MS2901_05_Corn

Corn, Tomatoes, and a Dead Dog:
Mexican Agricultural Restructuring after
NAFTA and Rural Responses to Declining Maize
Production in Oaxaca, Mexico
Anjali Browning*
University of California, San Diego
This article examines how some of Mexico’s two million small farmers are
responding to the opening of the market for corn. The consequences of
US-Mexican agricultural restructuring include more marginal production
practices, which threaten the nation’s food and water security. Based on
research in San Juan Guelav´ıa, Oaxaca, I argue that even programs imple-
mented to offset the negative impacts of liberalization on small producers
actually undermine them while promoting overexploitation of local
resources. Through case examples, I illustrate the challenges Guelav´ıans face
as they attempt to recreate livelihoods within the context of drought, soil
erosion, resource competition and market exclusion.
Este art´ıculo examina la respuesta de algunos pequenõs agricultores de
México—que en total suman dos millones—ante la apertura del mercado
del ma´ız. Entre las consecuencias de la reestructuración agr´ıcola México–
Estados Unidos se cuentan más prácticas marginales de producción, que
*This article was developed from a larger dissertation study in Oaxaca, Mexico, sup-
ported by the UCLA Graduate Division and Department of Anthropology, the Garc´ıa
Robles Fulbright program, and the UCSD Center for U.S.–Mexican Studies. I owe
a debt of gratitude to Jeffrey H. Cohen, Alberto D´ıaz-Cayeros, Alejandro Nadal, Kirstin
Appendini, Eric Van Young, Mikael Wolfe, Veronica Castillo Munõz, Flavia Echanove,
Barbara Zepeda Cortes, Rosario Aguilar-Pariente, and Jennifer Piscopo for comments
on earlier drafts of this paper. I also would like to thank the Instituto Tecnológico de
Oaxaca, Rafael Reyes Morales, Juan Julián Caballero, Salvador López Platas, and Daniel
Pacheco Sánchez for their help in preparing for and/or conducting this research.
Finally, I would like to thank the many residents of San Juan Guelav´ıa who graciously
gave their time and knowledge.
Mexican Studies/Estudios Mexicanos Vol. 29, Issue 1, Winter 2013, pages 85–119. issn 0742-9797,
electronic issn 1533-8320. ©2013 by The Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved.
Please direct all requests for permission to photocopy or reproduce article content through the
University of California Press’s Rights and Permissions website, at http://www.ucpressjournals.com/
reprint.info.asp. DOI: 10.1525/msem.2013.29.1.85.
85

amenazan la seguridad alimenticia e h´ıdrica de la nación. Aqu´ı, sostengo que
en San Juan Guelav´ıa, Oaxaca, incluso los programas implementados para
contrarrestar los impactos negativos de la liberalización sobre los pequenõs
productores acaban por socavarlos, al tiempo que promueven la
sobreexplotación de recursos locales. Mediante ejemplos de caso, ilustro los
desaf´ıos que enfrentan los habitantes de Guelav´ıa en sus intentos por recrear
modos de sustento dentro del contexto de la sequ´ıa, la erosión de la tierra, la
competencia por los recursos y la exclusión del mercado.
Key words: Corn, Depeasantization, Mexico, Migration, NAFTA, Oaxaca,
Peasant Agriculture, Sustainable Farming, Tomatoes, Water.
Palabras clave: ma´ız, descampesinización, México, migración, TLC, Oaxaca,
agricultura campesina, agricultura sustentable, tomates, agua.
The Problem with Corn: ‘‘¿Est ás bien o est ás jodida?’’
During the course of fieldwork in the Zapotec corn-farming town of
San Juan Guelav´ıa, Oaxaca, from 2005 to 2007, I came to realize that I
would not be able to explain much about life in Guelav´ıa without first
addressing corn, water, and migration—for these things preoccupied
every Guelav´ıan. Complaints about failing harvests, low prices,
cheaper corn coming from elsewhere, lack of water, and lack of help
in the fields permeated virtually every interview. A short walk down
any one of Guelav´ıa’s many dirt lanes vividly evidenced the radical
changes that were underway. Crumbling adobe and cane single-room
houses that typified the homes of previous generations were being
increasingly replaced by much larger brick-and-concrete structures
surrounded by fortress-like walls and metal gates. These complexes
were the signposts that invariably demarcated families whose mem-
bers had gone ‘‘al otro lado’’ [to the other side, the United States].
The patchwork of lush corn, withering stalks, and fallow fields that
checkered the surrounding countryside similarly delineated
Guelav´ıa’s corn farmers: those who harvested corn, those who
wanted to harvest corn but could not, and those who no longer tried
to harvest corn. I was reminded of this contrast daily by my host,
Donã Esperanza,1
who almost always greeted me at the end of a long
day with a meal simmering over her wood fire and her characteristi-
cally dark-humored salutation, ‘‘¿Cómo estás? ¿Estás bien o estás
jodida, como yo vaya?’’ [How are you? Are you doing well or are
you fucked, like me you know?]
1. Throughout this article, I have used pseudonyms to protect the privacy of study
participants.
86 Mexican Studies/Estudios Mexicanos

Far more than simply the musings of an unusually good-
humored elderly woman, this greeting was an unequivocal statement
about the facts of life in Guelav´ıa. The expected response was not
necessarily that I was doing very well, thank you. Jodida, thanks for
asking, was also a possible and acceptable response to her joke.
Actually, most Guelav´ıans would likely consider themselves to be
jodidos, yet they are also not entirely without hope of doing well.
They are among Mexico’s more than two million2
subsistence and
small farmers who have been hit hard by the agricultural restructur-
ing policies of NAFTA and its neoliberal predecessors. Rather than
accepting their fate, however, they are attempting to respond to their
loss of self-sufficiency, albeit with extremely limited capacities to do
so. Like most small farmers in Mexico, Guelav´ıans can no longer sell
corn even for the cost of planting it. Not surprisingly, some have
altered their production strategies whereas others have sought liveli-
hoods elsewhere, mostly in northern Mexico and the United States.
At the time of my research, one would have been hard pressed to find
a single household that did not have at least one significant family
member who had migrated.
The (un)intended consequences of US-Mexican agricultural re-
structuring include not only the loss of rural livelihoods—what many
refer to as depeasantization,3
—but also generally higher costs of liv-
ing and production, pressure toward outmigration, and greater pres-
sure toward more marginal production practices for virtually all
types of producers who are able to continue cultivating corn, from
highly industrialized commercial producers to subsistence farmers.
Beyond being unfair, many insist that the current pressure on agri-
cultural practices is economically and ecologically unsustainable,
posing a threat to the nation’s food and water security.
The effects of agricultural restructuring have been especially
severe in Mexico’s southern states, such as Oaxaca, where the largest
number of indigenous growers, who are the most marginalized and
undercapitalized producers in the nation, continue to cultivate on
2. Current estimates for the number of Mexican small-scale corn producers range
from 2 to 2.5 million. Depending on sources used, many official estimates state there
are 2.4 million total corn producers (based on applicants for PROCAMPO benefits), of
which 2.2 million are farmers working on plots of less than 10 hectares (ha) (25 acres)
in size and the average producer is farming on plots of less than 2.5 ha. According to
the 1991 census (INEGI 1997), however, there were over 3 million corn-producing
units. For further discussion and comparison of agricultural census data, see Robles
(2010).
3. Among many, see, for example, Deborah Fahy Bryceson (2002), Kjell Havnevik,
et al. (2007), Michael Kearney (1996), Gerardo Otero (1999), and Paola Sesia (2003).
Browning, Mexican Agricultural Restructuring after NAFTA 87

