The Land that Cried BloodRebuilding the kindom ofcochineal in Oaxaca

OAXACA, Oaxaca September 30, 1996

By William F. Foote

The legend began in the Mixteca Region, land of the Cloud Men, located in theeastern corridor of modern-day Oaxaca. Before the advent of mankind, when theearth was inhabited by gods, two powerful deities fought in its mountainous terrainover the possession of an enormous crop of nopal cacti. During the fierce and tragicbattle, the gods each inflicted mortal wounds; their blood splattered across the nopalfields. Not wanting the bodies to remain on earth, their siblings descended from thesky and carried the battered remains back to Heaven on a bed of clouds.

Thus the Ancient Mexicans explained the origination of cochineal an organic dyenative to the state of Oaxaca. In reality, the red pigment comes not from the blood ofgods but of bugs that cling to the fleshy leaves of the nopal cactus. Approximatelyan eighth of an inch long, the female insects resemble small brown grains coveredwith white powder. Ovipositing on the prickly leaves, they feed on the plant juices,converting them into carminic acid, a brilliant red pH reactive compound.

The pre-Columbian tribes of Oaxaca coveted noschestli, the Nuhatl word for cac-tus blood. By boiling it with lemon juice or leaves, they could obtain countless varia-tions of reds and purples. They used these to lend color to their civilization: paintingtemples and bodies, dyeing textiles, writing codices. Later, cochineal became the fa-vorite form of tribute demanded by their northern conquerors, the Aztecs.

During the European conquest of Mexico in the early 1500s, the Spaniards

Cloud-like powder coveringfemale cochineal bugs that feed on the juices of nopal cacti

Pre-Hispanic chores: a modern Zapotec woman dyes wool in theOaxacan sierra with traditional vegetable pigments.

witnessed the multiple applications of cochineal. Rap-idly they set off to monopolize its production and tosell it as a luxurious fiber dye throughout the world. Bythe early 18th century, the colonial profits that Spain re-ceived from the sale of cochineal were surpassed onlyby those of gold and silver.

The success story ended abruptly, however, follow-ing the introduction of mass-produced, synthetic dyesin the mid-1900s. During the 20th century, the worldwould forget about cochineal and most other naturalcolorants. Indeed, Oaxaca’s sacred insect might havegone extinct if, in the early 1980s, international healthauthorities had not declared many synthetic dyes es-pecially red ones- to be carcinogenic.

Today, the industrial world has sought out cochinealto dye myriad products: cosmetics, medicines, frozenmeats, candies and liquors like Campari. Since it is theworld’s only edible noncarcinogenic red pigment, de-mand for cochineal has skyrocketed. Over the past dec-ade it has risen from close to nothing to nearly 600 tonsannually. Since 1990, as the back-to-nature movementhas gained momentum and as more countries (espe-2 WF-12

cially in Europe) have prohibited artificialdyes, the price of cactus blood has leaped fromnine to 85 dollars per kilo.

"As far as know," said Victor Chagoya, asuccessful agro-industrialist in Oaxaca, "theonly crops in Latin America that can competewith cochineal in [unit] price are drugs."

The product could bring much-neededprofits to Oaxaca, one of Mexico’s pooreststates. Unfortunately, cochineal productionhas all but disappeared here and across Mex-ico. Since the 1970s, numerous governmentprograms have failed to revive the industry.Today, with an annual output of only 300 ki-los per year, Mexico doesn’t even register onthe global production charts. In stark contrast,Peru ranks first with 420 tons exported lastyear. At the same time, having begun produc-tion only in 1993, Chile logged 40 tons, fol-lowed by the Canary Islands and Bolivia with30 and eight tons, respectively.

How did Oaxaca, the historical cradle ofcochineal, fall so far behind? This questionunderscores the current debate raging overthe future of the industry in Mexico. On oneside of the issue are bureaucrats and academ-ics the purveyors of past cochineal projects.They lung to rescue traditional productionmethods that worked so well during the pre-Columbian and colonial periods. Their effortshave involved research, training courses andsubsidies for indigenous producers. All theseaim to reactivate family production units indestitute rural areas, part of larger designs torescue Oaxaca’s peasant economy in general.

On the other side are businessmen and agro-industrialists who advocate the application of moderntechnology to create commercial cochineal farms. Whilenot discounting the campesino element, they argue thattoday’s industrial buyers (e.g:, Warner-Jenkinson in theU,S., Hansen in Denmark Sumitomo in Japan) purchaseonly en masse that is, by the ton, not by the kilo. Toboost the volume of Mexico’s cochineal production,they stress the need for broader, business-oriented vi-sion and bigger investment.

