist and limits his flaws.
From the Publisher

"Kuper is a colossus; I have been in awe of him for over 20 years. Teachers and students everywhere take heart: Kuper has in these pages born witness to our seemingly endless struggle to educate and to be educated in the face of institutions that really don't give a damn. In this ruined age we need Kuper's unsparing compassionate visionary artistry like we need hope."  —Junot Díaz, Pulitzer Prize–winning author, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

"Kuper has long been among the most politically engaged and stylistically distinctive artists working in comics, and both qualities take center stage here. An artist at the top of his form."  —Publisher's Weekly

"Fans of comics and art lovers will appreciate Kuper's unusual take on a remarkable place. Recommended for libraries, particularly those with graphic art and design collections, as well as general bookstores."  —Library Journal

"[Kuper's] attempt to escape the last years of the Bush Administration led him to relocate to a town that turned out to be under martial law, in an area plagued by riptides, ecotourists, and stray dogs, all faithfully—and hilariously—documented here."  —New Yorker

"Peter Kuper is undoubtedly the modern master whose work has refined the socially relevant comic to the highest point yet achieved."  —Newsarama.com

"The book, its text in English and Spanish, is beautiful, a real production: The textured, embossed cover evokes Mexican tiles, giving this Diario de Oaxaca elegant gravity and permanence."  —Boston Globe

"Maybe Peter Kuper’s greatest accomplishment as an artist.  It flatters all of his strengths as an artist and limits his flaws."  —The Comics Journal by Rob Clough

"In the hands of an illustrator with such creative gifts, Oaxaca is a brilliant dreamscape whose bugs and vegetation are as visually appealing as its protest graffiti and wild dogs."  —World Literature in Review

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Diario de Oaxaca

By Peter Kuper

PM Press

Copyright © 2009 Peter Kuper
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60486-252-2


November 10, 2006

The first question I'm usually asked these days is, "What made you decide to move from New York City to Oaxaca, Mexico?"

This brings to mind some dialogue from the movie Casablanca:

Captain Louis Renault (Claude Rains):

— What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca? Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart):

— My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters. Captain:

— The waters? What waters? We're in the desert! Rick:

— I was misinformed.

My daughter, Emily, wife, Betty and I didn't move here July 2006 for the waters, but for a year-long sabbatical. What we didn't come for was an exploding political situation, but we got one anyway.

Since May, the teachers of Oaxaca (pronounced wah-HA-ka) have been encamped in the town square (Zócalo). This strike has been an annual event for the last twenty-five years and usually lasted a couple of weeks or until their demands for pay raises and funds for schools were met. For the first time in the strike's history, the new governor, Ulises Ruíz Ortíz (URO), decided not to agree to their demands. Instead, on June 14th at 4:30 a.m., he sent in riot police in an attempt to forcibly expel them.

This attack completely backfired. Not only were the strikers not evicted, their demands and their numbers expanded. They were joined by a larger coalition of unions, the APPO (Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca) who declared the strike would not end unless governor Ulises stepped down.

Since then, tensions rose and fell with periodic police actions against strikers, but they didn't budge.

After more that 5 months of unrest, the xit hit the fan. On Friday, October 27th the governor's thugs attacked strikers, killing 3 teachers and an American journalist. This pressured Mexico's president into ordering federal troops into Oaxaca the next day.

The Policia Federal Preventiva (PFP), as the federal troops are called, attacked the strikers and took over the Zócalo. As of this writing the Zócalo is no longer an encampment of teachers, but has been replaced by an encampment of military forces. The governor is refusing to leave office, even as pressure mounts from all sides, including from his own party.

So our move has been everything we'd hoped for — barricades, mayhem and lots and lots of riot police, all trumped by everything else this adventure has to offer. Water or desert, Oaxaca remains a fantastic choice.

10 de noviembre de 2006

Lo primero que se me pregunta por lo general en estos días es, « Qué hizo que te decidieras a mudarte de la ciudad de Nueva York a Oaxaca, México?»

Esto me trae a la mente un diálogo de la película Casablanca

Capitán Louis Renault (Claude Rains):

— Qué demonios te trajo a Casablanca? Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart):

— Mi salud. Vine a Casablanca por las aguas. Capitán:

— Las aguas? Qué aguas? ¡Estamos en el desierto! Rick:

— Me informaron mal.