extremely small plots of ejidal land that average from one to two-and-
a-half hectares.4
As I discuss in this article, some government pro-
grams have been implemented to offset the negative impacts of corn
liberalization on such producers, including programs that aid small
farmers in transitioning to new crops such as tomatoes. Based on
ethnographic research conducted in Guelav´ıa, however, I argue that
because of a lack of understanding of economic and ecological con-
straints on production in these regions and how resources are man-
aged within communities based on usos y costumbres, these
programs actually undermine such producers at the same time that
they promote the overexploitation of local resources.
Furthermore, although numerous researchers in Oaxaca have
documented how traditional practices and institutions help many
such indigenous communities to confront or even benefit from glob-
alization processes,5
I found that it is precisely such systems that are
faltering in Guelav´ıa. Community members have less and less to bind
them in mutual interest, which directly impacts their capacity to
respond to failing harvests and rates of resource depletion. A growing
imbalance in the ability of Guelav´ıans to react to economic challenges
is closely related to their unequal access to community lands and
water, to information, to government programs, and to the cash
economy through alternative economic opportunities such as migra-
tion income. As other researchers throughout the general region
have noted,6
and as this research demonstrates, serious conflicts
often arise as capitalist production practices penetrate communities
who continue to try to regulate themselves based on values of com-
munally shared resources.
In the remainder of this article, I first discuss some specific as-
pects of Mexican agrarian restructuring that directly impact produc-
tion practices in rural communities. I then illustrate the particular
4. The large majority of Oaxaca’s corn producers are composed of individual
families—mostly in indigenous communities—farming on extremely small plots of less
than 5 ha (and most often less than 2 ha) for primarily subsistence use, typically uti-
lizing traditional rainfed farming techniques on marginal soils and generating very low
yields when compared with industrialized agricultural standards (INEGI 1997; INEGI
2007; SAGARPA-SIAP 2009).
5. Among the many, consider, for example, the work of Jeffrey Cohen (2004a;
2004b), Lynn Stephen (2007), and Mar´ıa Elena Mart´ınez Torres (2004).
6. See also, for example, the work of Anselmo Arrellanes Meixueiro 2004; Jeffrey
Cohen 2004a; the many contributions in the volume edited by Wayne A. Cornelius and
David Myhre 1998b; Alain de Janvry, Elisabeth Sadoulet, and Jermán Gordillo de Anda
1995; Robert M. Emanuel and James B. Greenberg 2000; Jermán Gordillo de Anda,
Alain de Janvry, and Elisabeth Sadoulet 1999; June Nash 2004; Monique Nuijten 2004;
Paola Sesia 2003; and Lynn Stephen 2005a; 2005b.

production challenges confronting Guelav´ıans and, like them, most
of Mexico’s small farmers—who make up more than three-quarters of
all of México’s farmers and approximately 90 percent of all México’s
corn producers.7
As I explain, these farmers face challenges on many
fronts: severe ecological conditions such as climate change, drought,
water table depletion, and soil erosion, as well as intense competi-
tion for local resources and extreme exclusion from market institu-
tions. Finally, I present several case examples of community members
or groups who are attempting to re-create livelihoods, including in-
stances in which government programs were utilized to salvage corn
crops or shift to the cultivation of new crops.
The Problem with NAFTA: (Un)intended Consequences
Out of the recognition that suddenly exposing the Mexican corn
market to highly subsidized US corn could irreversibly undercut Mex-
ican producers, accelerate inflation, and fuel widespread migration,
NAFTA architects gave corn one of the longest transition times—four-
teen years as compared with an average of eight years—of all com-
modities included in the agreement. Nevertheless, although tariff
rate quotas (TRQs) were to be applied and gradually reduced over
the length of the transition period, in reality, the market opened
much more rapidly.
Surprisingly, while US exports of corn to México more than tri-
pled by US estimates and more than quadrupled by Mexican esti-
mates from 1994 to 2008,8
and in the same time period real prices
for corn declined by as much as half (and by as much as two-thirds
since the mid-1980s), the Mexican gross production of corn did not
decline.9
Even more surprising for both proponents and critics of
7. See Alain de Janvry, Elisabeth Sadoulet, and Jermán Gordillo de Anda 1995 (see
also Kirsten Appendini 2001; Alejandro Nadal 2002; Timothy A. Wise 2010a; 2010b;
Steven Zahniser and William Coyle 2004).
8. Data sources: For US estimates of volume of corn exported to México from
1994 to 2009, see the Foreign Agricultural Trade of the United States (FATUS) database
(USDA ERS 2009) and the USDA Foreign Agricultural Service (FAS) report (USDA FAS
2009). For Mexican estimates of corn imported from the United States, see the
Secretar´ıa de Agricultura, Ganader´ıa, Desarrollo Rural, Pesca y Alimentación—Servicio
de Información Agroalimenatria y Pesquera (SAGARPA-SIAP) database for Sector
Agroalimentario y Pesquero, Comercio Exterior (SAGARPA-SIAP 2009).
9. Data sources: the Statistical Yearbook 2005–2006, Vol. 1 (FAO 2007), the
FAOSTAT database (FAOSTAT 2009), the GAIN Report: México: Agricultural Situation
(USDA FAS 2004), the SAGARPA-SIAP database, and USDA reports on the state of
Mexican agriculture and corn following NAFTA (Zahniser 2007; Zahniser and Coyle
2004).

NAFTA alike, the total surface area of land dedicated to corn cultiva-
tion actually increased, despite more than two decades of low
prices.10
Most of the yield gains were realized, however, by the largest
industrial growers located primarily in Jalisco and Sinaloa. Among
small and mid-size corn growers, the surface area dedicated to agri-
cultural crops tended to increase, whereas the overall number of
producers and yields decreased (ASERCA 2009; FAO 2007; Nadal
2000; Otero 1999; Robles Berlanga 2010; SAGARPA-SIAP 2009; USDA
FAS 2008; Zahniser and Coyle 2004).11
Some scholars argue that the
discrepancy between yields and area harvested may indicate that with
suppressed prices for corn and for alternative crops, greater numbers
of farmers began putting more marginal lands into production
whereas others moved out of production altogether (see, for exam-
ple, Nadal 2000; 2002; Robles Berlanga 2010; Wise 2010b).
The efficiencies in agricultural production to be gained on both
sides of the border were expected to result primarily from restructur-
ing production to the comparative advantages of each country. This
restructuring involved shifting the majority of capital- and land-
intensive farming to the United States, where mechanized produc-
tion generates high yields on grain crops and shifting labor-intensive
crops to México, such as fruits, vegetables, nuts, and coffee, where
México’s abundant and low-cost labor force would have comparative
price advantages in the export market (Nadal 2000; Wise 2010b).
A critical problem with this agricultural design, however, is that
little thought appears to have been given to the economic and
10. Data sources: For estimates of the amount of ha under cultivation over this
time period, see the FATUS database (USDA ERS 2009), the SAGARPA-SIAP database
(SAGARPA-SIAP 2009), and Robles Berlanga 2010. For analysis and discussion of Mex-
ican and US corn prices over the same time period, see the following publications:
Audley, Papademetriou, et al. 2004; Feiss and Lederman 2004; Puyana and Romero
2004; Yúnez-Naude 2002; and Yúnez-Naude and Barceinas Paredes 2004.
11. The amount of hectares (ha) harvested and yields of corn per ha are well
documented for México in the sources listed, as well as by many others; however, the
actual decline in number of producers since market liberalization began is more dif-
ficult to assess. Steven Zahniser and William Coyle (2004) estimate that the number of
corn producers have decreased by 21 percent; however, this is a difficult statistic to
corroborate across sources. A USDA GAIN report on Mexican grain production con-
firms this trend (USDA FAS 2008). Zahniser and Coyle used the ASERCA database to
determine the number of PROCAMPO beneficiaries who are given subsidies directly
based on plot sizes. The declines in the numbers of producers who have applied for
PROCAMPO benefits are taken to indicate a decline in the number of producers.
Jonathan Fox and Libbey Haight (2010) note, however, that PROCAMPO benefits
actually reach only a minority of small producers; therefore, estimates utilizing PRO-
CAMPO enrollment data drastically underestimate the total number of producers in
Mexico.