"Peru and Chile did it, so can we," said Ignacio delRio, owner of the only modern cochineal farm in Oax-aca. Yet the chemical engineer, who once hawked artifi-cial dyes for multinational corporations, warned thatMexico must act now or lose an historic opportunity.With cochineal prices spiraling as global demand out-strips supply, the innovative and impatient market isbound to find a cheaper alternative.

"Mexico succumbed to synthetic dyes a centuryago," he concluded. "We have been given a secondchance, so we better take it."

These nests of straw are filled with insects and attached to the nopat leaves to "infest" them with cochineal insects.

THE NEAR DEATH OF A ROYALE DYE

Red colorants were scarce back home when Colum-bus arrived in the New World. In 1523, in a letter ad-dressed to Hernn Cort6z, Carlos V of Spain requestedinformation about cochineal. Soon after, through hiscontacts with the merchants of Cadiz, E1 Greco beganimporting the pigment from Mexico for his paintings.Before long, kings, emperors and popes would be color-ing their lips, cheeks and crimson robes with Oaxacancactus blood. By the early 18th century, the Spanish hadbuilt a cochineal empire stretching from Persia to China,from England to Africa.

To ensure their supply, Mexico’s colonial authoritiesformed a large organization in Oaxaca for the produc-tion, collection and sale of cochineal. They had much towork with: during pre-Hispanic times, the insect hadbeen cultivated in 35 towns that produced some ninetons of cochineal per year. After the conquest, that activ-ity spread to approximately 100 communities in Oaxaca,which, in the year 1774 alone, reportedly exported over700 tons of the dye. By that time, the industry had also ex-tended to a dozen different states in Mexico as well asother countries, including Guatemala, Honduras, BrazilChile, Bolivia and Spain (in the Canary Islands).2

Interestingly, the Spanish conserved the age-old in-digenous production system for cochineal. As they had

DatingJ’om the 18th century, this Spanishen’aving depicts an indigenous OaxacanCollecting cochineal from a nopal cactus.

1. Colorantes Naturales de Mexico, Industrias Resistol,(1988), pp. 56-63. Also Sunday Times London, 03/31/96.2. Most historical information obtained from interviews with the following experts: Professor Tito Saldibafiez of the AgrarianTechnology Institute of Oaxaca (ITAO) and Enrique Audiffred Bustamante, the former director of Handicrafts and PopularIndustries of the State of Oaxaca (ARIPO).

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since the 10th century, Oaxacan families grandpar-ents and children included- continued to cultivate thenopal cactus and the cochineal insects on small house-hold plots as part of their daily activities. Consolidatingthat output for exportation, colonial officials reportedlypaid producers one peso for every 1,000 pesos earnedfrom cochineal sales. In hindsight, these terms of trib-ute, as opposed to trade, would exact a price in return.

In 1810, Mexico declared war against Spain, emulat-ing their northern neighbors’ defiance of the British RedCoats (whose uniforms, incidentally, had to be dyedwith cochineal, pursuant to English law). At the outsetof the War of Independence, Oaxacan rebels burned oneof the great symbols of Spanish oppression: the nopalfields. The surviving cacti fell quickly into abandon, justas international cochineal prices plummeted due to in-creased production from Peru, Guatemala and the Ca-nary Islands. At last, Oaxaca’s kingdom of cochinealhad begun to crumble...

Then it fell. In 1845, Germany and England beganmass-producing synthetic dyes. Addressing acentral environmental problem of the indus-trial revolution, European scientists con-

lemon juice, the blood red liquid turned Episcopalpurple.

"Bed," said Fausto. "That’s the Zapotec word for cac-tus blood." Conferring with his dad in that language, heexplained that his parents always bought their cochi-neal from an old man who lived about two hours southof Teotitln. "Don Lauro was his name," said Helario."For many years, he was the only cochineal producer inthe Central Valleys. Thanks to him, we never forgotabout noschestli."

THE LEGACY OF DON LAURO: FAILED RESCUEPROGRAMS

In the Spring of 1980, Don Lauro Ramirez died whiletending his nopals on the outskirts of San Augustin Am-atengo, a rural community of some 2,500 inhabitants. Inhis eighties, the campesino had spent a lifetime in thethree-room adobe house located around the corner froma sky-blue church. At the end of main street just beyondthe town line, corn fields and maguey plants now en-

verted coal soot into a wide range of artificialcolorants. As the costs of these were incom- ........parably cheaper than those of organic dyes,the global market for cochineal soon disap-peared. By the turn of the century, for the firsttime in some 800 years, Oaxaca’s indigenouscommunities had stopped cultivating cactusblood. That the insect survived into this cen-tury is attributable to a handful of local arti-sans who, for the sake of tradition, kept usingnatural pigments.

