ABSTRACT
In the haze of a smog-drenched aft ernoon, I made my way down the Paseo de la Reforma to see the Angel of Mexico City, a golden and blinding monument erected in the center of a busy intersection, a zócalo/round-a-bout, whose base houses the remains of some of the most notable leaders of the Mexican Independence Movement. Her name is “Winged Victory” and she stands 35 meters high in the sky, on top of a Corinthian column made of Chiluca stone. I passed the United States embassy along the way and was taken aback by the 10 foot high iron barricade that kept onlookers and visitors a distant 500 yards or so away. Aft er gazing at the Angel for some time, I initiated my return to the trolley station and encountered en route roughly 200 police men wearing bullet proof vests, in single fi le formation, with batons in one hand and riot shields in the other, preparing for what might turn into a disruptive or violent event. I felt uneasy, for a moment, until I found the group of protesters who had provoked such a militant response: 100 indigenous men and women, baring nothing on their dark-skinned, lean and plump fl esh, except for a paper loincloth with an imprint of a man’s pink-fl eshed face, Dante Delgado, former governor of Veracruz. Th e police enclosed and faced the group, some with arms akimbo, and others with their forearms resting leisurely on their riot shields (see Figure 51.1).