ecological sustainability of this restructuring. First, horticultural
crops such as tomatoes reach market saturation much more quickly
than staple crops and cannot be stored until prices improve. They
also have fewer commercial applications in comparison with crops
such as corn, which is used in a multitude of products including feed-
grains, processed foods, plastics, and biofuels. Second, because of
suppressed prices for most agricultural commodities, the majority
of producers began making up for low profit margins by increasing
production through more marginal production practices.12
Finally,
the shift to water-intensive horticultural crops in regions that are
known to be drought prone was dubious at best. Now, as even Mex-
ican commercial corn production has unexpectedly increased, reach-
ing US standards of 8.1 tons per hectare in states such as Sinaloa and
Jalisco, many regions are seeing high degrees of erosion, salinization,
and accumulation of chemical residues; and in regions where irriga-
tion has been heavily utilized, aquifers are exceeding replenishment
rates (Nadal 2000: 7; see also Ackerman et al. 2003). As you will see in
the following examples, many of these problems are surfacing in
small communities such as San Juan Guelav´ıa as well.
The Problem with Corn in San Juan Guelav´ıa:
Environmental, Economic, and Social Challenges to
Production
The dilemma that arises from the loss of self-sufficiency in corn pro-
duction in San Juan Guelav´ıa stems, in part, from the fact that corn is
not merely a product but a way of life. Corn has nourished and
organized the daily lives of community members as far back as any-
one can remember.13
Despite its decline, Guelav´ıans still pride them-
selves on their particular traditions of carefully selecting, cultivating,
preparing, and consuming some of the best-tasting corn in Oaxaca.
Situated on an arid valley floor in the eastern arm of the Valley of
Oaxaca, generations of Guelav´ıans have depended on the saline river,
el Rio Salado, that weaves through their milpa fields to give life to
12. Such as reducing or eliminating crop rotation and fallow periods, reducing
labor-intensive soil and water conservation techniques, employing fertilizers and pes-
ticides, intensifying water extraction, cultivating poorer quality soils, and the like.
13. According to townspeople and colonial documents collected in the national
archives, San Juan Guelav´ıa was originally founded by maize farmers from the nearby
village of Macuilxóchitl at least as early as the sixteenth century, when it first appears in
colonial documents under the name San Juan Quelaa (Ambrosio Guzmán and Cruz
Atayde 1999; De Aguilar 1994 [1777]; Garc´ıa Antonio 1999; Hernández 1984; Mendieta
y Nún˜ez 1960; Taylor 1972).

their crops when the annual rains flood its channel and disperse its
waters as well as the salt. Nowadays, after more than ten years of
drought, lush cornfields are more often jarringly juxtaposed to with-
ered and brown ones or to abandoned fields left to grow wild. Even
though Guelav´ıa once enjoyed a reputation for fertile alluvial soils
and abundant corn fields, Lucio Mendieta y Nun˜ez (1960) documen-
ted evidence of soil erosion and salinization as early as the 1950s.
This situation has worsened with population growth over time, as
well as with decades of depleted water resources and increased pres-
sure on production. The only fields that continue to thrive inevitably
display the distinctive log-support structures of wells. Even the pres-
ence of wells, however, is no guarantee of a harvest.
The collapse in production that peasant producers are facing is
not due to their inefficiency as capitalists nor to cultural stubborn-
ness, although some would assume that a reluctance to shift produc-
tion to alternative crops indicates a general resistance to innovation
among them. As I will elaborate, the problem with cultivating any
crops in Guelav´ıa is that Guelav´ıans are experiencing a complicated
constellation of ecological, economic, and social constraints on pro-
duction. They lack sufficient water resources; they face rising costs
and risks of production yet low prices; they face intense competition

for resources and markets; they lack access to credit or capital unless
they receive income from off-farm economic activities; and, ironi-
cally, they face labor shortages because of outmigration caused by
the need to subsidize continued corn farming.
Water Table Depletion: Rainfall, Microclimates, Wells, and
Local Competition
Located in the mountain highlands more than 5,500 feet above sea
level in the Isthmus region of southern México, Oaxaca’s weather
patterns are heavily influenced by the mixture of pressure and tem-
perature zones from the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of México, which
creates what is known as the Mexican summer monsoon.14
The most
critical precipitation period for farmers is the Can´ıcula, however,
a period of midsummer drought that falls within the summer rains,
a phenomenon that makes its strongest impact on México’s southern
region. More importantly, the Can´ıcula fluctuates in timing and dura-
tion and, in recent years, has become less predictable, which greatly
complicates farmers’ abilities to judge rainfall patterns.
According to Don Faustino, a lifelong maize farmer, ‘‘[in
Guelav´ıa] people say that the can´ıcula begins on June 16th . . . and
leaves on August 24th. In the past, it used to rain more. The milpa
could withstand the can´ıcula without extra water and you knew
for sure that after the 24th of August, it was going to begin raining
hard . . . But now we’re not even close to the 24th of August and the
plants aren’t able to withstand it . . . Why? Because it no longer rains
like it should.’’
In addition to unpredictable regional weather patterns, Oaxaca’s
farmers are also affected by a myriad of microclimates as a result of
immense topographic diversity. An important factor in local precip-
itation is a phenomenon known as rain shadow effects from moun-
tain ranges, especially if they are located to the northeast or
southwest, which disrupts prevailing wind flows and hence rainfall.
14. Due to the proximity to the two coasts, precipitation patterns are also subject
to annual fluctuations in El Ninõ and La Ninã weather patterns (Dilley 1996; Maganã,
et al. 2003).With a winter El Ninõ, in which Pacific and Gulf of México currents bring
tropical storms and hurricanes to the coasts, the Valley experiences heavy rains, and,
conversely, in a summer El Ninõ, the Valley experiences drought (Maganã, et al. 2003).
More particularly, El Ninõ–Southern Oscillation (ENSO) warm current events have
been associated with drought conditions in the Valley of Oaxaca as a result of
a southward displacement of the Inter Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ), which re-
duces tropical storms along the coasts (Dilley 1996; Maganã, et al. 2003). During La
Ninã years, precipitation returns to normal or above average rainfall.

As San Juan Guelav´ıa sits at the base of a mountain chain that runs
along the southern edge of the eastern arm of the Valley, Guelav´ıans
experience drought even when neighboring towns do not. As Don
Faustino insisted, the can´ıcula takes its strongest effect ‘‘primarily in
these towns [here], because from Tule and over there,’’ he pointed
toward the towns to the west, ‘‘there it continues to rain. So, the
can´ıcula is not even [‘‘no es pareja,’’ it is not balanced or fair].’’
Even among farmers who have installed wells, only very few are
still able to grow corn because the underground water table has
diminished. As Don Faustino explained, ‘‘Wells that should have
a water mirror at six meters down at this time of year are now eight
meters down . . . I had a well that measured six meters [earlier this
season] and once I was ready to water the milpa, it didn’t respond.
The aquifers have gone down more.’’15
As wells continue to dry, first
on the agenda of every town-hall meeting (junta), and a topic of
virtually every interview, was the corn harvest crisis. Not only were
wells drying throughout the town and the fields, much of their re-
maining water sources had become brackish.
In addition to reduced rainfall, many Guelav´ıans blame receding
water tables on the fact that the neighboring towns of Tlacocha-
huaya16
and Tlacolula are both making heavy use of underground
water sources in order to produce large volumes of chiles, tomatoes,
and other produce for regional markets. This is considered particu-
larly unjust because those crops require more water, and those other
regions, despite their extremely close proximity, tend to receive more
rain than Guelav´ıa. Curiously, from interviews and conversations
with more than one hundred individuals, not a single person men-
tioned the Benevá mezcal factory recently built less than a kilometer
from their agricultural lands. The large water demands of such opera-
tions, however, likely place an additional burden on local water
resources.17
15. Quotes taken from recorded interview with Don Faustino, August 10, 2007
(Code: R1_0127.10.2).
16. Tlacochahuaya is the main producer of chiles de agua (water chilies), named
for their high water content.
17. In fact, the factory’s potential impact had not occurred to me either until I
came across an online article criticizing Oaxaca’s governor for reportedly allowing the
exploitation of vast amounts of water resources in several regions of the Valley to be
dedicated to a new mezcal factory recently built under the label Zignum Mezcal. The
factory produces mezcal primarily for export to Europe, Asia, and the United States.
The distillery reportedly consumes great amounts of already depleted water resources
from numerous farming communities in order to eventually produce 45,000 liters of
mezcal daily. Although Benevá may not be producing at quite this volume, it likely