"Cochineal permeated our Zapotec cul-ture," explained Helario Contreras, 78, a Oax-acan weaver who claims never to have aban-doned the dye his grandfather taught him touse. Helario is one of some 5,000 artisans inTeotitln del Valle, a town located about 30minutes east of Oaxaca City. Famousthroughout Mexico, this Indian community :"produces 75 percent of the wall hangings andrugs in the state of Oaxaca. During the 20thcentury, however, only a dozen or so of itscraftsmen remained faithful to vegetabledyes: indigo, pomegranate rind, pecan nut-shells, moss and cochineal.

To reach Heladio’s mud-brick house,walked 15 minutes into a ragtag residentialdistrict far removed from Teotitln’s bustling,centrally-located rug market. This was notourist show. Sitting before an antique loominherited from his grandfather, Helariowatched his youngest son and apprenticethread wool yarn into a boiling vat of cochi-neal. As Fausto Contreras stirred the bub-bling pot, adding a mixture of vinegar and

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Fausto Contreras hangs blood-red yarn above a boiling vat of cochineal.

In launching that first project, LANFI hiredan 18-year-old Zapotec man named WilfridoRamirez to live and work with Don Lauro forone year. Raised in an indigenous village inthe Sierra Juarez mountains of Oaxaca, Wil-frido had the cultural affinity and small-townbearing needed to facilitate communicationwith Don Lauro. Years later, those same quali-ties would prove useful in his job as the localbuyer for a ceramics exporter based in Tijuana.

"Looking bacK" said Wilfrido, standing in-side his pottery warehouse, "I wasted a lot oftime with Don Lauro considering that justmonths after the LANFI project ended,opened a kiosk back home. Within weeks,was making five times what the state ever paidme.

Wages aside, Wilfrido enjoyed his year inAmatengo. Each day he would accompany theold man to the nopal fields. Having studiedagro-engineering in high school, he was skep-tical at first of Don Lauro’s rustic techniques.Wilfrido doubted, for example, that blowingthe smoke of burning chiles onto cactus leaveswould actually keep predatqrs from eating thecochineal bugs. Yet upon seeing how thedreaded telero worms wriggled and droppeddead under the fumes, he began to believe.

"The townspeople often chuckled," Wil-frido recalled. "There goes Don Lauro with hiswitchcraft, they’d say. But everything he didhad a purpose. The ancient rites, the old ways,they really work."

In the Contreras’s back yard, Fausto stands beside his elderly father,Helario, with their homemade looms in the background.

croach on the remains of his cacti patch. Sprinkled overthe prickly leaves, dabs of white powder cover tinybugs, living memories of the Father of Cochineal.

"Don Lauro was a significant figure in our history,"said Enrique Audiffred, former director of Handicraftsand Popular Industries of the State of Oaxaca (ARIPO)."He alone was responsible for keeping our cactus bugalive during the onslaught of synthetic dyes."

Thus the rescue of cochineal commenced in Amatengo.In 1974, Don Lauro agreed to advise the National Labora-tories for Agro-Industrial Promotion (LANFI) in whatwould be the first of a series of government-sponsoredprograms to resurrect Mexico’s cochineal industry. Extol-ling the virtues of the natural dye, state authoritiesclaimed it matched perfectly the needs of Oaxaca’s dirt-poor farmers: low initial investment, intensive labor,adaptability to deforested land, minimal water require-ments, three-month production cycles. Furthermore,cochineal was non-perishable, priced in dollars and en-

joyed rising international demand.

According to Audiffred, Wilfrido’s twelve-month tutelage successfully uncovered the se-crets of cochineal production that might other-

wise have died with Don Lauro. Much to Audiffred’sdismay, however, the budget of the LANFI project wentthe way of an outgoing administration in the late 1970s.Several years later, as the new director of ARIPO, Audif-fred would hire Wilfrido once again to continue theirresearch.

In 1983, the National Indigenous Institute (INI)launched a program to plant nopal for cochineal pro-duction in numerous communities throughout Oax-aca. Meanwhile, ARIPO inaugurated the Lauro Rami-rez Experimental Garden in memory of the maestrofrom Amatengo. To maximize productivity, Wilfridobegan testing insect acceptance of different types ofnopals. He experimented with fertilizers, pest con-trols, primitive green houses. Over time he wouldmake several important breakthroughs, achievementsthat, combined with Audiffred’s ardent backing, wonWilfrido the 1985 National Award for CampesinoProduction and Organization.

