Recent Zapatista Communiques - by Subcomandante Marcos

[There are videos and music that accompany these messages, but since I'm on dial-up I cannot watch or listen to them, no less repost them here. But I have included the links and given the link to the source from which I copied each message, so if you have broadband, you can find them there. --Mark]

PS´s to The Sixth that, as its name indicates, was the fifth part of “Them and Us.”

January 2013


1. – If any person…

has all, some, or one of the following profiles, for example: being a woman, being a man, being a child, being a young person, being a student, being an employee, being rebellious, being a lesbian, being gay, being indigenous, being a worker, being a neighborhood resident, being a campesino, being unemployed, being a believer, being a sex worker trabajadoroa implies male, female, or transsexual [i], being an artist, being a domestic but not domesticated worker, then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.

is different, and not only is not ashamed of it and doesn’t try to hide it, but on the contrary, is out there challenging those “fine upstanding folks,” then beware, they might be part of the Sixth.

is an organization, or free/ libertarian collective or group, then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.

is someone who doesn’t fit on any list but that of “expendable,” then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.

is someone who doesn’t take orders other than from their own conscience, then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.

is someone who does not wait for, nor sigh over, supreme saviors, then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.

is someone who sows seeds knowing they themselves won’t see the fruit, then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.

is someone who, when you explain patiently and properly (that is, on the edge of hysteria) that the machine is all-powerful and invincible, smiles—not as if they understood, but as if they didn’t care, then beware, they may be part of the Sixth.


Imagine you are talking to your compa, about whatever, in any case it’s between the two of you. Just at the moment when you are saying to your compa: “alright then, be seeing you,” some guy with the expression “I’m-very-respectable-and-very-knowledgeable” unfurls before you a whole array of revolutionary credentials demonstrating his role as revolutionary analyst of every past revolution and those to come, and begins to explain, in strident tone, that you must obey him and do what he advises/counsels/orders. And when you are about to say to your compa, “what’s up with this fool?” the man raises the tone of his voice and covers his ears, showing his advanced intellectual development, “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you! Soy de palo y tengo orejas de pescado”[ii] and leaves irate. So then you:

a) run after him begging him not to abandon you to the darkness of your ignorance and to please continue enlightening you with his brilliance.

b) say, sobbing, “it’s true, I’ve been crazy and ungrateful, I won’t make any more mischief.”

c) finish the sentence “what’s up with this fool?” that you had started.

d) say to your compa “man, I thought for a moment the tira were going to appear, that is, the other tira.”[iii]

e) say to yourself “son of a…, this city has gone to shit.”

f) pay no any attention, and with your eyes still fixed on that wall that is so naked, so solitary, so unstained, you think about how to come up with the dough to get a hold of a few cans, because, you think, you can’t deny a wall like that at least a tag or some graffiti, it’s just a matter of getting with your “crew” and agreeing on a time and a place, or, as someone often says, a calendar and a geography. Plus, you already have an idea of what you’re going to write, for example, that Mario Benedetti quote that says, “The new man must watch out for two dangers: the right when it is skilled, the left when it is sinister.”

g) return to your house, crib, shack, home, or however you call it, and say to your partner: “I don’t think I’ll ever eat those sketchy sandwiches/ tacos/ garnachas[iv] again. Today I hallucinated that, right in the street, I was on Laura Bozzo’s show[v] and when I heard “bring up the poor wretch” they pushed me forward saying, “go already, it’s your turn.”

h) you think, “man, so it’s true after all that drugs and alcohol affect the brain.”

i) you ask yourself “who could he be talking about?”

If you marked a) and/or b), then you have a future, but you’re missing the details. For example, you should have offered to carry his books for him. If you do so out of nastiness and not servility, then add Pascal Quignard’s “Butes” or Boutés” to the pile of books (as I see that French is in fashion), from Sextopiso[vi] press (I like the name). And maybe he reads it and learns to use the allegory of the sirens with more creativity. Ah, but in any case he’s going to tell you to keep rowing so that you can get the hero home.

If you marked c), d), e), f), g), or h), then there’s no hope for you, compa, and you won’t of course have a VIP spot in the unavoidable-world-revolution-that-will-bring-dawn-to-the-helpless-masses-guided-by-the wise-analysts’-profound-and-concrete-analysis-of-reality. Oh well, that’s what you get for going around with those ideas about rebellion, liberty, and autonomy.

If you marked i), don’t worry, it’s not even worth asking.


You are wasting your time if…

1. You are arguing with someone about whether when Sheldon Cooper [vii] said, “Fear of heights is illogical. Fear of falling, on the other hand, is prudent and evolutionary,” he was giving his version of “below” and arguing for the value of remaining there. Your interlocutor, after mentally reviewing the names of all of the classic revolutionary authors and the names of all of the secretary generals of all parties, asks, “who the hell is Sheldon Cooper, another lumpen of the Sixth?”

2. You are repeating out loud: “There is always a possibility. Everything is about the small possibilities. We have a long hard journey in front of us, perhaps harder than we can imagine. But it can’t be harder than our journey up to now. There are only a few of us left. That’s why we have to remain united, to fight for everyone else, to be ready to give our lives for everyone else if necessary.”

And someone interrupts you, saying:

“Oh stop already quoting that stuff from that argyle-sock-head-stamen-condom [viii] writes. I’m fed up with that naïve bunch. And that explanation about the next stage of the Sixth is nothing but cheap literature by subcomedian marcos. Don’t you realize that he only uses the indigenous to get money so he can go to Europe and hang out with Cassez? [ix] Everybody knows that el competes [x] negotiated the liberation of the Frenchwoman with that clown marcos, and that in return the PRI would be exonerated for the electoral fraud.”

The person who makes that comment then leaves, satisfied they have enlightened you, and leaving you without a chance to clarify that those were the lines of the character Rick Grimes (played by Andrew Lincoln) in the first episode of the second season of the television series “The Walking Dead,” produced by Frank Darabont and based on the comic by the same name created by Robert Kirkman and Tony Moore, produced by AMC.

Note from Marquitos Spoil: Yes I also think that Daryl Dixon (played by Norman Reedus) shouldn’t die, nor Michone (played by Danai Gurira), but maybe the screenwriters fear that both of them will become adherents of the Sixth, it suits their characters.


You can recover some of your lost time if, after the two episodes mentioned above and after thinking about it a little, you ask yourself, “What the hell is the Sixth?”

