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This article by Braulio Carbajal originally appeared in the April 7, 2026 edition of La Jornada, Mexico’s premier left wing daily newspaper.
Editor’s note: CONASUPO, or the National Company for Popular Subsistence, was a Mexican parastatal company which helped regulate and support Mexican agriculture by guaranteeing the purchase and price of basic crops in Mexico, as well as was involved other initiatives such as establishing LICONSA, the Mexican dairy producer which still to this day provides fortified dairy products to increase the nutritional intake of rural and impoverished Mexican communities. It was created by President Adolfo López Mateos in 1961. President Adolfo López Mateos had also nationalized the Mexican energy industry.
More than three decades after the opening of trade with the United States and Canada under the then North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), Mexico’s imports of U.S. corn have increased ninetyfold (9,000 percent), according to official data. Now, purchases from abroad exceed domestic production, to the point that one out of every two kilograms of corn consumed in the country is of U.S. origin.
According to data from the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA), in 1993—the year before the treaty came into effect—Mexico purchased 286,874 tons of corn from the United States, while in 2025 that figure reached 26,112,845 tons. Almost all of this corn is genetically modified and yellow; that is, the kind used in industry and as livestock feed, not in the production of masa and tortillas.
In 1993, the business of selling corn to Mexico represented only $35 million for the United States, and now it exceeds $5.9 billion.
The North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), now the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA), entered into force on January 1, 1994. Within it, specifically in Chapter VII, the complete liberalization of trade in the region’s agricultural and forestry sectors was promoted. Its implementation, according to an analysis by Grain and Bilaterals.org, occurred immediately after the counter-reform to Article 27 of the Constitution, which facilitated the land grabbing and privatization of indigenous lands, as well as all collective peasant landholdings.
The international organization highlights, among other things, that the trade agreement fostered impunity for unfair imports, serving the interests of transnational corporations. This, in turn, boosted corn imports, despite it being a staple food in Mexico.
In this context, as they have done on other occasions, various agricultural producer organizations are carrying out a national and indefinite strike with blockades on strategic highways in Mexico, protesting the crisis in the countryside, low corn prices, insecurity on the highways (robberies and extortion) and the lack of compliance by the federal government with the agreements signed in November 2025.
Among the demands is the exclusion of white corn and other basic grains from the USMCA, arguing that dumping, or unfair competition, from US corn has driven down national prices, affecting thousands of small producers across the country.
Ana de Ita, director of the Center for Studies for Change in the Mexican Countryside, emphasizes that Archer Daniels Midland, Bartlett and Cargill, global agribusiness giants, are responsible for almost half of the corn imports from the United States.
These corporations influence international prices through real or speculative movements. According to de Ita, all three grew and strengthened by taking advantage of the market vacuum left by CONASUPO and the complete liberalization of agriculture brought about by NAFTA and the USMCA.
Marcelo Ebrard, the Secretary of Economy, recently stated in an interview with La Jornada that the farmers’ request is unfeasible, as it would jeopardize parts of the agreement, especially export products like berries and avocados. “It’s not in our best interest. The way forward is to accelerate competitiveness where possible and mitigate the damage where it isn’t.”
Carlos Bautista, an international trade specialist at La Salle University, explained that if Mexico were to suggest tariffs on agricultural products during this new review of the USMCA, the United States would demand something in return; for example, in the automotive or manufacturing sectors, which would cause further repercussions. “It’s very difficult to change the rules of the game at this point.”
However, Mexico can negotiate the application of “import quotas” to allow the entry of grains with preferential tariffs up to a certain amount, and then, once the limit is exceeded, the normal tariff is paid, he advised.
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UN Meddles in Mexico: Flawed Disappearances Report Highlights Broken System – Soberanía 102
April 8, 2026April 8, 2026
UN Committee on Enforced Disappearances, migrant deaths in the US, Mexico’s new Foreign Secretary Roberto Velasco, and deterrence in Mexico.
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People’s Mañanera April 8
April 8, 2026April 8, 2026
President Sheinbaum’s daily press conference, with comments on Chiapas housing, Mexico’s energy system, US and Iran ceasefire, and BlackRock public-private partnerships.
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The USMCA is Causing a Decline in Mexican Agriculture
April 8, 2026April 8, 2026
What can the phrase “Without corn, there is no country” mean when domestic corn production is on its last legs in the face of US dumping and the state’s inability to fight neoliberal free trade?