"Frankly, the prize was premature," said Wilfrido.

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Central Valleys, they planted 80 acres of state-supplied nopal and "infested" the cacti withcochineal bugs. Like the Spanish Crown twocenturies before, the project sponsors reliedon family labor and household plots.

"The idea was to offer a crop complemen-tary to the normal productive activities ofcampesinos," said Feliciano Cruz of the Secre-tariat of Agrarian and Forestry Development(SEDAF). With grandparents, women andchildren working weekdays and fathersweekends, cochineal was expected to providean additional minimum wage per family.

One of six project organizers, Cruz helpeddesign training courses for producers in Oax-aca City as well as in each participant commu-nity. Meanwhile, the state government bank-rolled all the raw materials: nopal, insects,fencing, rudimentary greenhouses (lumber,nails, plastic), cinder-block storage facilities. Inhindsight, Cruz regretted that full subsidy as itserved to undermine the producers’ commit-ment, which, according to him, increases pro-portionally with the level of personal risk.

"When campesinos receive something forfree," Cruz explained, "they don’t value theirwork, they neglect their responsibilities."

Wilfrido Ramirez, Don Lauro’s former student, standing inside hispottery warehouse just outside Oaxaca City

"The project had only just begun and Audiffred was al-ready shouting victory."

A momentary celebrity, Wilfrido loathed the lime-light. Asked to instruct academics from Mexico Cityand visiting students from U.S. universities, he recalledhis embarrassment when someone referred to the scien-tific names of his nopals: "I didn’t know there was sucha thing," he admitted. While upset that his experimen-tal garden soon became a tourist attraction, he neverthe-less enjoyed meeting former President Miguel de LaMadrid at the award ceremony in Mexico City.

In late 1986, Audiffred left office and the cochinealproject was canceled. Soon after, a group of academicsat the Agrarian Institute of Technology of Oaxaca(ITAO) expanded upon ARIPO’s research, cultivatinginsects obtained from Amatengo. Two years later, theState Secretary of Rural Development hired the teamfrom ITAO to apply their findings to the field. Recruit-ing 16 communities scattered throughout Oaxaca’s

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Sure enough, by 1992, the year the ITAOproject was officially canceled, virtually all 80acres of nopal had been abandoned. Predatorshad eaten the cochineal bugs. Dozens of con-crete storehouses had been converted intochicken coups or extra bedrooms. Meanwhile,far from thankful to the government, the 16communities involved were angry over thetime and energy wasted. To this day, in fact,the mere mention of that ruined venture can

flare tempers in the sleepiest of towns.

"It was a crying shame," bellowed Filogenio Ramirez,visibly indignant under the shade of a cedar tree in theheart of Amatengo. As the former head of the local cochi-neal committee, he offered another view of the failed pro-ject. By 1990, according to Ramirez’s calculations, Ama-tengo had over 70 families producing 80 kilos of cactusblood every three months. Yet there was a problem:

"Nobody wanted our product," stated a bristlingRamirez. In fact, he claims to have spent the better partof a year driving around Oaxaca in search of buyers.Judged by his story, it would seem that the govern-ment-backed program floundered due to a lack of ac-cess to markets rather than of commitment from thecampesinos, as the SEDAF official suggested. At least,that is what Ramirez argued before the crowd gatheredaround us.

"We broke our backs," he avowed, waving his fist for

effect. A dozen cowboy hats nodded in agreement."And for what? to sell a measly kilo or two to the rugweavers? No sefor. With no demand, we had no choicebut to abandon our nopal crops."

Back at the SEDAF offices, Cruz admitted that in theirfixation with rescuing cochineal production, the projectorganizers neglected to consider marketing issues seri-ously. "We didn’t have relationships with foreign im-porters," he lamented, adding that the local demand forcochineal was much smaller than the government hadanticipated.

As misguided as the market forecasts may havebeen, faulty commercialization represented but one ofa host of shortfalls characterizing the state’s rescueprograms. Just as damaging, for example, was thelack of project continuity. Rejecting the stopgap na-ture of many farm-support efforts in Mexico, thecochineal ventures in Oaxaca- including several leftunmentioned ended abruptly whenever their

elected or appointed champions left office.