So you put into your preferred search engine: “The Sixth” and… every possible WARNING past and yet to come appears on your screen, from “caution, this page can seriously affect your mental health,” “malicious url” (ah, great involuntary homage from the antivirus program, thank you), to the classic “libertarian virus detected, will not affect hardware but will create chaos in the software of your thought”; followed by the options: “eliminate virus immediately,” “quarantine virus in ‘things to avoid,’” “move virus to section of lost causes,” “archive virus in section of naïveté’s,” etc.

You clearly are, as they say, contrarian [xi] (if you weren’t, would you still be reading?) and pissed (censorship bleep) bothered by anyone telling you what you can or should do, so you click on the link and almost immediately regret it, as, to put it in non-cybernetic terms, the screen is total chaos, with so many colors, beyond the imagination of even the most psychedelic screen protector, later music (though without bothering readers) of all kinds. You, of course, are asking yourself what the hell the programmer is on, and, now that we’re on the subject, don’t be a downer, pass that stuff around, but at that moment, ta-da! The words, many words, finally settle down so that you can make out:

“The Sixth.” Name with which the Zapatistas of the EZLN and/or adherents of the Sixth refer to the Sixth Declaration of the Lacandón Jungle. Name with which a small, very small, tiny, miniscule group of men, women, children, old people, and Others self-identify, they who resist and struggle against capitalism and propose a better world, not a perfect one, but better. Name used to refer to dirty, ugly, bad, rude, and rebellious people who intend to construct another way of doing politics (that is, they’re pissing against the wind because there’s no budget for this, no paid positions, no social prestige). Name by which an undetermined but negligible number of people self-identify, they who feel convoked by but not subordinated to the Zapatistas, who maintain their autonomy, their calendar, and their geography (the majority are not eligible for credit, and for that reason are totally expendable.) Did I already say that they’re dirty, ugly, bad, and rude? Ah, it’s that they really are. For “Zapatistas,” also see: “zapatos” [shoes], “zapatillas”[comfortable shoes for home use or slippers], “zapateros”[shoemakers], “rebellious”, “annoying nuisances,” “useless irreverent people, “those without electoral credentials,” “non-existent,” “rude, above all, rude“, “and yes, also, dirty, ugly, and bad.”


Compas of the Sixth and not of the Sixth: I have received an imprecise number (which is more elegant than saying “a shitload”) of not-so-nice complaints [xii] about the password. Bring it down a notch and let me explain:

As you have seen, our webpage crashes on the seventh click you give it. I could join in the conspiracy theories and justify this, alleging a cybernetic attack by whatever villain is in fashion, the supreme government, the pentagon, the M16, the DGSE, the CIA, or the KGB (the KGB doesn’t exist anymore? There you have the proof that we are prehistoric, but the truth is that we have a server that, on the alternative tip, operates on pozol [a drink made of ground corn and
water], [xiii] and when we tell the compas in charge to “give the server some juice,” they serve themselves all the pozol, and there’s nothing left for the server.

So we have seen that there are compas who know this and who have their independent media, blogs, webpages, and all that. They’re the ones that take our writings and sometimes also videos and put them up. The videos are very important parts of the texts, so much so that we spend as much or more time on them as we do on the texts. That’s why we send them out on the webpage “Enlace Zapatista,” because with just words, well, it’s better if there’s music or a video that, as some say, completes the word, sort of like a postmodern postscript, very much our style here. Anyway, I was telling you that the compas from the independent and libertarian media, as well as groups, collectives, and individuals, take what we say and launch it further and wider.

So we’re doing what they call tests. We know that for these compas there is no password that can stop them, and that even if they don’t know exactly what the password is they click here and there and boom! They’re in. So we thought, what happens if the bad governments block our word and the commercial media punish us with the whip of their disdain and then nothing can get out? They’ve already done this before, that’s why there are still people going on and on with that nonsense about why we’ve been so quiet and why only now blah blah blah. So we were thinking that if they block us, will these compas with good intentions take our word and kick it out to others? Because we are interested in having those who inform themselves via the media of those compas as interlocutors also. So we thought, we’re going to do a test and see if those compas out there, especially those that don’t know yet that they are our compas (we don’t know it either, but that’s not the point) hit a wall when they try to find out about us, what do they do? Do they look elsewhere for news from us? Or what? So that’s what we did. And this is what we saw: the password didn’t keep those cybernetic compas out for a second, that is, as some say, they didn’t give a shit, and rapidly they got onto the page with hidden text and rapidly they put the whole text up on their media sites, and the majority of them included everything, even the videos. So we saw that in addition to the fact that the webpage goes down all the time and the not-very-nice complaints come down upon us, our words appeared in those media and blogs with a note saying, “here’s the complete text,” along with the middle finger. You catch my drift? Okay, okay, okay, no more jokes. So we thought, “if they insult one of us they insult all of us.” Okay, okay, not really, but now you know, compas, that if you can’t get onto our page then look on the pages of other compas. And for those free and/or libertarian compas with their media, blogs, webpages, or whatever you call them, for real, from our heart: thank you. And believe me when I say that (after all we’ve been through), it’s not easy for us as Zapatistas to say those words. Because we give a lot of value to words, so much so that we went to war for them.

In any case, every now and then there are going to be texts with a password, but it will be for very concrete things, in order not to bore the audience with issues that maybe aren’t of interest to anybody, well maybe to those of the Sixth, but not to everybody, only to a very few.

For example: if we say that we are making an invitation for August of this year, 2013, on the 10th birthday of the Good Government Councils, who will have achieved 10 years of emancipatory autonomy; and that there will be a small party in the Zapatista communities; and that around those dates it rains a lot, and that other than dignity the only thing that is abundant here is mud, then when you come, bring what is necessary so that you don’t become the color of the earth.

So, compas, for things like that we’re going to use a password, because the majority of people are not going to be interested in that information, only those of the Sixth and a few more who will also be invited. So that’s how we’ll leave it. I hope your complaints now won’t be so harsh. [xiv]

Vale. Cheers, and for real, they we get everything that you write, positive or negative, from wherever you are, and we read it. Because we know that the world is very big, that it contains many words, and that unanimity only exists in the heads of the fascists across the political spectrum that try to impose their homogeneity.

From whatever corner of whatever world.

SupMarcos.?January 2013.


Watch and listen to the videos that accompany this text.

Black,” with Kari Kimmel. Soundtrack to the trailer for the third season of “The Walking Dead.” Video edited and subtitled by MultiMarisa1.


Rap Zapatista Hope.” Curva Sud Tunisi. Tunis, Tunisia, Mediterranean Africa.