Mi hija Emily, mi esposa Betty y yo no nos mudamos aquí en julio de 2006 por las aguas, sino por un año sabático. No venimos en busca de una situación política explosiva, pero aún así nos topamos con ella.

Desde el mes de mayo los maestros de Oaxaca acampan en el centro de la ciudad (Zócalo). Esta huelga ha sido un evento anual de los últimos veinticinco años y por lo general duraba alrededor de dos semanas o hasta que sus demandas de aumentos y fondos escolares fueran satisfechas. Por primera vez en la historia de la huelga el nuevo gobernador, Ulises Ruiz Ortiz (URO), decidió no acceder a sus demandas. En vez de ello, el 14 de junio a las 4:30 am envió a la policía antidisturbios en un intento de expulsarlos a la fuerza.

Este ataque se le revirtió por completo. No sólo no lograron desalojar a los huelguistas, sino que incrementaron sus demandas y su movimiento creció en número. Se les unió una coalición mayor de sindicatos, la APPO (Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca), que declaró que la huelga no concluiría a menos de que el gobernador Ulises renunciara.

Desde entonces, la tensión incrementaba y decaía ante las acciones policiacas periódicas contra los huelguistas, pero éstos no cedieron.

Tras más de cinco meses de intranquilidad, se armó la trifulca. El viernes 27 de octubre los hampones del gobernador atacaron a los huelguistas dando muerte a tres maestros y a un periodista norteamericano. Esto ocasionó que el presidente de México ordenara la movilización de tropas federales hacia Oaxaca al día siguiente.

La Policía Federal Preventiva (PFP) atacó a los huelguistas y se apoderó del Zócalo. Al momento de escribir esto, el Zócalo ya no es un campamento de maestros, sino que ha sido reemplazado por un campamento de fuerzas militares. El gobernador se ha negado a dejar su cargo, incluso conforme incrementa la presión por todos lados, incluido su propio partido.

De manera que nuestra mudanza ha sido todo lo que esperábamos: barricadas, caos y grandes cantidades de policía antimotines, pero todo ello es apabullado por el resto de lo que esta aventura nos ofrece. Agua o desierto, Oaxaca sigue siendo una elección fantástica.

November 20th, 2006

It's a beautiful mid-November afternoon and I'm sitting at an outdoor café in the Zócalo. Scanning the bustling scene, I see a woman in a dazzlingly colored dress, carrying a basket of fruit on her head. Near a baroque gazebo, an old man is selling hand-carved animal figures next to a group of musicians playing some perfect Latin rhythm. The sun is dancing between tree branches and tanning my face as I sip my iced coffee.

This serene picture is shattered by the footfalls of marching soldiers. They parade past a gray steel tank and a line of helmeted riot police with shields and automatic weapons guarding each and every entrance to this town square.

Welcome to Oaxaca, Mexico.

Perhaps you are wondering how it came to this? Okay, let's roll it back a few weeks, to the "calm" before the storm ... troopers.

It was Friday, October 27th when my friend Antonio Turok called to see if I wanted to join him for a behind-the-scenes tour of the barricades that had been set up around town. Antonio is a photographer, who has covered situations in Chiapas and El Salvador and had been documenting the teachers' strike that has engulfed Oaxaca City. He promised to ring me when he reached the town center where we'd rendezvous. I waited as the hours passed but he didn't call.

Towards the end of the day it began to rain and I volunteered to pick up our nine-year-old daughter from a play-date. As I drove along the bumpy cobblestone streets, a mild shower suddenly became a torrential downpour. I'd never experienced a flash flood — that is, until that day. As I skirted yet another newly erected blockade, I was met by a raging river where a street had been only minutes before. After many twists and turns I found a route through and managed to extract my (happily) drenched daughter from her friend's house and retrace my steps. Just as suddenly the rain subsided, but then the dam broke. A news report hit that while it was raining uptown, downtown a different kind of storm had struck. The "porros", paramilitary police working undercover for Governor Ulises Ruíz Ortíz, had attacked strikers manning barricades. Three Oaxacaños and an American journalist were shot dead. Brad Will, who captured the horrific event on film wasn't the first to die in this ongoing conflict, but the first American. I didn't know Brad, but later discovered that just about everyone I knew from the Lower East Side of Manhattan did, and it wasn't that much of a stretch to imagine myself in his shoes.