Thus, Guelav´ıans are facing shortages not only of rainfall and
underground aquifers, but also intense competition for water both
within the community, with neighboring communities producing
increasingly water-intensive crops, and quite possibly with the nearby
mezcal factory. For the most part, only those farmers lucky enough to
have plots close to the river or who have sufficient money to invest in
concrete wells are among the diminishing number who continue to
cultivate their fields fulltime.
Migration and Low Prices
Today, only a very small portion of Guelav´ıa’s population continues
to support themselves primarily on corn cultivation. According to the
national census (INEGI 2000), San Juan Guelav´ıa had 2,940 inhabi-
tants, only 909 of whom were categorized as being of working age.
Out of those, 898 were considered to be employed in some form of
economic activity; of those employed, 446 received only minimum
wage (approximately $50 pesos or US$5 per day) or less for their
efforts, and another 257 were engaged in work for which they did
not receive income, in other words, farmers without alternative
sources of waged income. Virtually all residents must find additional
income, and given the proportion of people earning at or below
minimum wage, migration has become one of few options.
Don Constantino, a lifelong maize farmer in his seventies, fre-
quently reminisced about the old days when there had been so much
rain that they often had to swim with baskets to reach their crops to
harvest the fresh corn. These days, however, there is no such rain, no
such harvest, and no such campesino (small farmer). ‘‘The young
men of today,’’ he lamented, ‘‘they no longer know the sweat of the
campo . . . Now no one works the land, because, for one thing, it no
longer rains as it should, and, for another, the harvest no longer has
the value like in the past. Right now, a lot of maize comes from who
knows where, and they sell it for $2.5 pesos per kilo, and el criollo
[locally ‘‘home-grown’’ maize] we need to sell for $3.5 pesos per kilo.
Nobody wants to buy our criollo maize when so much is transported
here, who knows from where. The little that I work, over there [on
my fields], I have my mazorquita [little bit of corn], but who is going
to buy it? And, who is going to use it also? Because, in the past when
-
places demands on local water resources. See the following online articles from The
Narco News Bulletin (Davies 2010), e-consulta Oaxaca (Guerrero 2009) and Oax-
acaLibre.org (Oaxaca Libre 2007).

my wife was alive she made tortillas and tejate,18
but now, there is
nobody to use the mazorca. Everything is bought now with money.’’
When I asked him if it was still possible to make a living growing
corn, he flatly replied, ‘‘No. No, it is no longer possible to survive by
selling corn alone even though one works very hard. The sellers
[‘‘vendedores,’’ retailers] buy corn from other places, cheaper and
cleaner . . . In the past, people would come [to my house] to buy 30
or 40 almudes.’’ An almud is equivalent to approximately 4 kilos of
shucked corn. Since he sells an almud for $15 pesos (roughly $3.5
pesos per kilo), even 30 almudes represents $450 pesos (approxi-
mately US$45), about half a month’s income based on the average
daily wage in Oaxaca. ‘‘The families that still plant corn do other
things to earn money,’’ he explained. ‘‘In the past, there was nothing
else to dedicate oneself to but the fields. The true campesinos also
harvested garbanzos, black beans, pumpkin seeds, and castor beans
for making lamp oil. These things helped . . . Now everything arrives
from the other side [from somewhere else] and none of those things
help anymore.’’19
In Don Constantino’s explanation of what has happened to corn
production, we hear that Guelav´ıan farmers are unable to compete
with cheaper, preprocessed corn coming from commercial growers
that is transported to the regional markets and even to the towns
‘‘from who knows where.’’ Guelaviáns’ inability to compete with this
cheaper corn is exacerbated by lack of rain, shifting labor, and
changes in local preparation and consumption of traditional
corn-based products. Yet, although Don Constantino says repeatedly
that there is no maize in the fields and no campesinos growing it, as
I eventually discovered, a ‘‘lack’’ of something for Guelav´ıans does
not always mean its complete absence. Corn does still grow in
Guelav´ıa, campesinos do still work their milpas, and women do still
make tortillas and tejate. None of these practices are, however, per-
formed at a level sufficient enough to sustain a way of life based on
them.
Given such production challenges, an important question to ask
is why do some people continue to harvest corn and others do not
(or cannot)? For those who continue to cultivate corn, how are they
responding to the challenges of production and what are their
options for meeting those challenges? What has been the outcome
18. Tejate is a traditional beverage made from a paste of primarily ground corn
and chocolate.
19. Monograph compiled from recorded interview with Don Constantino, April
16, 2007 (Code: R1_0060.2.2)

for those who have shifted production practices or to other crops
entirely?
Land Distribution: The Dividing Lines of Corn Production in
Guelav´ıa
San Juan Guelav´ıa encompasses 17.86 Km2
of total land, which in-
cludes saline or eroded lands unsuitable for cultivation, privately
held agricultural lands, and 260 hectares (643 acres) of ejidal agricul-
tural lands, which are divided into 503 parcels (INEGI 2007). Out of
these, 44.6 percent (116 hectares/286 acres) are under cultivation;
the remaining 55.4 percent are dedicated for other agricultural uses
such as cattle grazing (INEGI 2007). Although ejidal lands are com-
munally held plots, they are individually worked (INEGI 2007).20
Being a citizen of Guelav´ıa does not guarantee entitlement to an ejido
plot, however. Although some families may have no ejidal lands,
others may have multiple ejidal plots. Furthermore, although ejidal
plots are roughly equal in size—ranging from about 0.5 to 1 hectare
or about 1.25 to 2.5 acres—they can be extremely unequal in shape
and quality, both in terms of soil and location, particularly regarding
access to water.
Regardless of size or quality of lands, ejidal plots are not large
enough to support a family (Hall and Humphrey 2003: 16; Nadal
1999; 2000). Most ejidatarios have private lands as well. Based on
data collected by Jeffrey Cohen from 2000 to 2004 (see Cohen and
Browning 2007), approximately 80 percent of all Guelav´ıan families
continued to farm, utilizing both rainfed and irrigation techniques on
an average of 2.25 hectares (approximately 5.5 acres)—an amount
well in excess of the average ejido plot size—and were able to pro-
duce an average of about six to eight months worth of the maize
needed for daily consumption.21
This indicates that at that time,
20. In anticipation of NAFTA, the Mexican government created a land certification
program known as Programa de Certificación de Derechos Ejidales y Titulación de
Solares Urbanos (PROCEDE). The program was meant to facilitate the process of
privatizing communal lands and to unencumber land-titling procedures more gener-
ally. This process has met with varying responses throughout México. Nevertheless,
Guelav´ıan ejido lands have been measured and certified, although not without con-
tention. It remains unclear how certification will impact how Guelav´ıan lands will
continue to be managed.
21. Based on Mexico’s national average rainfall, according to CEPAL (1982), at
least 4 ha are necessary to produce enough corn for subsistence needs in this region
without some form of irrigation. Therefore, many of Guelav´ıa’s producers would be
considered sub-subsistence producers, and, indeed, most producers tend to diversify
production strategies and household economic strategies to meet their daily needs.

although most families were still continuing to harvest some corn,
even eight years ago, they were not producing surpluses for sale in
the market, and the large majority were well short of what they
needed for their own subsistence despite farming on private as well
as ejido lands.
The extent of the situation was demonstrated to me while I was
seated in an oddly oversized kitchen with Don Jermán, a lifelong
maize farmer in his sixties. He said we were sitting in what had once
been his grain room. With a dramatic wave of his hand Don Jermán
explained, ‘‘This entire room [about 10 meters long by 4 meters wide
by 4 meters high] used to be filled to the ceiling with maize at this
time of year, and now,’’ he looked despairingly around the huge
room and then pointed to a small pile of dried corn ears in the dark
shadows of the furthest corner, ‘‘now there is nothing but that tiny
pile over there.’’ He concluded that if no rain comes, ‘‘we will all soon
have to abandon the fields.’’22
While most farmers reiterated Don Jermán’s complaints about
failing corn harvests, they were in stark contrast to the comments
of a minority of others, such as Don Román who still had ample stores
of maize in his solidly built multistory grain house, which was at least
four times the size of Don Jermán’s former grain room. Don Román
insisted that one can still make a living growing maize, albeit with
much more difficulty than in the past. An experienced maize farmer
well into his late fifties, he attributed his good fortune to the fact that
he had both tierra privada (privately owned land) and tierra ejidal
and to his ability to work very hard.23
A bit perplexed, I questioned another town member about how
Don Román was able to generate such a good harvest when others
were not. I was flatly told, with a disdainful snort, that his land was on
the river, which meant he had the best soil and more water without
the need for wells (which drastically reduced his labor and financial
input) and could afford to hire a mozo (helper) to work the fields
because of his good harvest and because he had sons in the United
States sending money as well. I was told that approximately five
families have such lands and such good harvests. The rest must buy
at least some portion of their corn for the year.
The stories of Don Jermán and Don Román reveal growing differ-
ences between the farmers who can continue to produce sufficient
22. Monograph compiled from recorded interview with Don Jermán, March 9,
2007 (Code: R1_0006.1.0).
23. Monograph compiled from recorded interview with Don Román, April 12,
2007 (Code: R1_0043.1.1-2).