The post The USMCA is Causing a Decline in Mexican Agriculture appeared first on Mexico Solidarity Media.
From Mexico Solidarity Media via This RSS Feed.
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Through generations, my family at Grassy Narrows has been harmed by mercury pollution
(indiginews.com)
Illustration of Asubpeeschoseewagong (Grassy Narrows First Nation) Elder Judy Da Silva by Jessie Boulard
On the outskirts of the Grassy Narrows reserve, I’m sitting inside the comforting dome of a wigwam with my mother, Judy Da Silva.
With a burning cigarette between her fingers, my mom sets to work on lighting the sacred fire.
We’re here to discuss the mercury pollution that’s impacted generations of our family. The fire brings her solace when remembering all of the close relatives we’ve lost.
“When I’m at the sacred fire, I feel calm,” says my mom.
The wigwam, and a small cabin nearby, are remnants of direct action more than two decades ago — a group of Youth had stopped a logging company from clearcutting on our land in northwestern “Ontario.”
Our community still calls the site, located about five minutes off reserve, “the blockade.” It is a grounding place for my mom and I, because it reminds us of the strong legacy we’re both part of.
Photo by Taina Da Silva
As a child, my mom taught me about protecting the land through knowing our inherent rights as Anishinaabek, taking me to protests, and exposing me to the devastation of our forests.
Between 1962 and 1970, the Dryden Chemicals pulp and paper mill leaked about 10,000 kilograms of mercury — a powerful neurotoxin — into the river system upstream of our community.
The contamination has notoriously impacted Grassy, from devastating health issues, to severing our access to culture and employment.
Now, I am learning through my mom — who is 64 and an Elder — that it is possible to hold a country accountable for the mistreatment of wrongful industrial practices that led to Grassy being the target of mercury pollution.
“It’s been since I was a baby that our people have been suffering,” my mom says. “Mercury is no joke.”
The government’s inaction is also why I am telling this story. Before 1962, my late Shoomish Robert Williamson was a dedicated fisherman and fish seller.
With the light of the fire flickering across her face, my mom begins to tell me how my Shoomish used to live on a tiny island, living off the land with my late Kookum and their kids.
Shoomish Robert was a legend in Grassy for his fishing and trapping, because his family was taken care of with a land-based income.
The fishing industry brought a growing economy to the community through the nearby Ball Lake Lodge — a large fishing resort owned and operated by a settler through the 1950s and 1960s.
My Shoomish Robert would become the official fish dealer for the community and sat on the fishing association in Kenora.
My late Shoomish Robert Williamson. Family photo
It was uncommon for Anishinaabek to find themselves amongst local townspeople in that era, my mom explains, because of the uncontrolled racism and assimilation processes like residential and day “schools.”
But the commercial fishing industry understood the important role of First Nations people, like my Shoomish.
In reality, it was an industry that would often exploit Anishinaabe workers with lower pay. But the Anishinaabek knew the land the best.
My mom mentions how my Shoomish was working 40-hour weeks with early mornings as a fish seller for settlers, and we can only imagine what it was like spending a day as a successful Anishinaabe fisherman in those days.
READ MORE: The quiet joys of coming home to Anishinaabe territories
I can envision endless boat trips in the summer and snowmobile trips in the winter, the seasonal clothing changing from ball caps and t-shirts to snowsuits and beaver hats — the endless handshakes between my Shoomish and settlers.
He worked hard. “Sometimes,” my mom recalls, “Shoomish would get home late, with leftover soup still in the pot.”
My family was able to have a livelihood and lived a comfortable life in terms of the old Anishinaabe ways of living; a log home on an island surrounded by healthy land and water are all that my grandparents wanted.
Everything changed when Grassy was relocated in 1960.
It brought the community promises from the federal government that there will be a road, hydro, “better” housing and “an Indian day school,” says my mom, as she lights up her second cigarette and uses a stick to poke the sacred fire, releasing a cascade of red sparks.
Her emotion reflects on her face as she talks, and she looks me in the eye to make sure I’m taking in every word she’s saying.
Illustration by Jessie Boulard
It was my Shoomish Robert who helped plan where the new community was going to be during his short term as chief.
But, according to my mom, he was always nervous about the relocation process and what that would mean for the entire community, and especially his family.
The mercury pollution was dumped in the English Wabigoon River the same year my mom was born.
It was spring of 1962 when the lakes and rivers were just starting to melt, and the first reactions to the polluted fish seemed to come from observing the land.