Antonio called as night fell to say he was holed up in an office building with a group of journalists and others who had taken refuge when the shooting started. Needless to say, we wouldn't be meeting.

20 de noviembre de 2006

Es una hermosa tarde de mediados de noviembre y estoy sentado en un café al aire libre en el Zócalo. Mientras escaneo el animado panorama veo a una mujer ataviada con un vestido que deslumbra por su colorido, que carga una canasta con fruta sobre su cabeza. Cerca de un cenador barroco, un hombre viejo vende figuras de animales talladas a mano junto a un grupo de músicos que tocan algún ritmo latino maravilloso. El sol baila entre las ramas de los árboles y broncea mi rostro mientras bebo mi café helado.

Esta serena imagen es despedazada por las pisadas de soldados que marchan. Desfilan a un costado de un tanque de acero gris y una fila de policías antidisturbios encasquetados con escudos y ametralladoras que vigilan todas y cada una de las entradas a esta plaza central.

Bienvenidos a Oaxaca, México.

Quizá se pregunten cómo sucedió esto. Bien, retrocedamos unas cuantas semanas, hasta la «calma» previa a la tormenta ... de policías.

Fue un viernes 27 de octubre cuando mi amigo Antonio Turok me llamó para ver si lo quería acompañar a un tour tras bambalinas de las barricadas que habían sido montadas alrededor de la ciudad. Antonio es un fotógrafo que ha cubierto acontecimientos en Chiapas y El Salvador y que ha estado documentando la huelga de maestros que ha azotado a Oaxaca durante meses. Prometió que me llamaría cuando llegara al centro de la ciudad, en donde nos encontraríamos. Esperé, conforme pasaron las horas, pero nunca llamó.

Hacia el final del día empezó a llover y yo me ofrecí para recoger a nuestra hija de nueve años de una reunión para jugar con sus amigos. Mientras conducía por las irregulares calles adoquinadas, lo que era una ligera llovizna de pronto se convirtió en un aguacero torrencial. Nunca había experimentado una inundación relámpago, hasta aquel día. Mientras bordeaba otra barricada recién montada, me topé con un río furioso donde hacía unos minutos había una calle. Tras varios serpenteos y vueltas encontré una ruta para atravesar y logré recoger a mi (felizmente) empapada hija de la casa de su amiga y volví sobre mis pasos. Con igual prontitud paró la lluvia, pero fue entonces cuando se rompió la presa.Un reporte informativo anunció que mientras llovía en San Felipe del Agua, en el centro se abatía otro tipo distinto de tormenta. Los «porros» (policía paramilitar que trabajaba encubierta para el gobernador Ulises Ruíz Ortíz) habían atacado a los huelguistas que vigilaban las barricadas. Tres oaxaqueños y un periodista americano fueron muertos a tiros. Brad Will, que logró capturar el horrible acontecimiento en video, no fue la primera persona en morir en este prolongado conflicto, pero sí fue el primer norteamericano. Yo no conocí a Brad, pero después descubrí que casi todas las personas que conocía

The next day the president of Mexico ordered 4500 federal troops to be flown into Oaxaca. The teachers and their supporters who had been encamped in the Zócalo since May were about to face an overwhelming new threat.

Weeks before, we had planned a birthday party for my wife on that very Saturday, and encouraged by attendees, the current situation notwithstanding, we decide to proceed. Better to hang out together than hang separately! Pam, another American on sabbatical with her family, was planning on bringing her mother, who was arriving that day from the States via Mexico City. Talk about timing. Virtually everyone who made it to our house had a different story about what was happening in the city. One person said the airport was shut down, another that all the roads in that direction were blocked. Then news came on the Internet that planeloads of federal troops had landed in Oaxaca.

As the PFP marched towards Oaxaca's town center, they were met by men, women and children mostly armed with banners denouncing the governor and this new invasion. Throughout this strike the teachers had managed their protests peacefully, but were regularly attacked by Governor Ulises' forces. Though we live only fifteen minutes uptown from the Zócalo, it remained a world away. I was reminded of how we felt in 2001, living on Manhattan's Upper West Side while a short subway ride downtown rubble from the Twin Towers smoldered. Courtesy of cellular phones, word reached Pam in the middle of our party that her mother's flight was boarding. PFP or no PFP, Pam headed out to pick her up. Antonio had gotten home safely that morning but called to say it was impossible to join us now. In fact, many roads were blockaded throughout the city and about half of our guests couldn't reach us. Amazingly, before the birthday candles were lit, Pam returned with her mother. We had a toast to their safe arrival, my wife's birthday, and above all our fervent hope that Governor Ulises would be forced to resign and bring the situation in Oaxaca to a peaceful resolution.

del Lower East Side de Manhattan lo conocían, y no me era muy dificil imaginarme en sus zapatos.