amounts of corn and those who cannot, which has to do not only
with low prices and lack of rain, as Don Constantino told me earlier,
but also with distribution of land, access to water, and access to
migration networks. The patterns of faltering corn production closely
match the patterns of land distribution and access to alternate forms
of income to subsidize the rising costs and risks of production as well
as diminishing returns. Thus, the differences between individual fam-
ily resources, including not only physical resources but also social
resources, profoundly impact the ability of Guelav´ıans to respond to
the challenges in corn production they now face. In this sense, those
who migrate are not necessarily leaving with the intent of abandon-
ing production, but rather, in many cases, they are attempting to save
it. For those who remain in Guelav´ıa and continue to harvest corn,
even with remittance subsidies, production challenges are proving
difficult to overcome.
Rising Costs and Risks of Production
Traditionally, farmers throughout this region have worked their lands
with oxen and plow, relying only on rainfall and alluvial flooding to
water their crops. With severe water shortages, fluctuating corn
prices, and diminishing available family labor as a result of migration,
however, most have had to modify these practices. In Guelav´ıa, those
farmers who can afford to have been employing the use of tractors, in
some cases making use of fertilizers, and installing deep wells along
with a system of pumps and hoses. All of these more intensive farm-
ing technologies place heavier demands on soil and water resources
and are costly, even more so in such marginal and risky conditions.
Unlike US farmers and Mexican commercial growers to the north,
they have no insurance, no price supports, practically no subsidies,
and no access to credit to help offset any of these costs and risks.
Installing a well system can be particularly costly, and, as in the
case of Don Faustino’s well, a well is no guarantee that reliable water
will be obtained. Most farmers, like Don Faustino, dig until they reach
water and then use a system of pumps and hard black plastic hoses.
The cost of digging a dirt well varies depending on if help is hired and
how deep the well must be dug. Pumps alone can cost around $5,000
pesos or US $500. Hose usually costs about $20 pesos per meter, and
an average plot requires, at minimum, a couple hundred meters,
amounting to another $4,000 pesos or more. Dirt wells, especially
when they run deep, can collapse or run dry. The best chance of
keeping water in a well is to install concrete rings, which can easily
cost upward of $100,000 pesos, depending on the well depth. Given

the high cost, only those who have access to migration remittances or
other discretionary funds can afford to install them.
Even for those who do manage to get a consistent water source,
some are still unable to obtain a harvest because of outmigration and
the lack of available help to cultivate fields. Exasperated, Don Faus-
tino once complained that, despite water problems, faltering corn
harvests are not just a result of lack of water because even when it
does rain, few men are preparing their fields.24
Yet, many people,
such as Don Faustino’s son who now lives in Ensenada, have left
largely as a solution to lack of rain and low corn prices as well as to
having few alternative sources of local income. Although they send
money home to help augment family resources, converting those
resources into production is hard if too few able hands are left to
work the land.
The Problem with Innovation: Efforts to Create New
Opportunities in Guelav´ıa
Thus far I have presented numerous obstacles to production; how-
ever, some government subsidies have been made available for rural
development, and numerous community members in San Juan
Guelav´ıa are making use of such funds in an attempt to create new
opportunities in the face of all these odds. Next I describe three
examples of such efforts. All of these projects involved some use of
state and/or federal funds and show how many people are attempting
to cooperate with one another in a manner that is appropriate to
capitalist forms of production. Yet, the mismatch of these efforts with
community understandings of cooperation and competition gener-
ates new tensions. In each case, we can see how engagement with
government-funded projects foments conflict over resources and cre-
ates particular roles for individuals who must coordinate and nego-
tiate the use of funds provided and/or the management of projects
and resources. Furthermore, government agricultural policies largely
dictate the uses to which such funds are put. These policies may not
take into consideration local needs nor the impact on local resources.
The Potable Water Project
In an effort to improve the availability and quality of water for home
consumption, the municipio (town council) undertook to build
24. Based on recorded interview with Don Faustino, March 9, 2007 (Code: R1_
0003-5.1.1-3).

a public water system with a combination of municipal and state
funds. The system is based on a deep well that fills a large storage
tank where the water is sanitized. Access is available to all residents,
provided they can pay to install the piping to connect to the main
line, a tank for home storage, a water meter, and pay for their
monthly usage. Each of the three sections of the town receives water
for two days out of each week. During the two-day period of water
flow, use is restricted only by an individual’s capacity to store it and
ability to pay for it. The municipal water committee, a subcommittee
appointed by the cabildo, controls access to the main line by requir-
ing a permit. Although the permit is free, many say that some com-
mittee members charge unofficial ‘‘fees’’ for the water actually to get
to a resident’s home or land.
Although the potable water project was greatly needed, as many
had been forced to buy water from water trucks during the increas-
ingly protracted dry seasons, many residents also complained that the
new system was depleting the water table and blamed it for wells
drying up throughout the town. On one hand, these criticisms were
lodged against the current presidente and his cabildo administration,
who were a constant focus of critique and reflected a very real con-
cern about the possibility of unsustainable water-table depletion and
the fact that no real measures were being put in place to monitor
excessive usage.
On the other hand, these complaints were also about a new form
of community water management that threatened what little equita-
ble access to community resources might have remained. Since water
had been considered a community resource available to everyone,
the idea that they had to pay for such a resource, that people could
take what water they want as long as they could pay for it, and that
a community resource was being controlled by a few people who
potentially stood to gain from their positions, caused many to be
skeptical about the implementation and/or management of the pro-
ject. For some, the water project was a step toward greater progress,
something that marked them as a modern community; for others, it
provided a badly needed necessity; and for others, it was a necessary
evil. For the latter group, while the system provided more greatly
needed water, it was also a form of attack on communally shared
resources, locking them into expenses for which they must struggle
to find money. Although compatible with a capitalist notion of devel-
opment, one in which access to resources is linked to one’s ability to
acquire them and fairness is ideally regulated by effort—anyone can
access as much water as he or she wants so long as that person puts
forward the initiative to obtain money—the imperative to compete

sets individuals at odds with one another as they have unequal abil-
ities to do so. Such an orientation is incompatible with notions of
equal entitlement to resources.
That said, the large majority did admit that the potable water
project was an improvement for the town and helped meet the needs
of people who have little or no water. Some, who both have milpa
plots close enough to the main line and have the funds necessary,
have been able to use the water for their crops. Others, such as Don
Roberto, told me they would have liked to make use of the new water
for crops but had been unable to take advantage of it for lack of
available capital or for lack of available help in the fields. In Don
Roberto’s case, because he had several sons living in the United States
sending money home, he had enough saved—approximately
$100,000 pesos—to restart his ‘‘alfalfa and corn business’’ by tapping
into the new water source. He felt he could make ‘‘a good living’’
farming multiple plots—except that, because his sons were in the
United States, he had no help in the fields.
Alianza para el Campo y Caja por Caja
One of numerous government funded programs administered
through Alianza para el Campo (Alliance for the Countryside)25
to
provide economic assistance to poor rural communities and to
subsidize livestock production is Caja por Caja (Crate for Crate).
Through this program, qualifying individuals receive a crate of
animals—usually chickens, turkeys, or pigs—in exchange for an
equivalent crate of animals at a later date. The government pays for
half the expense of the original purchase price of the animals, and the
individuals are allowed to raise and breed, sell, or consume the off-
spring. Then on a prespecified date, they return the same number of
animals of equivalent quality, size, and age that they originally
received. Although simple in concept, as Don Faustino explained,
utilizing the program turns out to be a bit more complicated than
it sounds.
A few years earlier, when Don Faustino held a post on the ejido
committee, he worked with this program, which he referred to as
‘‘modalidad dos’’ (second tier). This was how he referred to Alianza’s
25. Since this study was conducted, the name for Alianza para el Campo has been
changed to Activos Productivos. For the purposes of this paper, however, the name of
the program utilized at the time of the study is preserved. For a concise explaination of
Alianza para el Campo, the benefits it offers, and who does or does not receive them,
see Brian Palmer-Rubin 2010.