Being Different”, with the superhero Calcetín [sock] with Rombos Man [Rhombus Man] in the starring role. Clip from chapter 1 of the spring season of the series “31 Minutes.” “31 Minutes” is a kid’s program produced APLAPLAC (created by Álvaro Díaz and Pedro Peirano), created in 2003 and transmitted by Chilean National Television.



Link to source:

February 11, 2013

Marcos: Them and Us VI. Gazes


VI. – Gazes

1. – Gaze to impose or gaze to listen.

For once I will be able to say

Without anyone saying otherwise

That it is not the same to desire

As it is to covet something

Just as they’re not the same words

Said to listen

And said to be obeyed

Nor is it the same to speak to me

To tell me something

As it is to speak to me so that I shut up.

Tomás Segovia.

“Fourth Search” in “Searches and Other Poems” from the publishing house that has the good sense to call itself “No Name.”

Thank you and hugs to María Luisa Capella, to Inés and Francisco

(thank goodness for the dignified blood that beats through their hearts)

for the books and the lyrics guide.

To gaze is a form of asking, we say, we the Zapatistas.

Or of searching…

When one gazes at the calendar and at the geography, even though they might be far away from each other, one asks, one interrogates.

And it is in the act of gazing where the other appears. And it is in the gaze where that other exists, where its profile as strange, as outsider, as enigma, as victim, as judge and executioner, as enemy….or as friend is drawn.

It is in the gaze where fear nests, but also where respect can be born.

If we don’t learn to gaze at another’s gaze, what is the point of our gaze, our questions?

Who are you?

What is your history?

Where do you hurt?

What are your hopes?

But it doesn’t just matter what or who is gazed upon. Also, and above all, it matters from where one is gazing from.

And to choose where to gaze at is also to choose from where.

Or is it the same to gaze from above at the pain of those who lost those whom they love and need, due to absurd, inexplicable, definitive death, as it is to gaze at it from below?

When someone from above gazes upon those below and asks himself, “How many are there?”, in reality he’s asking, “How much are they worth?”

If if they aren’t worth anything, what does it matter how many there are? To get that untimely number out of the way there are the corporate media outlets, the militaries, the police, the judges, the prisons, the cemeteries.

And for our gaze, the answers are never simple.

To gaze upon ourselves gazing at that which we gaze at, we give ourselves an identity that has to do with pains and struggles, with our calendars and our geography.

Our strength, if we do have some, is in this recognition: we are who we are, and there are others who are who they are, and there is other for those of us who don’t have a word to name it and, nonetheless, is who he is. When we say “we” we are not absorbing, and in that way subordinating, identities, but rather high-lighting the bridges that exist between the different pains and distinct rebels. We are the same because we are different.

In the Sixth, the Zapatistas reiterate our rejection of any attempt at hegemony, that is, all vanguardism, be it that we’re out in front or that they line us up, as they have throughout these centuries, in the rearguard.

If with the Sixth we seek out people like us in their pains and struggles, without the calendars and geographies that distance us mattering, it is because we know well that the Ruler [1] isn’t beaten with just a thought, just one strength, just one directive (no matter how revolutionary, principled, radical, ingenious, numerous, powerful, etc. that directive might be).

It is the lesson of our dead that diversity and difference are not weaknesses for below, but rather strength to give birth, on the ashes of the old, to the new world we want, that we need, that we deserve.

We know well that that world isn’t just imagined by us. But in our dream, that world isn’t one, but rather many, different, diverse. And its richness lies in its diversity.

The repeated attempts to impose unanimity are responsible for the machine going crazy and getting closer, every minute, to the final minute of civilization as we know it up to now.

In the current phase of neoliberal globalization, homogeneity is just mediocrity imposed like a universal uniform. And if anything sets it apart from Hitler’s craziness, it isn’t its goal, but rather in the modernity of the manners in which it is achieved.


And yes, it’s not just us that seeks the how, when, where, what.

You all, for example, are not Them. Well, even though you [2] don’t appear to have any problem allying themselves with Them to… deceive them and bring them down from the inside? To be like Them but not so Them? To lower the machine’s speed, to file down the beast’s fangs, to humanize the savage?

Yes, we know. There’s a mountain of arguments to support that. You could even come up with some examples.


You tell us that we’re equals, that we’re in the same situation, that it is the same struggle, the same enemy… Hmm…. no, you don’t say “enemy,” you say “adversary.” Sure, that also depends on the context.

You tell us that we must all unite because there is no other path: either elections or weapons. And you, who in that false argument justify your project of invalidating all of that which does not subject itself to the reiterated spectacle of the politics from above, you give us an ultimatum: die or give up. And you even offer us the alibi, because, you argue, since it’s about taking Power, there’s only two paths.

Ah! And we’re so disobedient: we didn’t die, nor did we give up. And, as was demonstrated the day the world ended [3]: neither electoral politics nor armed struggle.

And if it’s not about taking Power? Better yet, and if the Power no longer resides in that Nation-State, that Zombie State populated by a parasite political class that pillages the nations’ remains?

And if the voters that you obsess over so much (that’s why you’re captivated by the multitudes) don’t do anything but vote for someone who others already elected, as time after time They demonstrate while they have fun with every new trick they play?

Yes, of course, you hide behind your prejudices: those who don’t vote? “It’s due to apathy, disinterest, lack of education, they play into the hands of the right”… your ally in so many geographies, in not just a few calendars. They vote but not for you? “It’s because they’re rightwing, ignorant, sellouts, traitors, dying of hunger, they’re zombies!”

Note from Marquitos Spoil: Yes, we sympathize with the zombies. Not just because we look like them (we don’t even need makeup and we’d still kick butt in the casting of “The Walking Dead”). Also and above all because we think, like George A. Romero, that in a zombie apocalypse, the craziest brutality would be the work of the surviving civilization, not of the walking dead. And if some vestige of humanity were to remain, it would shine in those who are already the pariahs, the living dead for whom the apocalypse begins at birth and never ends. Just as is happening right now in any corner of any of the worlds that exist. And there is no movie, nor television series that tells its story.

Your gaze is marked by disdain when you look at something (even if it’s at the mirror) and of breaths of envy when you look above.

You can’t even imagine someone who would be interested in gazing at that “above” for no other reason than to see how to get it off of him.


Gaze. Towards where and from where. There is that which separates us.

You think that you are the only ones, we know that we’re one more.

You look above, we look below.

