The Roadblock Megaphone

San Pedro Juchatengo, Oaxaca, Mexico

2,136 miles from San Francisco

In the U.S. there’s a somewhat cruel term for the central portion of the country, particularly if one hails from the coastal areas. ‘Flyover states,’ as they’re sometimes alluded to by the uninitiated and/or disinterested, are the areas of less cultural intrigue, lower populations and, therefore, altogether fewer reasons to visit. 

During our travels in Mexico, a vast landscape more commonly traversed by ground than by air, we have encountered a similar concept. We call them ‘drive-through towns.’ These small, sparsely-populated pueblos occupy space on a main freeway artery, and consist almost entirely of a series of shops and restaurants – all of whom hope that the two topes (large and often dangerous speed bumps found throughout Mexico) placed strategically on either side of town – a distance of perhaps 100 feet between them – will slow a passing car just enough for them to pause and consider becoming a patron at their establishment. Sometimes, frighteningly, such patronage is facilitated by force and intimidation – as locals will set up roadblocks to plug the freeway and stop the passage of all traffic and goods. These roadblocks can range from two small girls with a jump rope stretched across the street, likely stopping you only to ask for donations for their school, to trees and rocks blocking the road with armed men lurking nearby – their intentions anything but pure. 

It was in one of these ‘drive-through towns’ deep in the jungle of Eastern Oaxaca that we met Elisabeth. She is the operator of a small restaurant halfway between Oaxaca City and Puerto Escondido located, quite literally, many miles from civilization in every direction. The road through her town of San Pedro Huachateno is littered with switchbacks through mountainous jungle terrain, and Elisabeth’s establishment is the lone rest stop for a great deal of the route. 

After Elisabeth served us our first Tlayudas of the trip (a classic Oaxacan dish, effectively a giant quesadilla) we chatted with her about the realities of being a female business owner in Mexico, and specifically in a town like hers. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the story she told was one of a difficult existence. Her business relies on income of roughly 150-200 pesos per day (~$8-11), and she has three employees. Additionally, she doesn’t own the space occupied by her restaurant. It’s leased from the municipal government for one year at a time and costs roughly 1,750 pesos ($92) per month including electricity. In addition to this rent price, all renters of municipal property are required to do services for the community when called upon. This might consist of cooking for a town gathering, helping to build a school or other similar activities – all done on the renter’s dime and without consideration of the implications of timing. Even optimistically, at 200 pesos income per day and not accounting for any ingredient costs, the revenues of her business when split across three employees are less than $75/month – a daily income level of about $2.50. Elisabeth’s face was clearly pained when she shared that amount with us, and it was quite obvious that, despite her best efforts, her work was very hard on her. 

Beyond the harsh realities of her business, we asked Elisabeth about the aforementioned roadblocks – what she thought of them and whether she advocated their use. Her response was unwavering and, at first, quite surprising. She supported using roadblocks wholeheartedly. Somewhat shocked, we questioned her and were quickly enlightened. She told us that in the Southern parts of Mexico, and specifically in towns like hers, the federal government doesn’t pay attention. It doesn’t supply what’s needed to fix the road, to build a school, to repair the town’s church. Even if they plead, they’re largely ignored – cast aside as a mere whisper among a cacophony of larger problems. But, they have access to a megaphone. The road through their town is the only way that vital supplies such as food and equipment can get to more southerly areas of the country. When they block these roads, therefore, the country has to sit up and take note. The success rate of such protests are “más o menos,” but they provide an opportunity for a dialogue that would otherwise likely never occur. She told us that this tactic is used universally – from teachers protesting the privatization of education (and lowered salaries) to truckers lobbying for more reasonable hours. 

We’d encountered several blockages of streets throughout Mexico, and had always been wary of their intention. But, having seen their purpose through her eyes, we suddenly understood. Smaller towns throughout this country have to commit to a two-tiered strategy: on one front, they need be utterly self reliant. They’re on their own. On the other, and when self reliance can’t quite go far enough, they are forced to become the squeaky wheel. Be the people that can’t be ignored. 

Elisabeth’s honesty and perspective on this topic gave us an interesting glance behind the curtain of how these ‘drive-through towns’ truly operate, and how they manage to carve a life out of a highly isolated, and often harsh, environment and set of circumstances. 

Looking ahead, more than fear will fill our minds when we approach a road block, knowing there’s a voice behind every rope, tree or cone that deserves to be heard.