“My dad said he got chills when he saw dead fish floating in the lake where they were eating from,” my mom reflects.
Anishinaabek families were left in the dark for years before any mercury was uncovered.
Finally, in 1969, a provincial and federal steering committee conducted a study. Scientists found that the mercury levels in Grassy and White Dog — another impacted Anishinaabe community — were higher than normal.
The settler who owned Ball Lake Lodge was the first person who brought national attention to the crisis in 1970, when he funded his own research, and he eventually sued the Dryden paper mill.
A sign by the water warns people about high levels of mercury. Photo by Taina Da Silva
Meanwhile, my Shoomish’s children and other community members were struggling with unknown health symptoms from eating the fish.
In the mid 1970s, the settler had become the main spokesperson for our people.
He even organized a trip between Grassy members and the Minamata Disease Patients Alliance to visit Minimata Bay, a small town in Japan where locals faced the same fate as Grassy.
However, the horrific symptoms families were facing were not being met with proper government support at the time.
The province’s only solution was to ban commercial fishing, seemingly without any regard for Grassy and the cultural and economic significance of our traditional foods.
After commercial fishing was banned in Grassy in 1971, unemployment grew to 90 per cent.
My Shoomish Robert was devastated to lose his livelihood. After all his hard work — becoming known as the main Anishinaabek man for fish in the Treaty 3 area, sitting on a board, and partaking in the economic growth for Grassy — it was all over.
My mom, Judy, outside our wigwam. Photo by Taina Da Silva
My mom is a mercury survivor. She grew up with the mercury when it was at its worst in the 1970s, and saw the impact first hand as she got older.
I ask her if people in the community were still practicing their spirituality, and if that brought any support during those difficult years after the fishing ban.
“Only certain families,” she explains, staring down at the glowing embers. “Residential schools were mostly working. Almost everyone lost their income. Things started deteriorating.”
It’s unfortunate to think about the hopelessness my community was experiencing. But I try to reflect on the people who found a possibility for change, like my mom, and how she found that drive.
As smoke billows between us, my mom and I begin discussing our generational similarities of what it was like growing up in Grassy without enough resources to manage an environmental crisis.
In 1973, when my mom was just 11, she found herself being tested for mercury. At this point she did not know she was poisoned forever.
Once she found out, she was left with distrust with any outsiders coming to the community.
“My generation was the gap generation,” my mom reminds me. “We were the ones experiencing colonialism more than our parents.”
My late Kookum Bertha Kejick. Photo by David P. Ball
In 1978, at 16, she left Grassy Narrows to attend the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity. This is how my mom survived her younger years as a teen who was experiencing life in refuge, away from her home.
After that, she moved to Tkarón:to (Toronto) to finish high school.
Selling art and living with roommates in the big city felt like it was on the other side of the planet from Grassy, she shares.
Between leaving Grassy as a teen and moving back in her thirties, she spent her twenties finding her spirituality and making ceremony friends in Montana and South Dakota.
It was a time in her life that brought lifelong lessons of connecting to Minobimaadiziwin (the good life) and to Aki (the land), which laid the foundation for her future work of climate justice.
“I kept going to ceremony after ceremony. I just kept praying for a better life,” she tells me.
READ MORE: Trusting the medicine of my Anishinaabe great-grandmother
I can understand how that mindset works when you come from a community under decades of environmental repression.
In 1996, my parents had moved us back to the reserve, which was the first time my mom lived in the community after leaving in the 1970s.
She truly saw the devastation of the mercury, and realized the poisoning in community members was getting worse.
She realized close relatives were experiencing infertility, joint deformities, or other misdiagnoses were still showing up in children.
The escapism my mom had as a teen turned into a rage of motivation to get her community on a healing journey — and to find justice for the mercury pollution that had been long overdue for finding a solution.
Grassroots organizing is crucial for Grassy’s path toward justice, and it is people from the community who brought more attention to the mercury crisis.
The 2023 Free Grassy rally in Toronto. Photo by Taina Da Silva
Nine years ago, the federal government made its commitments to Grassy, and my mom adds how “it was extremely important for our community to get the recognition we need for the mercury pollution.”
But since 2017, there has been a deadlock between Grassy Narrows and the federal and provincial governments.
The Free Grassy movement has been a growing support system globally. A protest of 5,000 warriors and allies marched through downtown Tkarón:to in 2023, where several northern communities used their voices to tell the provincial government that we are still here protesting for our rights.