You look at how you can make yourselves useful, we look how to make ourselves useful.

You look at how to lead, we look at how to accompany.

You look at how much is won, we look at how much is lost.

You look at what it is, we look at what it can be.

You look at numbers, we look at people.

You calculate statistics, we calculate histories.

You talk, we listen.

You look at how you look, we look at the gaze.

You look at us and you ream us out for where we were when your calendar was marked with your “historical” urgencies. We look at you and we don’t ask where you have been during these past 500 years of history.

You look at how to take advantage of the current situation, we look at how to create it.

You worry about broken windows, we worry about the rage that broke them.

You look at the many, we look at the few.

You look at insurmountable walls, we look at cracks.

You look at possibilities, we look at that which is impossible only until the eve.

You look for mirrors, we look for crystals.

You and we are not the same.


You look at the calendar of above and you use it to condition the spring of the mobilizations, the masses, the party, the multitude’s rebelliousness, the streets bursting with songs and colors, chants, challenges, those who are already many more than just one hundred and thirty-something [4], the full plazas, the ballot boxes anxious to be filled with votes, and you run quickly because clearly-they-lack-revolutionary-party-leadership-a-politics-of-ample-and-flexible-alliances-because-electoral-politics-is-their-natural-destiny-but-they’re-very-young-they’re-bourgeois-petitbugies-kids- / -later-lumpen-hoodrats-crew-prole-number-of-potential-voters-potentials-ignorant-novice-ingenious-naive-clumsy-stubborn, above all, stubborn. And you see in each massive act the culmination of the times. And afterwards, when there’s no longer crowds anxious for a leader, nor ballot boxes, nor parties, you decide that it’s over, no more, to see if there will be another occasion, that we have to wait six years[5], six centuries, that we have to look the other way, but always at the calendar of above: the registration, the alliances, the positions.

And we, always with a crooked gaze, we surmount the calendar, we look for the winter, we swim upriver, we pass through the stream, we arrive at the spring. There we see who begins, those who are few, the lessors. We don’t speak to them, we don’t greet them, we don’t tell them what to do, we don’t tell them what not to do. Instead, we listen to them; we look at them with respect, with admiration. And maybe they never notice that small red flower, which looks just like a star, so small that it is barely a pebble, which our hand leaves below, close to their left foot. Not because that’s how we want to tell them that the flower-rock was ours, the Zapatistas’. Not so that they take that pebble and they throw it at something, at someone, although there isn’t a lack of willingness or reasons why. Rather, maybe because it is our way of telling them, them and all of our compas in the Sixth, that the homes and the worlds begin to be built with small pebbles and later they grow and almost nobody remembers those little pieces of rock that start out so small, so nothing, so useless, so alone, and along comes a Zapatista, and she looks at the pebble and she greets it and she sits down beside it and they don’t speak, because little rocks, like Zapatistas, don’t speak… until they do speak, and then it becomes a matter of if they shut up. And no, they never shut up, what happens is that sometimes there’s not anyone to listen to them. Or maybe because we looked beyond the calendar and we knew, before, that this night would come. Or maybe because that’s what we told them, even though they don’t know it, but we know it, that they’re not alone. Because it’s with the few that things get started and restarted.


You didn’t see us before… and you still don’t look at us.

And, above all, you didn’t see us watching you.

You didn’t see us watching you in your arrogance, stupidly destroying the bridges, digging up the roads, allying yourselves with our persecutors, disdaining us. Convincing yourselves that that which does not exist in the media simply does not exist.

You didn’t see us watching you say and say to yourselves that you were standing on solid ground, that what is possible is solid terrain, that you cut the moorings of that absurd boat of absurdities and impossibilities, and that it was those crazies (us) who stayed adrift, isolated, alone, without a destination, paying with our existence the being principled.

You could see the resurgence as part of your victories, and now you ruminate it as one of your losses.

Go, continue on your path.

Don’t listen to us, don’t look at us.

Because with the Sixth and with the Zapatistas it is not possible to look nor listen with impunity.

And that is our virtue or our curse, depending on where you’re looking towards and, above all, from where the gaze is extended.

(to be continued…)

From any corner of any world.

Sup Marcos.

Planet Earth.

February 2013.


Reoffenders. Sevilla rock group, Spanish State. Manuel J. Pizarro Fernández: Drums. Fernando Madina Pepper: Bass and vocals. Juan M. Rodríguez Barea: Guitar and vocals. Finito de Badajoz “Candy”: Guitar and vocals. Carlos Domíngez Reinhardt: Sound tech. Rock version of “I call you freedom” in a video dedicated to the heroic struggle of the Mapuche People.


Link to source:

February 11, 2013

Them and Us VI. - Gazes, Part 2

VI. – Gazes 2.

2. – Gaze and listen from/towards below.

Can we still choose towards where and from where to look?

Can we, for example, choose between looking at those who work at the supermarket chain store, ream out the workers for being complicit in the electoral fraud [1], and publicly ridicule the orange uniforms the employees are forced to wear, or look at the employee who, after cashing out…?

The cashier goes and takes off her orange apron, grumbling with anger over how they reamed her out for being complicit in the fraud that brought ignorance and frivolousness to Power. She, a woman, young or mature or mother or single or divorced or widow or single mother or expecting or without children or whatever, who goes to work at 7 in the morning and leaves at 4 in the afternoon, of course, if there isn’t overtime, and not counting the time between home and work and back again, and after giving school or work the “work-suitable-for-her-sex-that-can-be-completed-with-a-little-bit-of-flirtation,” she read in one of the magazines that are next to the register one day when there weren’t many customers. To her, whom those are supposedly going to save, it’s nothing more than a question of a vote and done, ta-da, happiness. “Do you really think the owners wear an orange apron?” she murmurs with irritation. She fixes herself up a bit from the purposeful untidiness with which she goes to work so that the manager doesn’t bother her. She leaves. Outside her partner is waiting. They embrace, kiss, touch each other with their gazes, they walk. They enter a cyber cafe or whatever you call it. 10 pesos per hour, 5 pesos for a half-hour…/

“Half hour,” they say, mentally calculating the budget-time-from-the-metro-bus-walk.

“Spot me some money, Roco, don’t be a jerk,” he says.

“Ok, but come by on payday, because if not, the owner will be all over me and you’ll be the one who will be spotting me money.”

“Ok, but it’ll be when you get a cell phone, dude, because I’m working at a car wash.”

“Well, wash it, dude,” says Roco.

The three of them laugh.

“7,” says Roco.

