Glacial governmental indifference calls for desperate measures, which is what a group of calandrieros – traditional horse-drawn carriage drivers – claim to have resorted to in their fight to preserve a century-old custom and, more importantly, their livelihoods.
Since Monday, December 4, the drivers have been occupying a spot in the colonnaded shade of the Palacio Municipal, to the right of the building’s wrought iron entrance, where they have vowed not to take nourishment until Mayor Enrique Alfaro, a major proponent of the calandrias’ replacement, hands back the operating licenses confiscated from them almost 15 days ago.
The license confiscation is seen by the hunger striking drivers as a vengeful, punitive measure taken in retaliation for their refusal to sign a document of support for the eventual swapping of the traditional calandrias for the electric powered models.
“Well, [we’ll stay here] until the mayor comes to an agreement with us. So far, he hasn’t given us any response,” said Juan Jose Anzures, a driver with almost 50 years of experience plying his trade on the streets of Guadalajara’s centro historico. “We want to go back to work, with our calandrias with horses, and [Alfaro] wants us to use electric calandrias.”
“A horse-less calandria ceases to be a calandria,” chimed in Rafael Avalos, a more robustly proportioned man than the compact Anzures. Avalos has more than 50 years as a calandriero under his silver-buckled belt. He doubts that tourists will show much interest in a calandria not pulled by horses.
Together with Juan Jose Orozco, a quiet, diminutive man with 30 years experience clutching the calandria reins, these three men seemed to embody the fierce pride of a centuries-old profession solemnly handed down generation to generation. The issue of animal welfare aside, the air of wounded dignity evinced by the trio – squinting in the sun in front a single tent pitched in the shade and surrounded by signs proclaiming their cause – speaks volumes about what is at stake: the death of a way of life.
“[Through the hunger strike] we’re begging the support of the public,” Avalos asserted. “Why? Because the calandrias aren’t ours, they belong to the public and to the national and international tourists that visit Guadalajara.”
Alfaro, for his part, is immovable on the issue - not surprisingly, given his habit of brooking no compromise with parties opposed to his pet projects.
“Authorizations [to drive calandrias] that are being given out are temporary,” stated Alfaro. “Those drivers who haven’t signed off on the new system will not be able to work.”
Not only does the mayor refuse to cede a centimeter of territory to the protestors, he also sees in the protests themselves the invisible, manipulative hand of his political enemies in the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI).
“What we see here is an act - which to tell you the truth really cracks me up - of cynicism,” asserted Alfaro, before stating with an air of finality that there is no space for negotiation.
According to these three men arrayed on the palace steps, the calandrias currently operating in the centro historico are ones whose owners and drivers signed the controversial electric calandria agreement.
“The mayor is deliberately confusing people by having 10 to 20 calandrias on the streets working. People think they’re manned by regular calandrieros, but in fact they’re those who have chosen to support the mayor,” said Anzures.
“[Alfaro] used coercion to get drivers to sign,” continued Anzures. “Those for the electric calandrias can work. Those that aren’t, those that don’t agree with the mayor’s ideas, can’t work.”
A fund has been opened for the out-of-work calandrieros at Banco Azteca. The number, should you wish to donate, is 95961344648873.