"Rural assistance has always been a personalized af-fair in Mexico," commented Ignacio del Rio. Accordingto the chemical engineer, with each new administration,public officials typically impose their tastes accordingto the latest developmental fads: cochineal mescal,palm fronds, coffee, etc. "The one thing that has neverbeen fashionable," added Del Rio sarcastically, "is for apolitician to continue his predecessor’s projects."

Predictably, the champion of the ARIPO programdisagreed. As Audiffred saw it, the reason the govern-ment failed to rescue cochineal was crystal-clear: theteachings of Don Lauro were poorly applied. Above allelse, he blamed that on the cultural insensitivity ofstate-employed agronomists. Audiffred believes that af-ter he left office in 1986, the project managers imposedinappropriate techniques on indigenous cochineal pro-ducers. In so doing, they failed to consider the tradi-tional, Indian way of thinking.

"In general," stated Audiffred, "agrono-mists think they have all the answers. Un-fortunately, that arrogance undermines thesyncretism needed for Oaxacan farmers toaccept projects as their own."

Of course, the agronomists themselves citeother problems, like land-tenure conflicts.ITAO professor Tito Saldibahez, who wrotehis Ph.D. thesis on cochineal argued that age-old property disputes inhibited cochineal’srecovery. Whether based on personal, politi-cal or religious differences, these types of in-ternal divisions in rural communities under-mine farm-support efforts across Mexico.

As reflected in the case of cochineal, one ofthe communities that participated in theITAO project allegedly had four different re-ligions represented, three of them evangeli-cal. At one point, two adversarial denomina-tions burned each others’ nopal patches. "Inthat case," said Saldibahez, "religious fanati-cism killed the cochineal."

In retrospect, whatever the causes for fail-ure bad marketing, project discontinuity,cultural insensitivity, land-tenure disputes-the government rescue missions clearlyflopped. The fact remains that more than 20years after Don Lauro agreed to help resur-rect the cochineal industry, Mexico continuesto generate only 300 kilos or so of dried cactusblood per year.

Filogenio Ramirez displays a nopal cactus planted in Amatengoas part ofa controversial state-sponsored cochineal project.

Meanwhile, other Latin American coun-tries especially Peru are producing hun-dreds of tons of cochineal annually. The dif-ferences are clear. Over the past two decades,while Oaxaca focused on resurrecting a centu-

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ries-old production system, the South Ameri-cans were modernizing cochineal productionwith late-20th-century technology. Instead ofrelying on government subsidies and cater-ing exclusively to the peasant economy, thePeruvians and other modernists turned toprivate investment, commercial nopal farmsand economies of scale. These, it would seem,have given rise to the modern kingdoms ofcochineal.

Will Mexico ever catch up? Some think so,but only if it follows the example set by Peruand Chile. Granted, saving Don Lauro’s se-crets was important, a necessary first step.But simply rescuing pre-Columbian tradi-tions was not enough. The Oaxacan country-side is far from modern, but does that mean itshould be treated like a museum? To date, thepurveyors of past cochineal projects appearto have done just that. With all eyes fixed onthe past, their critics argue, the industry hasno future.

"It’s a clash between romanticism and in-novation," said agro-industrialist Victor Cha-goya, "the oldest story in Oaxaca."

MODERN KINGDOMS OF COCHINEAL:PERU, CHILE... MEXICO?

During the early 1980s, in Mexico City, Ig-nacio del Rio helped found a company calledEspectrum S.A. to import synthetic dyes forsale in Mexico. He and four partners targetedthe food and beverage, pharmaceutical andcosmetics industries. When internationalhealth authorities linked artificial colorants tocancer, however, Espectrum reacted to grow-ing demand for natural colorants. Sales in-creased, especially those of an organic pigment calledCarmine. Unfamiliar with the product, Del Rio soonlearned that it was extracted from the dried, crushedbodies of the cochineal bug. Reviewing the companyrecords, he traced their shipments to an unlikely placein the chemical business: Peru.

"It seemed ridiculous," recalled Del Rio. "Whywould we have been importing from South America ifthe dye was native to Mexico?"

In hopes of reducing costs, Del Rio and his colleaguesflew to Oaxaca whence, according to their sources, cac-tus blood originated. They scoured the village markets."We spent a week searching in vain amid the hand-woven baskets, mangos and chapulines (edible grass-hoppers)," said the chemical engineer. "Boy, was that awild-goose chase!"

At about the same time, Leopoldo Cabilleses, a Oaxa-can entrepreneur who grew up in Peru, traveled to thatcountry with an interest in establishing links with the

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Professor Tito Saldibaez shows off a nopal cactusoutside his office at ITAO.