“Ok, look for it,” she says.

He goes to enter a number.

“No,” she says, “look for when it all began.”

They navigate. They get to where there are just over 131. [2] They play the video.

“They’re bourgeois,” he says.

“Settle down, revolutionary vanguard. You’ve got something wrong with your head if you judge people by their appearances. Just because I have light skin they call me güerita and bourgeois, and they don’t see that I live paycheck-to-paycheck. It’s important to see each person’s history and what they do, dummy,” she says, smacking him upside the head.

They keep watching.

They watch, they shut up, they listen.

“So they told Peña Nieto all that to his face… they’re brave, yes, it’s obvious they’ve got balls,” he says.

“Or ovaries, idiot,” and another smack from her for him.

“Watch out, my queen, I’m going to accuse you of inter-familial violence.”

“It would be gender violence, idiot,” and another smack.

They finish watching the video.

Him: “So that’s how things start, with a few people who aren’t afraid.”

Her: “Or they are afraid, but they get it under control.”

“Half an hour!” Roco yells at them.

“Yes, let’s watch it.”

She goes smiling.

“And now what are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, I was remembering,” she gets closer to him, “what you said about ‘inter-familial.’ Do you mean that you want us to be a family?”

He doesn’t miss a beat:

“That’s right, my queen, later is late, we’re already getting there, but without so many smacks, kisses instead, and more below and to the left.”

“Hey, don’t talk dirty to me, dude!” another smack. “And enough of ‘my queen,’ aren’t we against fucking monarchy?”

Him, before the strong smack: “Well, yes my… plebeian.”

She laughs, him too. After a couple of steps, she says:

“And do you think the Zapatistas will invite us?”

“Of course, Vins is my buddy and he said that he’s tight with sockface because he let him win at Mortal Kombat, on the little machines, so all we have to do is say that we’re friends with Vins and done,” he argues enthusiastically.

“And do you think I’ll be able to bring my mom? She’s already pretty old…”

“Of course, speaking of witches, if I’m lucky my future mother-in-law will get stuck in the mud,” he ducks his head expecting a smack that doesn’t come.

Her, angry now:

“And what the hell are the Zapatistas going to give us if they’re so far away? Do you really think they’re going to give me a raise, make people respect me, make it so fucking men don’t look at my butt on the street, and that the fucking boss stops looking for excuses to touch me? Are they going to give me money so I can make rent, so I can buy clothing for my daughter, my son? Are they going to lower the price of sugar, beans, rice, oil? Are they going to put food on my table? Will they stand up to the cop that comes around everyday to bother and demand money from the people in the neighborhood who sell pirated discs saying that it’s so they don’t report them to Mr. or Mrs. Sony…?”

“It’s not ‘pirate,’ it’s ‘alternative production,’ my quee….my plebeian. And don’t get all huffy with me because we’re in the same boat.”

But she’s already on a roll, so no one can stop her:

“And you, are they going to give you back your job at the plant, where you were qualified as a who-the-hell-knows-what? Are they going to validate your classes, the training courses, and all that so that the asshole of a boss takes the company to I don’t know where, and the union and the strike, everything that you did, to later end up washing cars? Or like your brother, El Chompis, whose work they took away and they disappeared the company so that he can’t defend himself and the government with its same old babble that it’s to improve service and world class and blah blah blah and did they really lower the rates, no, they’re more expensive, and the fucking lights go out all the time[3] and fucking Calderón goes to shamelessly teach classes to gringos[4], who are the masters of all this shit. And my Dad, may he rest in peace, who went to work on the other side [of the US-Mexico border], not to do the tourist thing, but to make money, dough, moolah, to take care of us when we were younger and there crossing the line the Migra came down on him as if he were a terrorist and not an honorable worker and they didn’t even give us his body and that fucking Obama, it seems as though his heart is the color of the dollar.”

“Damn, stop your car and pull over, my plebeian.”

“It’s just that every time I think about it I get mad, working so much so that in the end those above keep everything, the only thing that’s left to privatize is laughter, although I doubt they’d privatize that, because there’s not much, but tears, yes, there’s an abundance of those and they get rich… richer. And then you come along with your stuff about the Zapatistas here and Zapatistas there, and below and to the left and the eighth…”

“The Sixth, not the eighth,” he interrupts.

“Whatever, those dudes are far away and they speak Spanish worse than you.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be mean.”

She wipes away her tears and murmurs: “Fucking rain, it ruined my estee lauder, and I’d fixed myself up all nice for you.”

“Boyeeeee, I like you even better with nothing on.”

They laugh.

Her, very serious: “Ok now, let’s see, tell me, are those Zapatistas going to save us?”

“No, my plebeian, they aren’t going to save us. That and other things we have to do for ourselves.”

“Well then?”

“Ah, well, they’re going to teach us.”

“What are they going to teach us?”

“That we’re not alone.”

She remains silent for a moment. Then:

“Nor alone [4], dummy,” another smack.

The collective van looks like it’s going to explode with people. We’ll see if the next one has room.

It’s cold, it’s raining. They embrace each other more, not so that they don’t get wet, but rather so they get wet together.

Far away someone is waiting, there’s always someone who is waiting. And while he waits, with an old pencil case and an old and shabby notebook, he keeps track of the gazes from below that are seen in a window.

(To be continued…)

From any corner of any world.


Planet Earth.

January 2013.


“The Nobodies,” based on the text of the same name by Eduardo Galeano. Played by La Gran Orquesta Republicana, a ska-fusion band, Mallorca, Spanish State. Members: Javier Vegas, Nacho Vegas: sax. Nestor Casas: trumpet. Didac Buscató: trombone. Juan Antonio Molina: electric guitar. Xema Bestard: bass. José Luis García: drums.


Link to source:

February 11, 2013

Gazes Part 3 - Some Other Gazes

THEM AND US VI. GAZES Part 3 – Some Other Gazes

3. – Some other gazes.

one: A dream in that gaze.

It’s a street, a milpa, a factory, a mine shaft, a forest, a school, a department store, an office, a plaza, a market, a city, a field, a country, a continent, a world.

The Ruler is seriously wounded, the machine broken, the beast exhausted, the savage locked up.

The changes in name and flags didn’t work at all, the beatings, the prisons, the cemeteries, the money flowing through corruption’s thousand arteries, the “reality shows,” the religious celebrations, the paid newspaper articles [1], the cybernetic exorcisms.

The Ruler calls for his last overseer. He murmurs something into his ear. The overseer goes out to confront the masses.

