Source: 4/21 SF Chron, page 8 (only slightly off topic): Contact: 'Coke Lords' Wield Power in Mexico CocaCola, Pepsi are Used to Mete out Justice, Political Favors By Julie Watson Chronicle Foreign Seruice San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico In the United States, the longrunning battle for market share between Pepsi and Coke is so numbingly familiar to consumers that it has faded to the background of consciousness. But in Mexico's turbulent southern state of Chiapas, where ancient Mayan traditions mingle with modernday society, the U.S. soft drink giants have expanded their influence beyond mere thirst quenching into the realms of spirituality and politics. Coke and Pepsi have become an integral part of sacred rituals. Some traditional healers believe the carbonation helps them belch out evil spirits. And cola distributors are a privileged class in the desperately poor Mayan villages. "Coke and Pepsi have coutributed to the creation of a small group of powerful people in the indigenous villages," said Marcelino Gomez Nunez, a Tzotzil Indian and state legislator from the opposition Democratic Revolutionary Party (PRD). "They are our indigenous brothers who were lured by the money and now rule over the people." More than 400 Maya Indian leaders decided recently to dilute that power by declaring that they have had enough of America's favorite soft drinks. At a meeting of a council that represents 180 mountain villages, the leaders pledged to boycott Coke and Pepsi. They stated their cause in the name of good health and cultural preservation. But their attack is also aimed at the power base of a peculiarly Chiapan institutionthe cola lord. Soft drink concesmons have long been a tool for the ruling Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) and its local chieftains to wield power over indigenous people at th~ village level. In a decadesold practice, nonIndian PR leaders have offered land, trucks and soft drink concessions to Indian leaders in ex change for quietly blocking agrarian reform petitions and labor complaints againxt landowners. By the late 1960s, many of those same Indian leaders occupied top posts in local governnent and the local PRI. "The majority are the money lenders of the community," said Walter Morris, an American anthropologist who has lived in Chiapas for over two decades. Morris says the cola habit was grafted onto a traditional Mayan custom of bringing a modest gift when talking to an official or discussing a business deal. "Whenever someone asks for a loan, they bring a soft drink. That's how it all got started," he said. "Concession owners also have a network of communication. Their trucks go to all the hamlets. This has given them massive political control." In Tenejapa, Coca Cola concession owner and PRI Mayor Sebastian Santiz Luna makes no bones about how Coke made his life sweeter. Once a destitute Tzeltal Indian youth with barely enough food to eat, he is today a powerful figure in the community striding through town sporting two gold front teeth, aviator glasses and a cellular phone on his hip. Nicknamed "El Rey" (the king), Santiz is flanked by his "advisers," two robust Indian men wearing cowboy hats, traditional black wool ponchos and flaming red andyellow kneelength trousers. Santiz won his mayoral post by defeating his main rival in business and politics, Sebastian Lopez, known as "E1 Pepsi." Coke sales shot up during Santiz's successful run for office. "People bought tons of Coke," he ~ recalled. "Why? Because they su~ I port me." Residents say Santiz and Lopez have ruled Tenejapa through what they call "cola justice." As punishment for many lowlevel crimes, the guilty party must buy the victim a case of Coke or Pepsi, depending on which administration is in power. Although this puts money in the distributors' pockets, they defend the practice as effective in defusing tensions. But cola also has more blunt uses. During Lopez's reign, political opponents were often jailed and then forced to buy cases of Pepsi for the town. Lopez says his critics "are envious that I can earn a living. They say we distributors are powerful, but we are not. If anything, I have helped the community by donating drinks for festivals so everyone can enjoy a Pepsi." The Pepsi and Coca Cola companics in Mexico declined to comment on the political dimension of their products. Anthropologist and Mayan expert Jan Rus said: "Basically all they're doing is selling flavored water. I don't think they are aware of the role their product plays at that level.... It's really awkward." The cola boycott is a part of the continuing fight for rights and cultural survival by the indigenous people who were awakened by the Zapatista rebellion in Chiapas that began on New Year's Day 1994. Most of the communities participating in the boycott support the Zapatistas, whose peace talks with the government have floundered amid disagreement over how to implement an indigenousights accord. For now, the protesters are refusing to buy the colas. But in the future they may block delivery rucks from entering the villages. Indian leaders urge communiies to drink fruit juices and other ocally made refreshmentsan ppropriate suggestion since the indigenous population is extremely poor and suffers a high rate of malnutrition. But change may not come easy. !dexicans are the second biggest onsumers of soft drinks in the world, behind Americans. Coca Cola and Pepsi refused to release information on annual iales in Chiapas. But distributors say they sell more than 14,000 bottles a week just in the Tenejapa region, where the largest town has less than 3,000 residents. In the 1970s, encouraged by religious leaders, many Mayan peasants swapped the local cane liquor called posh for soft drinks in an attempt to reduce alcoholism. Today, Pepsi and Coke are part of Mayan and Christian ceremonies. In San Juan Chamula, scores ' of devout Mayan women wrapped in traditional bright blue shawls trickle into the small Catholic ~hurch daily to light a candle and ~ffer a cola to their patron saint. Down the road in Tenejapa, a huge Pepsi truck rumbled down a partially paved road connecting the isolated mountain hamlet to the rest of the state. As it stopped in town, men in floppy straw hats and black handwoven woolen ponchos gathered to watch teenage boys unload the crates. An elderly, barefoot Tzeltal woman filled a handknitted net bag with two dozen bottles, slung the bag's strap across her forehead to balance her load on her back and shuffled down a dirt path. It is tradition for a young boy to ask for a girl's hand in marriage by first offering her parents a case of Pepsi or Coke. "Prohibiting it will never work," said Antonio Intzin Ramirez, the city treasurer of Tenejapa and one of the Coke distributor's righthand men. "How can they? It's a part of our custom."