Andean cochineal industry. Through family contacts,the engineer had learned of two Yugoslav immigrantswho helped turn Peru’s traditional cochineal trade intoa modern export industry. In the early 1970s, the east-ern Europeans patented technology to extract carminicacid from cochineal. Attracting private investors, theyemployed advanced agro-industrial technology and be-gan marketing the product as the only edible, noncar-cenogenic red dye in the world.

Aware of these developments, Cabilleses met with theexecutives of Quimica Universal S.A. in downtown Lima.Gathered around a conference table, the Peruvians gotstraight to the point: How much cochineal did Mexicohave to offer? Armed with the latest figures, Cabillesesanswered confidently: 500 kilos per year. Surprised,Sefior Abramovich one of the Yugoslavs said, "Youmean 5,000 kilos, right?" No, replied Cabilleses, and pro-ceeded to explain how Oaxaca had successfully resusd-tated its historic industry. Distracted by the chuckles,however, he asked what was so funny. Abramovichapologized, explaining that Peru was processing 15 tons

nourishment. Said the academic: "I heard theJapanese are already experimenting with ad-vanced greenhouse technology to cultivatecactus blood in Asia."

At the same time, the Israelis have report-edly developed a natural, fungus-based redpigment called lycopene, trade-named Tomat-O-Red. American companies have also beenexperimenting with radish-based colorants toreplace, among other things, synthetic pig-ments like red dye No.3, which imparts toma-raschino cherries that nuclear shade of redand may also cause thyroid tumors.4

Startled by such developments, the Peru-vians are looking to Mexico and other po-tential cochineal producers to help boostsupply and thus stabilize the market. LastFebruary, in fact, representatives from ColcaS.A., which currently exports 46 percent ofPeru’s cochineal, paid a visit to Oaxaca.Given the record of Mexico’s publicly-funded cochineal projects, they sought outprivate businessmen involved in the indus-try. They found only one.

"I feel like Michael Jackson," said Ignaciodel Rio, former Espectrum executive and cur-rent owner of Tlapanochestli, the only up-to-date cochineal farm in Mexico. "Everyonecalls me: Danes, French, Americans, Japanese,Peruvians. They all want to buy cochineal buttell them to wait, we need more time."

Not that Del Rio has lacked for time. In-deed, his involvement in cochineal produc-

Ignacio del Rio during an interview in his Mexico City office. The tion began over 10 years ago, starting with

insignia of Tlapanochestli, his nopal ranch, hangs in the backgTound. Espectrum’s wild-goose chase in Oaxaca. Real-izing that cactus blood had all but vanished in

of cochineal per month, or 360 times that of the Mexicanoutput.

That was ten years ago. Since then, the internationalmarket for cochineal has exploded, causing demand tooutstrip supply. The Peruvians are not laughing. Ac-cording to a December 1995 market study, industrialbuyers need approximately 600 tons of cochineal peryear, yet producers can only offer 500.3 Reflecting thatshortage, prices have skyrocketed from nine to 85 dol-lars per kilo since 1990. Logically, industries are look-ing for a cheaper alternative, which may come soonerrather than later as chemical companies across theworld pour research dollars into the search.

"The cochineal insect is like the silk worm," warnedITAO Professor Saldibafiez. That is, cactus bugs canadapt themselves to laboratory conditions and artificial

the state, his company tried to produce its own. In 1985,it bought 20 acres of farm land just outside Oaxaca City.Hiring local consultants and growers, the executivesplanned to oversee operations from Mexico City. Thatdistance led to problems. Lacking close supervision, lo-cal employees neglected their work and the venturestalled. As the partners lost patience, Del Rio returnedsouth to re-evaluate the investment. He got side-tracked: the more time he spent on the farm, the moreattached he became to it- so attached, in fact, that hedecided to buy it from Espectrum in 1989.

"What can say?" stated Del Rio. "I fell in love withthe bugs."

Fascinated by their former glory, he moved from his-tory books to the research conducted by ITAO, ARIPOand LANFI during the 1980s. With his background in

3. Today, Peru produces 84 percent of the world’s cochineal, followed by Chile, the Canary Islands and Bolivia with eight, sixand two percent, respectively. Figures come from a market study conducted by Colca, S.A. in December, 1995.4. "FDA Attempting to Speed Color Additive Orders," Food Chemical News, 11/15/93.