He says, asks, demands, requires:

“We want to speak with the man…”

Doubt crosses his face, the majority of those who are confronting him are women.

He corrects himself:

“We want to speak with the woman…”

He doubts himself again, there’s more than a few “others” who are confronting him.

He corrects himself again:

“We want to speak with whomever is in charge.”

From amongst the silence an elderly person and a child step forward, they stand in front of the overseer and, with an innocent and wise voice, they say:

“Here everyone is in charge.”

The overseer shudders, and the Ruler’s voice during his last scream shudders.

The gaze wakes up. ”Weird dream,” is said. And, without the geography

or the calendar mattering, life, struggle, resistance goes on.

S/he only remembers a few words from the odd dream:

“Here everyone is in charge.”

two: Other gaze from another calendar and another geography.

(fragment of a letter received in the eezeelen military headquarters, no date)

“Greetings, Compas.


My opinion is that everything was really fucking cool. But I do not deny that all of this is in retrospective. It would be very easy to say that I perfectly understood the silence and nothing surprised me. False, I also became impatient with the silence (of course that has nothing to do with what is said about how before the Zapatistas weren’t speaking, I did read all of the denouncements).[2] The issue is that when seen with the advantage of what has already happened, and what is happening, well, of course the conclusion is logical: we are in the middle of a more daring initiative, at least since the Zapatistas’ insurrection. And this has to do with everything, not just with the national situation but also with the international situation, I believe.

Let me tell you what I understood about something which, it seemed to me, was the most significant moment of the [December 21,
2012] action. Of course there are many things: the organization, the militant strength, the show of force, the presence of young people and women, etc. But what really impressed me the most was that they were carrying some boards and that when they arrived at the plazas they made some stages. According to what was said about what went on, many private media outlets, and some of the independent ones, speculated about the arrival of the Zapatista leaders. They didn’t realize that the Zapatista leaders were already there. They were the people who got up onto the stage and said, without speaking, here we are, this is who we are and this is who we will be.

Those who should have been on the stage were there. Nobody has noticed, I think, that moment and, nonetheless, I think, there it is, in a nutshell, the profound significance of a new way of doing politics. That which breaks with all that is old, the only truly new, the only thing that is worth having [illegible in the original] “XXI century.”

The plebeian and freedom-loving soul of those timely moments in history, has been built here without theoretical grandstanding. Rather, with a practical burying. It has been there for too many years to be just a fancy. It is already a long and solid historical social process in the terrain of self-organization.

At the end they picked up their stage, turned it once again into boards, and we should all be a little ashamed and be more modest and simple and recognize that something unexpected and new is in front of our eyes and that we should look, shut up, listen, and learn.

Hugs all around. I hope that you’re all right, all things considered.

El Chueco [Crooked]“

three: “Instructions for what to do in the case… that they look at you”

If someone looks at him, looks at her, and you realize that…

He doesn’t look at you as if you were transparent.

He doesn’t want to convince you yes or no.

He doesn’t want to co-opt you.

He doesn’t want to recruit you.

He doesn’t want to give you orders.

He doesn’t want to judge you-condemn you-absolve you.

He doesn’t want to use you.

He doesn’t want to tell you what you can or can’t do.

He doesn’t want to give you advice, recommendations, orders.

He doesn’t want to reproach you because you don’t know, or because you do know.

He doesn’t look down on you.

He doesn’t want to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.

He doesn’t want to buy your old car, your face, your body, your future, your dignity, your free will.

He doesn’t want to sell you anything…

(a time share, a 4D LCD television, a super-ultra-hyper-modern machine with an instant crisis button (warning: don’t confuse it with the ejection button, because the warranty doesn’t include amnesia due to ridiculous media stunts), a political party that changes its ideology as the wind blows, a life insurance policy, an encyclopedia, a VIP entrance to the performance or the revolution or whatever heaven is fashionable right now, furniture in small installments, a cell phone plan, an exclusive membership, a future given as a gift from the generous leader, the excuse to give up, sell out, throw in the towel, a new ideological paradigm, etc.).


First. – Rule out if it was a degenerate man or woman. You can be as dirty, ugly, bad, rude, as you want, but, whatever it is, you have this sexy and horny touch that comes from working really hard; and that “that” can awaken anyone’s most carnal passions. Mmm… well, yes, a little hairstyling wouldn’t be too much. If it wasn’t a degenerate man or woman, don’t lose heart, the world is round and it spins, and see below (this list, understand).

Second.- Are you sure that he is looking at you? Couldn’t it be that deodorant ad that was behind you (you, understand)? Or could it be that he’s thinking (him, the one that’s looking at you, understand): “I think that’s how I look when I don’t comb my hair”? If you have ruled that out, continue.

Third.- Doesn’t he look like a cop looking to complete the payment that he has to report to his superior? If yes, run, there’s still time to not lose the cost of the ticket. If not, go on to the next point.

Fourth.- Return his gaze, fiercely. A gaze that’s a mix of anger, stomach ache, annoyance, and the “look” of a serial killer will work. No, that makes you look like a constipated bear cub. Try again. Ok, passable, but keep practicing. Now, he doesn’t flee terrified? He doesn’t divert his gaze? He doesn’t get closer to you exclaiming, “uncle juancho! I didn’t recognize you! But with that gesture…”? No? Ok, continue.

Fifth. – Repeat the first, second, third, and fourth steps. There could be problems with our system (which, of course, is made in China). If you come back to this point again, go on to the next one:

Sixth. – There’s a high probability that you have run into someone from the Sixth. We don’t know if we should congratulate you or send you our sympathies. In any case, what follows that gaze is your decision and your responsibility.

fourth: A gaze at a Zapatista post.

(calendar and geography not specified)

SupMarcos: “You have to hurry because time is running out.”

The female health insurgent: “Hey, Sup, time isn’t running out, people are running out. Time comes from far away and follows its path all the way over there, where we can’t look at it. And we are like little pieces of time, that is, time can’t march on without us. We are what makes time march on, and when we come to an end along comes another and s/he pushes time along for another bit, until it arrives at where it needs to arrive, but we’re not going to look where it arrives but rather others are going to see if gets there alright or if suddenly it couldn’t summon up enough strength to arrive and it has to be pushed again, until it arrives.”


The female infantry captain: “And why did it take you so long?”

The female health insurgent: “It’s that I was chatting about politics with the Sup, I was helping him to explain well that it’s important to look far away, to where neither time nor gazes can reach us.”

The female infantry captain: “Uh-huh, and then?”