Antonio llamó esa noche para decir que estaba recluido en un edificio de oficinas con un grupo de periodistas y más gente que se había refugiado cuando comenzó el tiroteo. Sobraba decir que ya no nos veríamos.

Al día siguiente el presidente de México dio la orden de que volaran 4500 tropas federales hacia Oaxaca. Los maestros y sus simpatizantes que acampaban en el Zócalo desde mayo estaban por enfrentar una poderosa nueva amenaza.

Desde hacía semanas habíamos planeado una fiesta de cumpleaños para mi esposa ese mismo sábado por lo que, animados por los invitados y a pesar de la situación del momento, tomamos la decisión de seguir adelante. ¡Mejor permanecer juntos que separados! Pam, otra norteamericana en sabático con su familia, había planeado traer a su madre, que llegaba ese día de Estados Unidos vía la ciudad de México. ¡Qué oportuno era todo! Casi todos los que llegaron a nuestra casa contaban una historia distinta sobre lo que ocurría en la ciudad. Alguien dijo que habían cerrado el aeropuerto, otro que todas las carreteras que conducían en esa dirección estaban bloqueadas. Después nos enteramos por internet de que aviones repletos de tropas federales habían aterrizado en Oaxaca.

Conforme la PFP marchaba hacia el centro de Oaxaca se topó con hombres, mujeres y niños armados en su mayoría con pancartas que denunciaban al gobernador y a esta nueva invasión. A lo largo de la huelga (que buscaba incrementos salariales) los maestros habían montado protestas pacíficas, pero aun así fueron atacados de manera regular por las fuerzas del gobernador Ulises. Aunque vivimos tan sólo a quince minutos del Zócalo, estábamos a un mundo de distancia. Me vino a la mente la sensación que tuvimos en 2001, viviendo en el Upper West Side de Manhattan a tan sólo un corto viaje en metro de donde ardían los escombros de las Torres Gemelas. Gracias a los teléfonos celulares, Pam pudo enterarse a la mitad de nuestra fiesta de que el vuelo de su madre estaba abordando. PFP o no PFP, Pam se dirigió a recogerla al aeropuerto. Antonio había logrado llegar a salvo a casa esa mañana, pero llamó para avi sar que ahora era imposible alcanzarnos. De hecho, varias calles de la ciudad estaban bloqueadas y aproximadamente la mitad de nuestros invitados no pudieron llegar. De manera sorprendente, antes de que encendiéramos las velitas de cumpleaños, Pam regresó con su madre. Brindamos por su llegada a salvo, por el cumpleaños de mi esposa y, sobre todo, por nuestra ardiente esperanza de que el gobernador Ulises se vería obligado a renunciar y con ello la situación en Oaxaca alcanzara una resolución pacífica.

December 15th, 2006

Oaxaca has a long history of conquests and political struggle, from A-Z (Aztecs to Zapotecs, that is). Then there were the Spanish conquistadors, who slashed their way to power and built the gorgeous 16th century colonial capitol you see here today.

For those who rule this state, the biggest change since colonial times has been the method. Instead of swords, wheelocks and horses, they maintain control using tear gas, automatic weapons and tanks. The circumstances for most indigenous people, on the other hand, haven't changed all that much. The state of Oaxaca is the second poorest in all of Mexico, and many people still live in homes with dirt floors, in villages without electricity or running water. When they dare to defend their limited rights, they usually do so through marches, and violence is usually limited to throwing sticks and stones.

Which brings us up to November 2006.

A teachers' strike had been going for five months. During this time, teachers were encamped in the Zócalo. Federal troops had been brought in after an American journalist was killed by governor Ulises Ruíz Ortíz's police, and nerves were wearing thin. The troops pushed strikers out of the Zócalo, but the strikers regrouped further up the street and made camp around the Santo Domingo church, continuing their protest for better wages and demanding the removal of the governor.