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Del Rio’s farm hand examines cochineal bugs feeding on nopal leaves hung indoors during the rainy season.

business, however, Del Rio became disillusioned withwhat he considered to be the government’s myopicvision of the industry’s future. By the early nineties, itwas clear that the state’s approach- family labor,household plots, farm subsidies- had failed to rein-vigorate peasant production. While appreciating theimportance of the campesino element, Del Rio believedthat social objectives must be underscored by agro-industrial strategies.

This realization reflected his intimate familiaritywith the international dye trade. As a founder of Es-pectrum, he knew that Mexico would never penetratethe global market without producing in volume first.Yet that reality, contrary to popular opinion, does notnecessarily imply a zero-sum game that renders busi-nessmen winners and small-scale farmers losers. Forif Mexico begins producing cochineal by the ton andnot the kilo, then the campesinos will benefit by com-bining their production with that of the agro-industrialists. Consequently, indigenous farmers, de-spite their relatively small output, would enjoy whatthey had previously been denied: access to foreignmarkets and international prices.

"In this way," said Del Rio, "both productive armscampesinos and companies will help rebuild Mexico’scochineal empire."

What is the secret to this strategy? Produce far morecochineal in far less space. To reach that goal, Del Riohas spent several years conducting experiments at hisown nopal ranch. He also travels abroad to study state-of-the-art production systems. Just two weeks ago, in

fact, he visited the country with the most sophisticatedcochineal farm in the world: Chile.

"It’s truly remarkable," said Del Rio. "The Chileansare exporting 40 tons annually yet they began produc-tion just a few years ago."

Actually, not all of them are Chilean. In 1993, a Peru-vian executive left Colca S.A., moved to Chile, andfounded what can only be described as a cochineal fac-tory. With five local investors, Antonio Bustamanteformed Cotores Naturales de Chile, buying 540 acres, 95 ofwhich have already been planted. Today, they are pro-ducing an unprecedented 370 kilos of cochineal peracre. To achieve this, the company broke with traditionby planting high-density nopal that is, 35,000 cactiper acre instead of the standard 7,500. Other innova-tions include spray irrigation, vacuums to suck the bugsoff the cacti, and a 25,000-U.S. dollar processing plant toextract carminic acid from raw cochineal.

Yet this model is expensive. Colores Naturales de Chilehas invested approximately 10,000 dollars per acre.Hence Del Rio is looking for wealthy investors in Mex-ico. Speaking at conferences and advertising over the ra-dio, he attracts attention to cochineal in general as wellas the training courses offered at his nopal farm in Oax-aca. In recent months, several well-heeled farmers fromnorthern Mexico have visited Ttapanochestli, expressinginterest in forming an alliance with Del Rio.

"Step one is to produce 100 kilos in a three-month cy-cle on one hectare [2.7 acres] of land," he explained. "Todo that, we need to invest between 100,000 to 200,000

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Manuel Loera stands in his father-in-law’s experimental cacti patch )ust outside Oaxaca City.

pesos (13,300 to 26,600 dollars) in bugs and high-densitynopal."

Del Rio’s son-in-law, Manuel Loera, who is in chargeof investor relations as well as the training courses atTlapanochestli, expanded upon their strategy. In a two-pronged approach, they are targeting moneyed inves-tors as well as campesinos for joint-production schemes.To minimize the growers’ risks, Loera offers guaranteedprices of 40 dollars per kilo of cochineal produced. Thisis possible, he said, thanks to Del Rio’s relationshipswith most of the world’s major industrial consumers."They’re desperate to buy whatever we can produce,"he affirmed.

This summer Loera visited half a dozen potential in-vestors throughout Mexico, some of whom own up-wards of 500 acres of land. At the same time, he helpedlaunch four cochineal projects two of which involvesmall-scale producers in the State of Mexico, Quere-taro, Zacatecas and Puebla. Fall training courses havebeen scheduled with other rural communities in More-los and Puebla. In November, in fact, Loera will train agroup of agronomists from the Republic of Colombia.

"The response has been great," he concluded. "Every-one seems excited about producing with us every-one, that is, except the Oaxacans."

THE EMPTY CRADLE OF COCHINEAL

Why is Oaxaca absent from this picture of moderniza-tion? Why have neither campesinos nor local investors

expressed interest in rescuing cochineal production?Some blame the collective memory of the failed govern-ment projects described earlier. Yet things havechanged since then. International prices and market ac-cess are incomparably better now than in the 1980s.Profit margins are much wider and the South Ameri-cans have shown the way. Why hasn’t someone fol-lowed their lead?