modalidad PADER. Alianza provides subsidies under two different
tiers (SAGARPA-SIAP 2009).26
The first, modalidad normal (normal
tier), generally provides a smaller proportion of funds, usually 20 to
25 percent of proposed project costs, for rural development (for
example, soils improvements, tractor purchases, greenhouse con-
struction, and the like) to a wider base of beneficiaries. Modalidad
PADER, the second tier, provides a higher proportion of benefits,
usually up to 50 percent of costs but is limited only to those who
qualify under PADER standards.27
Usually Alianza provides funds to those producers who are trying
to develop or augment agricultural and livestock products that it
wishes to promote. Those who wish to secure such aid, regardless
of the tier, must apply through SAGARPA. Because the application
process and providing correct documentation are often the barriers
for inhabitants of poorer communities, numerous individuals ap-
proached Don Faustino to help them secure funds from the caja por
caja program. Unclear about how the process of procuring the funds
and livestock actually works, I asked him how such details are kept
track of. Does someone have a list of the size, weight, and descrip-
tions of the animals? Does that person oversee the delivery and return
of livestock? And how would one go about making the arrangements
for this exchange?
Don Faustino did not seem at all surprised by my dismay. As he
laughed at the tediousness of the idea, he explained, ‘‘Yes, well . . . for
example, if I want to get some chickens, I go down to the government
office [SAGARPA] and they tell me I first need to get three bids on
prices for chickens and then I’ll need to submit an application. So, I
go to some dealers and they each give me a quote. And perhaps I also
ask a few friends or a few women in town, people who know chickens
well, to see what they think of the price. ‘Does the price suit you or
not?’ If it does, then, alright, we’ll go make the contract. And then we
go down to the government office, and there I submit an application
with the credentials of all the people who want to purchase the
chickens along with the credentials of the three dealers and their
26. See the SAGARPA-SIAP website for current and past Reglas de operación de la
Alianza para el Campo (Rules of Operation for Alliance for the Countryside), includ-
ing a description of how benefits are distributed and specific requirements for quali-
fications of beneficiaries (SAGARPA-SIAP 2009).
27. PADER refers to the standards of qualifications for the Programa de De-
sarrollo Rural (Program for Rural Development), which determines the level of under
investment and marginalization of rural communities. Those communities with very
low investment and high levels of marginalization meet the PADER standards, which
qualifies them for increased subsidies for rural development and upliftment.

price quotes. And then that’s it, but it takes a long time, six months or
a year will pass. And, well, if they authorize us, great, or if something
is lacking they don’t authorize us, for some trouble with the require-
ments, or . . . well, they make a study to see if the project is good or
not. Many times they authorize us but many times they do not. For all
the pueblos this happens.’’
Don Faustino went on to describe an example, among many
others, in which he had helped procure some pigs. ‘‘With pigs, they
say a caja is ten female pigs and one male, so a caja is eleven pigs let’s
say. We had arranged for a caja of full-grown pigs, for which one has
to give some $1,500 pesos each, even though they actually cost
$3,000 pesos each . . . The price depends on the type of pig.’’ With
a chuckle he added, ‘‘And you see, here, we know types of pigs like
you know types of cars. There are different qualities of each . . . So, the
government gave us the permission. But then, six months passed and
I hadn’t yet made a decision, as the representative of the people who
wanted the pigs, but that was because the pigs that were approved
were very expensive for them. Each person would have had to pay
$1,000 pesos for each pig, because they were high quality pigs, but,
for the people it didn’t suit them for lack of money . . . I decided to go
to the dealer and explained that the people could not afford these
pigs but the price the government had settled on was already
fixed . . . So, he said he would give us thirty lower quality piglets for
the price of the eleven high-quality adult ones . . . This was much
better for the people because each pig would cost around $200
pesos, so each person would give $100 pesos and the government
would give $100 pesos. Very good . . . So, the dealer made the receipt
for a caja of pigs and we agreed that there were thirty small
pigs . . . and in this way more people benefitted, no?’’
After the dealers receive their payment in full, a delivery date
must then be arranged. Once set by the dealer, the town representa-
tive must go in person to the government office to notify them of the
date. Then a representative from SAGARPA will come on the same day
at the same time to inspect the delivery and the recipients. And then
all the people who are to receive the delivery must also be advised in
person to be there at the same time so, as Don Faustino explained,
‘‘the SAGARPA official can note down what each person received,
note their identification documents, to know who they all are, where
they live, each one has this particular animal and so on. They take
photos, collect all the requirements, and finally all is done. Except
that if it is a caja por caja arrangement, the representative must later
come on the day that is set to collect the caja that is owed in return,
perhaps in six months or, if they are lucky, a year.’’

Shrugging, he surmised, ‘‘So you see, it is like that. And as the
representative, well, it is a matter of losing time, to go and ask, and to
see the items, to get different prices, to make the negotiations, to
submit the applications, to wait for the approval, to organize all the
people, back and forth and back and forth. And, well, I lose these
things [all this time], but it is in order to obtain something for them,
for the people. Good, ok. This is one of the satisfactions of being
a leader, you know, that one feels in representing the people. But
that’s all, no more. Because some people that don’t understand, they
think that someone would take something, that they would make
some earning out of it but no,’’ he tisked in annoyance, ‘‘no, it is not
like that.’’ That people had accused him of taking advantage of his
position to gain from these transactions seemed particularly absurd
to him, given that it would not have even been worth the effort to take
advantage when the gains were so little and the efforts were so
great.28
What we hear from Don Faustino, then, is that while the govern-
ment makes available some aid to small farmers, given the high
degree of undercapitalization in these communities, even paying half
the costs for animals is often too high an investment for cash-poor
individuals. For people who have access to more cash and particu-
larly those who are also knowledgeable about such programs, how-
ever, the potential for increasing their gains is much higher. Clearly,
the gains to be made through purchasing some $20 peso chickens or
$200 peso pigs are quite small, and yet the efforts to obtain them
substantial. In contrast, if one were to invest $1,000 pesos, the effort
is the same but the returns far greater. More importantly though, all
of these gains, no matter how small or big, are fundamentally con-
tingent on one’s ability to access these benefits successfully.
I would like to emphasize here that although the process of
applying for such funds seems nonsensical in its over complication,
many such requirements have been implemented to ensure that ben-
efits reach the people for whom they were intended. All of the exces-
sive receipting, documenting, and identifying of animals and people
were at least presumably put in place to prevent abuses. The real
irony is that potential abusers can still easily find a way around such
procedures, for example, through bribery or through getting various
people to apply for funds on their behalf, whereas the intended
beneficiaries are the ones who ultimately pay the consequences
because the application procedures themselves can become the main
28. Details and quotes in this section compiled from recorded interview with Don
Faustino, April 26, 2007 (Code: R1_0066.4.1).

barrier to receiving such funds. Even for those who are knowledge-
able about applying for such funds and who have the literacy skills to
do so, often just the time and expense of acquiring identification
documents such as proper birth records can cost more in terms of
money and effort than they stand to gain from the subsidies. I would
actually identify lack of documents or lack of correctly and consis-
tently filled-out documents as a crucial obstacle to restructuring pro-
duction efforts, an important issue I take up in greater detail
elsewhere (Browning 2009).
In Don Faustino’s case, he was knowledgeable enough about
working with the government bureaucracy to know the process of
preparing and submitting applications and had all the proper docu-
mentation, but still, there was no guarantee that such funds would be
received. Much time and effort can be spent only to have the appli-
cation be mysteriously denied. Nevertheless, by virtue of necessitat-
ing a negotiator to carry out the transactions, many in the community
suspected that such programs further enabled certain people with
more knowledge and good positioning to gain personally from their
roles. Setting aside the potential pettiness of Don Faustino’s critici-
zers, that someone in his position would try to benefit from his or her
situation is entirely plausible. As we will see in the final example, such
suspicions impact cooperation within group projects as well.
Two Greenhouses, a Bunch of Tomatoes, and a Dead Dog
During a municipal junta in the Spring of 2007,29
numerous outspo-
ken townspeople complained about the preferential help they
believed had been given to an invernadero (greenhouse) project for
growing tomatoes undertaken by Don Faustino and funded through
both the municipal government and Alianza’s Modalidad PADER pro-
gram. Many were upset that the municipio would provide funds and
allow community resources to be used for what was essentially a pri-
vate project. The presidente quickly responded to these complaints
by assuring residents that these benefits were open to anyone in the
community. The government, he explained, will help pay for the
costs of projects by individuals or groups in the town who plan to
produce certain kinds of crops as set forth by Alianza regulations. He
called on all those in attendance to come to the municipio with their
ideas so that they could help them to prepare proposals for funding
as well. The crowd openly scoffed at his offer, both in disbelief that
29. Junta details compiled from recorded meeting and fieldnotes, April 13, 2007
(Code: R1_0055.1; FN-G-10.4.13).