The female health insurgent: He punished me because I didn’t hurry the work and he sent me to the clinic.


fifth: Extract of the “Notes to gaze upon winter.”


And yes, all of them got up on the stage with their fists held high. But they didn’t look very well. They didn’t look at the gaze of those men and women. They didn’t look at when they were crossing up [on the
stage], they turned their gaze down below and they saw their tens of thousands of compañeros. That is, they looked at themselves. Up there they didn’t look at us looking at us. Up there they didn’t understand, nor will they understand anything.

six: Put your gaze here (or your insults, even if they aren’t minty).[3]







(To be continued…)

From any corner of any world.


Planet Earth.

Mexico, February 2013.


Listen to and watch the videos that accompany this text.

Daniel Viglietti and Mario Benedetti to a “duet” interpretation of the song “La Llamarada” and Benedetti’s poem “Pregón.” Concert in Montevideo, Uruguay, Latin America, Planet Earth. At the beginning, Daniel takes a moment to recognize all of those who are not on the stage but who make it possible that Daniel and Mario are. Almost at the end, you can hear Mario Benedetti singing, singing to himself, singing to us, and without the calendar and geography mattering, and vice versa.


Link to source:

February 11, 2013

Gazes Part 4 - Gazing and Communicating

THEM AND US VI – Gazes 4

4. – Gazing and Communicating

I am going to tell you something very secret, but you are not going to go around divulging it… or yes, there you see it.

In the first days of our uprising, after the ceasefire, there was a lot of noise about the ezetaelene. [1] It was, of course, all media paraphernalia that the right usually puts out to impose silences and blood. Some of the arguments that they used then are the same ones they use now, which shows the not-so-modern that is the right and the paralysis of its thinking. But that is not the theme now; nor is it about the press.

But good, now I tell you that at that time they started to say that the EZLN was the first guerrilla of Century XXI (yes, we who were still using the hoe for sowing the land, the yoke of oxen –without offending- we knew from stories, and we only knew about the tractor in photographs); that Sup Marcos was the cybernetic guerrilla that, from the Lacandón Jungle, launched into cyberspace the Zapatista proclamations that would travel around the world; and that he had satellite communication for coordinating the subversive actions that were being carried out all over the world.

Yes, that was being said, but… compas, even on the eves of the uprising, the “Zapatista cybernetic power ” that we had was a computer that used the large floppy discs and had a DOS operating system version minus one point one. We learned to use it with one of those old tutorials, I don’t know if they still exist, which were telling you what key you must press and you heard a voice that said, with a Madrid accent, “Very good!“ and if you were wrong it said “Very bad, idiot, try again!“ Besides using it to play Pacman, we used it for the “First Declaration of the Lacandón Jungle,” which we reproduced on one of those old dot matrix printers, which made more noise than a machine gun. The paper was a roll and it got clogged up every time, but it had carbon paper and we achieved printing 2 every several hours. We made un chingo (a whole lot) of impressions, I think like 100. They were distributed to the 5 groups of command that, hours later, would take over 7 municipal headquarters of the southeastern Mexican state of Chiapas. In San Cristóbal de Las Casas, which was the one that it fell to me to take over, the plaza surrendered to our forces, we were attaching them with masking tape (or however it’s said) the 15 that we had. Yes, I already know that the numbers don’t come out, that there should have been 20, but we didn’t know where the 5 remaining ones were.

Good, when we withdrew from San Cristóbal, in the early morning of January 2, 1994, the damp fog that covered our withdrawal, detached the proclamations from the cold walls of the haughty colonial city, and some stayed cast in the streets. Years later someone told me that anonymous hands had taken some off and they were jealously guarded.

The Cathedral Dialogues came later. Then I had one of those portable and lightweight computers (it weighed 6 kilos without the battery), La Migaja (The Crumb)brand, with 128 of ram, I mean 128 kilobytes of ram, hard disc of 10 megabytes, in other words that could store everything, and a speedy processor that, you turned it on, you left to prepare a coffee, you returned and you could even reheat, 7 times 7, the coffee before being able to start writing. A beautiful machine! To make it function in the mountain, we used a current inverter connected to a car storage battery. Later, our Zapatista department of high technology, designed an artifact that made the computer function with “D” batteries, but it weighed more than the computer and, I suspect, had something to do with the fact that the pc would go down in a blaze of fire, indeed very showy, and a cloud of smoke that scared away the mosquitos for the next 3 days. The satellite telephone with which the Sup was communicating with “international terrorism?” A walkie-talkie with a maximum reach of 400 meters on flat land (over there, photos of the “cybernetic guerrilla” were still going around ha!). Just like the internet? In February 1995, when the federal army was pursuing us (and not exactly for an interview), the portable pc was cast into the first stream that we waded through, and the communiqués from that era were made on a mechanical typewriter that the ejido commission loaned us in one of the towns that protected us.

That was the powerful high technology equipment that we, the “21st Century Cybernetic Guerrillas,” had then.

I truly lament if, besides my already battered ego, I destroy any illusions that later grew over there, but that’s how it was, that’s how I tell them now.

Finally, a while later we knew that…

A young student in Texas, USA, perhaps a “nerd” (as you would say), made a web page and put just “ezln“ on it. That was the ezln’s first web page. And this compa began to “put” there all the comunicados and letters that were made public in the written press. People from other parts of the world who found out about the uprising through photos, videotaped images, or because of journalistic notes, were looking there for what our word was.

We never met that compa. Or perhaps we did.

Perhaps he arrived sometime in Zapatista lands, as one more. If he came, he never said: “I am the one that made the ezln page;” nor: “thanks to me they know about you in many parts of the world.” Much less “I come so that you thank me and pay me homages.

He could have done it, and the thanks would always have been not much, but he didn’t do it.

And it’s that perhaps you don’t know it, but there are people like that. Good people that do things without asking anything without asking for anything in return, without charging for them, “without making noise” as we, the Zapatistas.

Now then the world continued turning. Compas came that really knew about computers and then they made other pages and we are like we are now. In other words, with the bad little server that doesn’t pull like it should, although we sing and dance “el moño colorado” [2] to the rhythm of the cumbia-corrido-ranchera-norteña-tropical-ska-rap-punk-rock-balada-popular.

Also without making noise, we thank that compa: that the very first gods and/or the supreme one in which he may believe or doubt or disbelieve, bless him.

