ANZANILLO, Mexico — For many generations, corn has been
the sacred center of civilization in Mexico, the place where the
grain was first cultivated some 5,000 years ago.
Gods and goddesses of corn filled the dreams and visions of the
great civilizations that rose and fell here before the Spaniards
came five centuries ago. Today the corn tortilla is consumed at
almost every meal. Among the poor, sometimes it is the entire meal.
But the modern world is closing in on the little patch of maize,
known as the milpa, that has sustained millions of Mexicans through
the centuries. The powerful force of American agribusiness,
unleashed in Mexico by the North American Free Trade Agreement, may
doom the growing of corn as a way of life for family farmers here,
agronomists and economists say.
Lorenzo Rebollo, a 53-year-old dirt farmer, works two and a half
acres of corn and beans here on the slopes of the eastern state of
Michoacán, in Mexico's central highlands, where corn was first grown
as a food crop, archaeologists say. Mr. Rebollo is one of about 3
million Mexicans who farm corn and support roughly 15 million family
members.
His grown sons have left for the United States to make a living,
and Mr. Rebollo says he may be the last man to farm this patch of
earth. It is the same story all over Mexico: thousands of farmers
pulling up stakes every year, heading for Mexico City or the United
States. Some grew coffee or cut sugar cane. But most grew corn.
Roughly a quarter of the corn in Mexico is now imported from the
United States. Men like Mr. Rebollo cannot compete against the
mechanized, subsidized giants of American agriculture.
"Corn growing has basically collapsed in Mexico," Carlos Heredia
Zubieta, an economist and a member of Mexico's Congress, said in a
recent speech to an American audience. "The flood of imports of
basic grains has ravaged the countryside, so the corn growers are
here instead of working in the fields."
The facts are stark. Since Nafta took effect eight years ago,
imports of corn to Mexico from the United States have increased
nearly eighteenfold, according to the United States Department of
Agriculture. The imports will probably keep growing for the next six
years as the final phases of Nafta take effect.
In the United States, corn growers receive billions of dollars a
year in subsidies from Congress, much of it going to huge
agribusiness operations. That policy fuels huge surpluses and pushes
corn prices down.
Free trade and Mexico's own farm policies "threaten the ability
of Mexican farmers to continue to grow corn," said Alejandro Nadal,
a professor at the Colegio de México and the author of a study on
the issue.
In Mexico, Nafta did away with many traditional subsidies and
generous price supports. Some contend it is doing away with small
farmers. About 90 percent of Mexico's corn farmers work fields of
five acres or less, and their survival instincts are driving them
farther and farther up Mexico's mountainsides as they strive to grow
enough to get by.
"We work the land all our lives," Mr. Rebollo said. "But the
farmers are growing more and getting less."
Under a slowly lifting ceiling, the United States will be able to
export all the corn it wants to Mexico, duty free, by 2008. Nafta's
drafters told Mexico's farmers that as the ceiling lifted, the price
of corn in Mexico would slowly fall toward United States and
international prices over the 15-year period.
But instead, prices plunged quickly, converging with the
free-market price by 1997. This was good news for big companies in
Mexico importing corn for animal feed and processed food. But it was
hard on the farmers, who have little political clout under the
government of President Vicente Fox, an ardent free-trader.
The effect of American imports on Mexican agriculture was not
unforeseen. "Integration into the global economy will also
accelerate the social dislocation that rapid modernization
inevitably brings to a developing economy," Bernard Aronson, a
former assistant secretary of state for Latin American affairs,
wrote eight years ago as the trade pact took effect.
But some things were not predicted. One unforeseen result of the
collapse of corn farming, Mr. Nadal warns, will be the loss of
genetically unique kinds of corn. As imports grow and farmers give
up their fields, he said, ancient varieties like the succulent blue
corn used for tortillas may be endangered. Some may already be lost,
he said.
"If traditional growers abandon corn production — as the Nafta
strategy foresees — then even more significant genetic erosion will
occur," he said.
The importation of bioengineered corn from the United States is a
separate but heated issue. Mexico's government does not permit the
planting of genetically modified corn. But the new modified breeds
can be imported as food or feed. The science journal Nature and
Mexico's government published findings last year showing that
bioengineered genes from American imports have invaded ancient
varieties of corn in the state of Oaxaca.
Nafta has had demonstrable benefits for many sectors of the
Mexican economy that have become competitive, and Mr. Fox says it is
no longer possible for the government to step in and assist farmers.
State legislators who want Mexico to protect its corn the way
Japan protects its rice have had no luck swaying him. Mr. Fox's
agriculture minister, Javier Usabiaga — a highly successful exporter
known as the Garlic King in Guanajuato, his home state as well as
Mr. Fox's — says that a farmer who cannot survive in the 21st
century is simply "going to have to find another job."
Farmers like Mr. Rebollo are regarded as artifacts of an earlier,
simpler age. "I have this little bit of land, and I work it, and
it's good hard work," he said as he walked his fallow field. "But I
think when I go it will go too."