"Because they can’t," replied Loera. "People here arenot able to seize opportunities because they’re para-lyzed by poverty."

Consider the typical Oaxacan farmer. According toLoera, most campesinos cannot even pay the bus fare toTlapanochestli, let alone cover the cost of trainingcourses. When representatives of one village did reachthe nopal ranch, they offered a truckload of firecrackers,that their town manufactured, in exchange for instruc-tion and cochineal insects. "I appreciated the gesture,"said Loera, "but we need money, not fireworks."

Having said that, he complained that after years ofstate paternalism in the Oaxacan countryside, farmershave come to believe that they deserve things for free."They think we owe them," Loera said, shaking hishead in disbelief. "For them, we’re rich and thereforewe have a moral obligation to help the poor. explainthat we’re not the government, that we must cover ourcosts. They just don’t get it."

Regarding local investors, it seems they too have beenhandicapped by the paralysis of poverty. Sure, they

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might have money, but they are extremely wary of in-vesting it in agri-business ventures due to associatedrisks. Among others, these include radical peasantgroups and land-tenure conflicts, both of which stemfrom the chronic troubles of the countryside in Mexico’spoor South.

Leopoldo Cabilleses offered insight into one such di-lemma. Alluding to Peru, he argued that with all itsproblems, that country has something Oaxaca sorelylacks: respect for private property. To illustrate hispoint, he explained how much of Peru’s cochinealcomes from the region of Ayacucho, in the highlandsthat gave rise to the Shining Path movement. Despiteguerrilla conflict, however, the cochineal industry sur-vived and even thrived due to Peru’s constitutionalguarantees, which protect business investment and pri-vate property.

"In stark contrast," Cabilleses said, "few intelligentpeople would dare to invest in capital-intensive produc-tion here in Oaxaca. For they know what happens whensome peasants’-rights group decides to block the en-trance to their property just before harvest time. Theyknow how powerless they will be, how much moneythey will lose."

Local investors also fear land-tenure conflicts. Pain-fully aware of their consequences, Ignacio del Riocited a personal case in point. In 1993, he received awonderful piece of news: Prince Charles was comingto Tlapanochestli! His Highness was visiting Mexico tosupport environmental projects. In preparation forthe trip, the British consulate in Mexico City had iden-tified Del Rio’s cochineal ranch as worthy of a royalvisit.

Not everyone was happy. Unbeknownst to Del Rio,the good news rekindled a border dispute between hisneighbors, two feuding municipalities. In retrospect,the mayors of both Santa Maria and San Bartolomo deCoyotepec should probably have been invited to accom-pany Prince Charles on his tour; the cochineal farm lies

smack on their common border. Yet they were not. In re-taliation, one week before the big day, someone fromSan Bartolomo set fire to half ofDel Rio’s nopal crop.

"To be completely honest with you," said the engi-neer, visibly upset by the recollection, "I have lost myfaith in Oaxaca." That said, he remains fully committedto modernizing his industry elsewhere in Mexico. Whilehe continues to develop Tlapanochestti, it is mostly dueto sentimental and financial considerations. "After all,Oaxaca is where it all began," he concluded, adding that"if the ranch doesn’t work out, can always sell to ahousing developer."

Would that every Oaxacan farmer could do the same.With far fewer options, people like Filogelio Ramirezare still betting on their state, feuds and all. Sitting in thetown square of Amatengo, the campesino was lecturingme on the history of Don Lauro Ramirez, his formerneighbor. Reminding me of the debt Mexico owes to hishome town, he expressed his conviction that local cochi-neal production, and indeed Oaxaca’s rural economy,will soon recover.

"Otherwise," he added half-jokingly, "we’ll all begrowing dope or joining the guerrillas before long."

We laughed together on the plaza bench, beside thecedar tree and the tumbledown Church. Darkening thesky above, an afternoon storm cast shadows across thesquare, rolling over the cliffs beyond the south end oftown. Suddenly, as the thunder rumbled, I recalled thatlegend from the Mixteca, Land of the Cloud Men.

Surprisingly, Ramirez had never heard it before. As agingo, felt strange telling a full-blooded Zapotec howthe gods of his ancestors had fought in the Oaxacanhighlands over the possession of an enormous nopalcrop. explained how the legacy of that bloody battlewas cochineal, but Ramirez disagreed. "No it’s not," hesaid. "The legacy of that battle," he concluded, pointingtoward the southern bluffs, "is the rebel army hidingsomewhere in that sierra." 1

12 WF-12

Institute of Current World Affairs 13

14 WF-12

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