As the end of November drew near, tensions mounted. On December 1st the new president, Felipe Calderón, would assume power and should governor Ulises be forced to resign, he would be able to appoint his own successor. For me, every visit to downtown Oaxaca was a surreal experience. To enter the Zócalo meant passing lines of riot police backed up by tanks with water hoses ready for assault. In front of Santo Domingo, strikers had strung tarps in their encampment to give shelter from rain and sun. Every few feet, televisions were playing DVDs of the history of the strike, with videos of marches to Mexico City, construction of barricades around town and altercations between police and strikers. One DVD showed the major conflict from November 2nd, when the PFP attempted to take over the last remaining radio station manned by strikers at a university. It was a scene of complete mayhem, with helicopters hovering overhead and tanks rolling through the streets amid clouds of tear gas. Strikers set up burning barricades and hurled rocks at lines of marching police.

15 de diciembre de 2006

Oaxaca ha tenido una larga lista de conquistas y luchas políticas, desde la A hasta la Z (es decir, de los aztecas a los zapotecas). Después aparecieron los conquistadores españoles, que se hicieron del poder por la vía sangrienta y construyeron el deslumbrante Palacio Legislativo que aquí se muestra.

Para los gobernantes de este estado, el mayor cambio desde los tiempos coloniales ha residido en el método. En vez de espadas, fusiles y caballos, mantienen el control mediante gas lacrimógeno, ametralladoras y tanques. Por su parte, la situación de la mayoría de los indígenas no ha cambiado mucho. El estado de Oaxaca es el segundo más pobre de todo México, y mucha gente aún vive en casas con pisos de tierra, en pueblos sin electricidad o agua potable. Cuando se atreven a defender sus limitados derechos, por lo general lo hacen mediante marchas, y la violencia por lo general se limita a arrojar palos y piedras.

Lo que nos conduce a noviembre de 2006.

La huelga de maestros llevaba ya cinco meses. Durante este periodo, los maestros habían acampado en el Zócalo. Después de que la policía del gobernador Ulises Ruiz matara a un periodista americano, el gobierno envió tropas federales y los nervios estaban a flor de piel. Las tropas desalojaron a los huelguistas del Zócalo, pero éstos se reagruparon en una calle un poco más arriba y acamparon alrededor de la Iglesia de Santo Domingo, continuando con sus protestas en busca de mejores salarios y pidiendo la remoción del gobernador.

Conforme se aproximaba el fin de noviembre, la tensión se incrementó. El 1 de diciembre el nuevo presidente, Felipe Calderón, tomaría el poder y si el gobernador Ulises se viera obligado a renunciar, podría nombrar a su propio sucesor. Para mí, cada visita al centro de Oaxaca era una experiencia surrealista. Entrar al Zócalo implicaba atravesar hileras de policía antimotines respaldadas por tanques con mangueras listas para atacar. Enfrente de Santo Domingo, los huelguistas habían atado lonas en su campamento para protegerse de la lluvia y del sol. Cada pocos metros había televisiones que mostraban la historia de la huelga en DVD, así como videos de las marchas a la ciudad de México, la construcción de barricadas alrededor de la ciudad y los altercados entre la policía y huelguistas. Un DVD mostraba el conflicto principal del 2 de noviembre, cuando la PFP hizo un intento por apoderarse de la última estación de radio controlada por los huelguistas en una universidad. Fue una escena de caos total, que mostraba helicópteros suspendidos en el aire y tanques que rodaban por las calles entre nubes de gas lacrimógeno. Los huelguistas erigieron barricadas y arrojaron piedras a las hileras de la policía que marchaba.


Excerpted from Diario de Oaxaca by Peter Kuper. Copyright © 2009 Peter Kuper. Excerpted by permission of PM Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Peter Kuper is a cofounder and editorial board member of political graphics magazine World War 3 Illustrated and a teacher who has taught at New York's School of Visual Arts and Parsons The New School for Design. Best known for drawing Mad magazine's Spy vs. Spy comic since 1997, he has also illustrated covers for Newsweek and Time magazines. He is the author of the graphic novel Sticks and Stones, which won the New York Society of Illustrators gold medal, and his autobiography, Stop Forgetting to Remember. He lives in New York City. Martín Solares is the author of Los Minutos Negros (The Black Minutes).

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