help would materialize and in recognition of the difficulty of coming
up with a viable project. It seemed particularly absurd to them that
the government and the municipio would help with such expensive
and water-intensive projects as greenhouse tomatoes but would not
help salvage their most essential crop: corn. They felt that developing
the deep wells and irrigation that would restore corn crops would
surely require less water than tomatoes. Besides, how many green-
houses could one town support? Residents did not view this
approach as part of a strategy that would benefit all community mem-
bers; rather, it would help only those who had sufficient resources
and connections.
Furthermore, several individuals hotly expressed their concern
about the extensive water demands of growing large volumes of
tomatoes, which would no doubt further deplete the community’s
aquifers. The cabildo justified the use of community resources, how-
ever, because these were the choices the government offered and
because it would provide the community with a locally grown, less-
expensive, and reliable source of tomatoes at the same time that it
would potentially help develop a local industry. As Don Faustino
explained to me, ‘‘The idea was that it could be an example, a test,
to see if we could come up with some kind of secure work, to see if
others in the community should enter into this kind of project, you
know, if the greenhouse turned out to be viable.’’ He even referred to
the project as a commitment between their group, the government,
and the community. Somewhat irritated with community members’
responses to the proposal, he complained, ‘‘Most people just don’t
seem to understand that they too can receive this kind of funding.’’
In fact, two greenhouse projects for growing tomatoes had actu-
ally been initiated by community members and undertaken with sub-
sidies from state government and municipio funds. The two projects
were submitted to SAGARPA through the municipio at more or less
the same time in 2005. After about ten months’ time, both projects
were eventually approved, given that they were the only two projects
that had been submitted for government funding from San Juan
Guelav´ıa.
Although both greenhouse projects were ultimately funded and
built in 2006, they had very different outcomes. These outcomes were
due, in part, to the way in which the greenhouses were managed, as
one was essentially undertaken by one individual, Donã Lila, whereas
the other was undertaken by a group of ten individuals, including
Don Faustino and an agronomist from outside San Juan Guelav´ıa.
After some disagreements among members, their group was later
reduced to seven members, six men and one woman.

After assessing the cost of construction for a 300 meter2
green-
house, the state and federal government approved a total cost of
$290,000 pesos (US $29,000) to build each greenhouse, with half of
the costs being paid by the government and the remaining $145,000
pesos being paid, in part, by the municipal government and, in part,
by the individual beneficiaries of each of the projects. As Donã Lila
already had the money in place for her share of her project, a little
more than $70,000 pesos after the municipio invested its portion, her
greenhouse was erected first. In the meantime, Don Faustino’s
group, whose members were struggling to come up with their share
of the funds, shopped around for other greenhouse prices. Although
they were required to match the $145,000 peso amount set by the
government, they found a company that would construct a green-
house of considerably larger size, some 500 meters2
, for the same
price but using more economical materials. This increase could
almost double their potential returns. After municipal funds were
contributed, each partner in Don Faustino’s group had to invest
approximately $10,000 pesos (US $1,000) for the greenhouse
construction.
Based on advice from a horticultural and soils engineer, they
selected a variety of hybrid tomato plants that generate very high
yields but are also susceptible to fungi as well as pests. For this rea-
son, both greenhouses required a fairly complex system of double
entry doors and a sanitation room in order to prevent the introduc-
tion of diseases or pests that could induce crop failures. Although
Don Faustino’s group managed to make it through their first growing
season without such catastrophe, Donã Lila was not so lucky. Accord-
ing to several community members, her greenhouse suffered large
losses due to contamination. Many speculated this was because she
hired laborers who were not as careful as Don Faustino’s group,
whose members did all the work themselves. Some people even
suspected his group of having sabotaged Donã Lila’s project. Accord-
ing to Don Faustino and his partners, however, one of the advantages
of the company that constructed their greenhouse was that it also
provided the plants and offered a guarantee of not only the structure
and water systems, but also the plants. For this reason, they period-
ically sent technicians to inspect the structure and the harvests to
help ensure that the crop was successful. Clearly, this played an
important role in the eventual success of their project relative to the
unfortunate outcome of Donã Lila’s.
Nevertheless, Don Faustino’s group did not make it through the
year unscathed. Many differences had arisen within the group. There
were disagreements over who should control the keys to the facilities

and over deciding how resources and labor were to be divided. As
Don Faustino explained, ‘‘One person wanted more order but then
wouldn’t arrive at the time designated. Another, a soils engineer from
outside, criticized the work but didn’t do any of the work himself.
Another didn’t work but always showed up and another didn’t come
at the designated times but worked on his own. And so on.’’30
Although the original agreement among the members was that each
partner would receive an equal share of the tomatoes at harvest,
which they were then entitled to sell as they saw fit, many felt the
input from members had not been equal. Resentment grew among
members over the course of the season about the unequal share of
work performed, and some questioned whether those who had put
in less effort should receive the same share of tomatoes as those who
had put in considerably more effort.
One member in particular had consistently failed to complete his
share of the work. After several aggravating months, once the harvests
were ready, the group informed him that he would be given a smaller
portion of the tomatoes, which they had already set aside for him
after having taken their own shares. Following a particularly heated
argument, he left with his tomatoes in a fit of anger, swearing he
would have nothing more to do with the project. A few days later,
the water pump for the irrigation system became clogged. After
a short investigation, an already putrefied dead dog was discovered
in the greenhouse well. Since the well was tightly covered, the group
was adamant that it could not have been an accident. Although no
one implicated the particular disgruntled individual, everyone clearly
suspected him of the misdeed. With all the widespread complaints
about water use for the greenhouse and the accusations of sabotaging
Donã Lila’s greenhouse, however, no one could be certain of the
culprit. Given that a water-source contamination such as a dead dog
presented a serious health problem, the well, the tank, and the entire
hose system had to be purged and disinfected, which required that
someone descend into the well to remove the carcass and clean the
well. The disgust with which Don Faustino described this task made
clear that it had been a difficult situation that left many members of
the group sore. Exasperated with the difficulty of achieving cooper-
ation and the desperate lengths to which people went to undermine
one another, he shook his head, raising his hands in a helpless ges-
ture of resignation, ‘‘How are we going to resolve something like
this?’’
30. Excerpt from recorded interview with Don Faustino, April 26, 2007 (Code:
R1_0067-4.1).

Despite such setbacks, the greenhouse eventually produced
a good crop. By the spring of 2006, the first tomato plants had been
transplanted and by June they began harvesting. Over the three-
month harvest season, the greenhouse churned out almost three tons
of tomatoes, which sold for approximately $15 to $20 pesos per kilo.
As the group was entitled to keep all of the earnings, they managed to
receive a fair return on their investment: they had to invest a com-
bined total of $70,000 pesos to erect the greenhouse and then had to
purchase plants, fertilizers, and pesticides, for which they received
some modest subsidies. Then they put in their labor. They received
a gross return of between $90,000 and $120,000 pesos.31
As the
group felt the endeavor was profitable, they continued planting the
following year.
By mid-summer of 2007, I spoke with Don Faustino after he had
finished tallying up the production for the second season thus far.
‘‘We’re already at three tons and we’re only just reaching halfway
through the harvest season,’’ he proudly smiled. He nodded at my
surprise with satisfaction. ‘‘But there is a difference—’’ he paused for
effect, ‘‘the price,’’ he finally said flatly. ‘‘Last year we sold at $15 to
$20 pesos per kilo, and now,’’ he again paused for effect, ‘‘now we’re
selling at $7 pesos per kilo.’’ They were producing double yet selling
for less than half the price. ‘‘Why? What happened?’’ I asked him.
‘‘Well, you see, it’s that now there’s already many others who are
doing this [growing tomatoes] and there are many that have green-
houses. Practically every pueblo has at least one. And then, there is so
much that arrives here from other places. In other words, there is
competition.’’32
The Problem with Good Intentions
In all of the examples provided, especially in the case of the two
greenhouses, we can surmise that the problem with good intentions
when it comes to agricultural restructuring is that they have many
unintended consequences. Although government funds have been
made available to subsidize the development of horticultural crops
and livestock products that were identified and targeted in the NAFTA
31. As the price fluctuated within the season, between $15 and $20 pesos per kilo,
this range is calculated based on the selling price and volume produced that Don
Faustino provided. He did not tell me a specific number for the gross profit. I’m not
sure they even know an exact gross amount since most of these transactions were
carried out in cash by each individual separately.
32. Excerpt from recorded interview with Don Faustino, July 5, 2007 (Code: R1_
0105.9.1).