Studies upon studies have been part of my life since I was a child. My mom started sampling fish for mercury poisoning in the early 2000s, and that was the beginning of her environmental career.
Environmental co-ordinator is the official title of the work my mom does for our community, but she finds time to hold ceremonies at the blockade for community members seeking to reconnect.
The wigwam we sit in now is a crucial site of wellness and culture for our community — and me and my mom both agree that the blockade is a source of healing for the Grassy people.
An annual women’s and Two Spirit gathering is held at the blockade, where people of different nations come to camp, pray, meditate, feast, and give tobacco offerings.
The wigwam at the blockade. Photo by Taina Da Silva
As my mom nears retirement age, younger people will have to continue the work that was started by her and other leaders if the government does not protect us from further pollution.
The commitments made in 2017 were honoured by the federal government. Yet both the federal and provincial governments still fail to acknowledge the responsibility of compensating the entirety of Grassy.
The Grassy Narrows mercury settlement act of 1986 was only meant to cover those who were deemed “poisoned enough.” But Grassy has asserted that everyone deserves compensation for the loss of our culture due to the mercury devastation.
The paper mill is still in operation, and has been a continuing source for the ongoing pollution in Grassy. But the Dryden mill has denied that they are part of the rising pollution levels, despite research suggesting otherwise.
Providing the proper resources and support would allow Grassy families to adequately focus on healing, although there have been multiple bills passed by the governments to bypass First Nation land rights.
Grassy Narrows trapper Shoon Keewatin walks on the site of the former reserve area, before the Grassy Narrows community moved to its current location. Photo by David P. Ball
“Canada” is dedicated to “economic reconciliation” which is meant to benefit only big corporations, and First Nations like ours get ignored.
It makes me question if Grassy and the governments will ever see eye-to-eye. Perhaps those in office assume we’ll just give up eventually.
Currently, Grassy’s environmental team — consisting of my mom, chief and council, and lawyers — have been delegating a lawsuit to sue the government.
READ MORE: Indigenous cradleboard keepers are revitalizing traditional parenting practices
At this point, suing the federal government is a needed process, due to the crisis Grassy is experiencing. The deadlock between both parties cannot last another 50 years.
My Shoomish’s generation were the last ones to witness what Grassy was like before the mercury pollution. And it is overwhelming to think about my generation never seeing healthy land and people in my community — especially with new pollution threats from Kinross Gold Corporation, a mining company with mineral stakes near our rivers.
My mom’s generation resembles the long history of finding the mercury and figuring out how to begin the process of remediating our waters.
A sunrise over Slant Lake, by the former blockade site at Grassy Narrows. Photo by David P. Ball
A medically focused mercury care home right in the community was part of the federal government’s commitments. It will allow families to be closer to relatives who are institutionalized because of the mercury pollution.
However, the river cleanup is another issue that engineers from the WSP engineering company are working on. It may be decades before we see any environmental progress.
The next Tkarón:to rally is this summer, and we’re planning to have ten thousand warriors and allies march with Grassy Narrows and White Dog First Nations.
Both communities have experienced the exact same story, and they are coming together to continue the movement to get compensation for everyone, get the mill shut down, and clean the river.
Grassy has a massive amount of support, and we often disrupt politicians’ speeches to get their attention, but there is no possibility of slowing down.
My mom Judy in our wigwam. Photo by Taina Da Silva
Many people have asked us why we just don’t leave, and pack up. Or, why continue to eat the contaminated fish.
“Why don’t non-natives give up their traditions?” my mom asks in return. “Like, it’s part of our identity.”
Being on our land, enjoying fish from our waters, and harvesting our medicines by our lakes and rivers are Anishinaabek traditions.
We’re never giving those up. They’re who we are.
As my mom and I finish talking, she pours water over the sacred fire. There’s a final hiss of steam as the ashes turn black. We exit out the wigwam’s tarp door towards the trees.
With her drum in her hand, she hits it four times to honour the four directions of the land, and her usual war cry echoes through the forest.
The post Through generations, my family at Grassy Narrows has been harmed by mercury pollution appeared first on Indiginews.
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Pakistan Reiterates That Lebanon Is Still Part of Ceasefire Despite Israel's Attacks
(www.commondreams.org)
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In a very telling press briefing, Pete Hegseth said the quiet part out loud on the Iran ceasefire
(www.independent.co.uk)
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