agreements to replace faltering corn harvests and aid rural liveli-
hoods, the manner in which these programs have been implemented
has had many unfortunate consequences at the community level.
First, many people neither understand how the government pro-
grams work nor how to access them. This misunderstanding creates
the sense that those who apply for and receive such funds have done
so through illegitimate means. They are suspected of either receiving
advantages by way of favoritism, by way of their position or financial
means, or simply by way of knowing more than others. The erratic
way in which the government approves or denies proposals—which
often has to do with filling quotas for a particular region or other such
bureaucratic considerations—contributes to the perception that
some people get more ‘‘favors’’ through either position or outright
bribery. The variable outcomes of such projects, such as the contam-
ination in Donã Lila’s greenhouse versus the lack of contamination in
Don Faustino’s, is again evidence for many of ill-doings in order to
get ahead and yet, at the same time, results from uneven distribution
of information and knowledge. Don Faustino’s group, comprised of
several individuals who were knowledgeable about working with
other government-funded projects, managed to seek out a more
secure arrangement for their project than did Donã Lila.
Despite their knowledge of working with such programs and
their experience as farmers, however, these examples demonstrate
the great degree of risk that individuals must undertake in order to
shift to new crops and technologies. This risk is part of the reason
why many individuals, even those who have the resources to under-
take such a project, still prefer to stick with what they know: corn.
Although returns might be low, they stand a better chance of staying
afloat by investing in increased corn production, albeit perhaps on
more marginal land and/or utilizing more marginal production prac-
tices. Furthermore, given corn’s long shelf life and its centrality to the
American diet, farmers can consume what they produce. In contrast,
the quick deterioration of tomatoes makes their cultivation more
risky and their markets more volatile.
Second, work within Don Faustino’s greenhouse group was
extremely difficult to negotiate. Cooperation among partners was
tenuous at best, in large part because each member had equal say
in the management of the project and yet no authority to demand
anything of the others. The only way in which they could enforce
control over others was to band together as a group and deny another
a portion of his or her share. As we have seen, however, this action
may have had dramatic consequences. As Don Faustino once told me,
‘‘People here would prefer to have several quiet enemies than one

loud one’’ or, as it turned out, a dead dog in the well. For someone
like Don Faustino, the application procedures for applying for gov-
ernment funds feel like less of a barrier to getting ahead than do his
own people. Much like George Foster (1967) and Eric Wolf (1957)
long ago argued about closed-corporate communities, great effort
must be exerted to avoid provoking the dangerous consequences
of anger and envy (see also, for example, Greenberg 1989; Kearney
1972; Nader 1964; and Nash 1967). Yet such communities are not
closed. Differences in wealth are increasing rather than being leveled
while community members still attempt to regulate the community
using standards of communally shared resources, which are not nec-
essarily compatible with engagement in private enterprise when they
involve the use of extremely limited community resources. When it
takes place within the parameters of capitalist production, coopera-
tion in such projects feels less like cooperation for the good of the
community and more like individual profiteering utilizing the bene-
fits of ‘‘free’’ community resources.
Third, in the second year of production, as Don Faustino’s toma-
toes were ripening on the vines, the regional price in tomatoes fell
because there had been so much competition in the market for toma-
toes. Although the Mexican government has been promoting the shift
to such horticultural crops through its subsidy programs for campe-
sinos, it has been doing so across the board. Now the glut of tomatoes
produced in the northern states for urban domestic consumption
and export to the north is making its way to the south; at the same
time, locally, practically every town has put in a greenhouse to grow
tomatoes because it is one of the few things for which they can
receive some sort of investment help. And, unlike corn, tomatoes
cannot be stored until a time when the prices might be more favor-
able. Although Don Faustino’s group did still make a profit the sec-
ond year, this was only because they had a much larger harvest than
the first year. For group members, the endeavor was difficult, and
given the price fluctuations of tomatoes, they said they were consid-
ering perhaps growing a different product next time, although no
one was quite sure exactly what.
Finally, the crops such farmers can grow if they wish to transition
away from corn are largely determined by what the government will
help fund. Yet, the government seems to have given little forethought
in the new agricultural plan for México regarding the viability and
sustainability of the crops they have chosen to promote. The focus on
horticultural crops as directed by the terms of NAFTA seems particu-
larly perverted as those crops tend to be so water intensive and are
going to be grown in known drought-prone regions. This poses

particular challenges to local resource management, particularly
because the promotion of such crops has been indiscriminate. The
only way to make up for low prices as these crops reach saturation
point is to produce more of them, demanding even more water re-
sources and further deflating prices because there are virtually no
other alternatives.
Plowing Ahead: Directions for Future Research and
Development
Through the course of this paper, I have shown how corn producers
in San Juan Guelav´ıa face numerous challenges that could be catego-
rized as environmental, economic, social, and political. I have also
shown the ways they have been responding to these challenges. In
some cases, they have attempted to increase production when they
had the ability to do so, generally determined by their access to water,
good land, help, and to off-farm resources such as migration remit-
tances. Such investment has proven extremely risky, however, in the
context of drought, competition for scarce resources, and low crop
prices. In other cases, producers have augmented or abandoned corn
production by shifting to new production strategies and crops such
as the greenhouse projects, although lack of government support in
regulating and stabilizing markets, even for the crops they are pro-
moting to producers, undermines their production efforts and en-
courages increased consumption for scarce water resources. In yet
other cases, farmers have left Guelav´ıa entirely, sometimes to build
a life elsewhere but often to subsidize production for those family
members who have remained at home.
As I stated at the opening of this article, while the picture is bleak
for Guelav´ıan producers, it is not entirely without hope. Were more
concerted effort put into researching and funding crops that can be
sustainably harvested in drought-prone regions, concomitant with
government commitment to regulate, stabilize, and enhance small-
farmer access to markets for their goods, Guelav´ıans could stand
a chance of rebuilding lives and livelihoods. Investigating the viability
of deep wells, reservoirs, and irrigation systems could potentially
help restabilize production if water conservation were also more
closely promoted and regulated. Furthermore, the general paucity
of capital in these regions is a primary barrier to restructuring pro-
duction efforts. Even according to the World Bank, the cost of doing
business in southern México is much higher than anywhere else in
the country, and this is particularly true for small entrepreneurs and
family farms due to ‘‘the scarcity and poor quality of financial services

in the region,’’ which has the lowest bank density in the nation
(Caballero 2003: 13–14). In the World Bank’s findings, only 15 per-
cent of Banca Popular institutions and 5 percent of Mexican com-
mercial banks even operate in the south. Worse, the majority of
money deposited into southern banks tends to be lent out of state,
most often to the federal government for bonds, rather than being
reinvested in the capital-poor farms and small business enterprises
trying to make a living in the south (see also Gordillo de Anda, et al.
1999: 117–131; Myhre 1996: 117–138; 1998: 39–65). Investigating
and developing the potential of micro-banking or simply making
available affordable rural credit could do much to help rural peoples
regain some level of self-sufficiency. Although some subsidies and
other funding have been made available to small farmers, as I have
shown, often the knowledge of such programs and the process of
accessing their benefits are formidable barriers to utilizing them.
Promoting programs in a manner appropriate to regions of high
illiteracy and simplifying the complicated nature of applying for them
is yet another key area of improvement.
Finally, any efforts that are made to investigate and improve rural
livelihoods should take into account local needs and understanding;
otherwise, they are likely to fail. One could argue that rural programs
such as Alianza para el Campo were never really intended to work;
rather, such programs were put in place to placate the poor rural
masses with empty promises and programs. The way in which they
have been implemented, however, not only fails to capitalize produc-
tion, but also undermines the social systems and the resource base of
the communities they were intended to help. Since such programs
are already in place, why not start by making them more effective?
Restoring sustainable rural self-sufficiency to the hands that have long
fed the nation is not simply a matter of good will—I argue it is in the
national self interest. Doing so could help curb the flow of migrants
to the ever-expanding high-risk populations of urban poor and will
help secure the water and food security of the nation for future
generations.
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