We don’t know what may have come of that compa. Perhaps he is an Anonymous. Perhaps he continues surfing on the Internet, looking for a noble cause to support. Perhaps he is scorned because of his appearance, perhaps he is different, perhaps his neighbors, his compañeros at work or study, see him badly.

Or perhaps he is a normal person, one more of the millions that walk the world without anyone noticing them, without anyone gazing at them.

And perhaps he manages to read what I tell you, and he may read what we now write to him:

Compa, there are schools here now where before only ignorance grew; there is food, not much but dignified, at the tables where only hunger was the daily invitee; and there is relief where the only medicine for pain was death. I don’t know if you expected it. Perhaps you knew it. Perhaps you saw something about the future in those words that you re-launched into cyberspace. Or perhaps not, perhaps you only did it because you felt that it was your duty. And we Zapatistas know duty well; it is the only slavery that is embraced by one’s own will.

We learn. And I’m not referring to learning the importance of communication, or knowing the modes of the information sciences and techniques. For example, outside of Durito, none of us has been able to resolve the challenge of making a tweet communiqué. Before the 140 characters, not only am I useless, tan dropping and re-dropping in the commas, (the parenthesis), the suspending points… and my life is going away and I lack characters. I believe that it is improbable that I can do it some day. Durito, for example, has proposed a comunicado that adjusts itself to the tweet limit and that says:

123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 123456789 1234567890

But the problem is that the code for deciphering the message occupies the equivalent of 7 volumes of the encyclopedia “The Differences,” which all humanity has been writing since it began its sorrowful walking on Earth, and whose edition has been vetoed by the Power.

No. What we learned is that there are people out there, far or near, who we don’t know, who perhaps don’t know us, who are compas. And it’s not because they have participated in a march of support, have visited a Zapatista community, wear a red paliacate on their neck, or have signed a display, an affiliation paper, a membership card, or however you say it.

It is because we Zapatistas know that just as the worlds are many in the world you inhabit, the forms, manners, times and places are also many for struggling against the beast, without asking for or expecting anything in return.

We send you an embrace, compa, wherever you are. I am sure that now you can answer the question that one asks himself when he starts to do something: “is it worth the pain?”

Perhaps then you find out that in a community or in a barracks, a Zapatista computer room it is called “him,“ like that, with small letters. And perhaps you then find out that, if any of the persons invited come upon the room, took note of the sign, and asked who was that “him,“ we answer: “we don’t know, but he does.”

Vale. Health and, yes, it was worth the pain, I believe.

From etcetera, etcetera.

We Zapatistas of the ezetaelene dot com dot org dot net or dot however you say it.”


And all that gets to the point, or thing, depending, because you have perhaps realized that we have trust in the free and/or libertarian media, or however you say it, and the persons, groups, collectives, organizations that have their own modes for communicating; persons, groups, collectives, organizations that have their electronic pages, their blogs, or however it’s said, who give a space to our word and, now, to the music and images that accompany it. And persons or groups that perhaps don’t even have a computer, but nevertheless are talking, or with a flyer, or a newspaper, mural, or graffiti drawing or a notebook or a collective transportation, or in a theater work, a video, a schoolwork, a song, a dance, a poem, a canvas, book, a letter, gaze at the letters that our collective heart draws.

If you don’t belong to us, if you are not our organic part, if we don’t give you orders, if we don’t govern you, if you are autonomous, independent, free (that means that you govern yourselves) or however it’s said, why then do you do it?

Perhaps because you think that information is everyone’s right, and that it is everyone’s responsibility what to do or not do with that information. Perhaps because you are in solidarity and have the commitment to give that kind of support to those who also struggle, although with other modes. Perhaps it’s because you feel the duty to do it.

Or perhaps it’s because of all that and more.

You will know. And surely you have it written there, on your page, on your blog, in your declaration of principles, in your flyer, in your song, on your wall, in your notebook, in your heart.

In other words, I speak of those who communicate and communicate with others what you feel in our heart, in other words, you listen. Of those who gaze at us and gaze at themselves thinking about us and make a bridge and then discover that those words that you write, sing, repeat, transform, are not those of the Zapatistas, that they never were, that they are yours, and everyone’s and no one’s, and that they are part of a musical score that you don’t know where it’s from, and then you discover or confirm that when you gaze at us gazing at ourselves gazing at you, it is touching on and talking about something bigger for which there is still no alphabet, and that thus is not about belonging to a group, collective, organization, sect, religion, or however you say it, but that is understanding that the path to humanity is now called “rebeldía“ (rebelliousness).

Perhaps, before making the “click” to your decision to put our word in your spaces, you ask: “is it worth the pain?“ Perhaps you ask if you will not be contributing to the Marcos that is on a European beach, enjoying the good climate of those calendars in those geographies. Perhaps you will ask whether you will not be serving an invention of “the beast” for deceiving and simulating rebelliousness. Perhaps you will answer yes the same as the answer to that question of: “will it be worth the pain?” It falls to us to answer to we Zapatistas, and to make the “click” on the computer, to the spray, to the pencil, to the guitar, to the cidi (CD), to the camera, you are committing to us, to the we that answer “yes.“ And then you make the “click” to “upload” or “post” or “charge” or to the initial chord to the first step-color-verse, or however you say it.

And perhaps you don’t know it, although I believe that it’s evident, but they are presently “on strike” as you say over there. And I don’t say it because our page is “down” at times, as if it were in the slam and upon casting itself into the void there was no comrade hand that would alleviate the fall that, if it’s on cement, it will continue complaining without importance to calendar and geography. I point it out because on the other side of our word there are many who are not in agreement and show it; there are so many others that are not in agreement and are not even bothering to say so. There are a few that are indeed in agreement and show it; but there are others much greater than those few that are indeed in agreement and don’t say so. And there is a great big immense majority who are not even aware. It is to the latter that we want to speak, in other words, to gaze, in other words, listen.


Compas, thank you. We know it. But we are sure that, although we wouldn’t know it, you know it. And about precisely that, we Zapatistas believe, what we’re talking about is changing the world.

(To be continued…)

From any corner in any world.

SupMarcos. Planet Earth.?February 2013.

P.D. – Yes, perhaps there is, in the letter to “him,” some clue to the next password.

P.S. THAT CLARIFIES UNNECESSARILY. – Nor do we have a twitter or Facebook account, nor electronic mail, nor telephone number, nor a post office box. Those that appear on the electronic page are for the page, and those compas support us and send us what they receive, just like they send you what we send. For the rest, we are against the copyright, so that anyone can have their twitter, their Facebook, or whatever, and use our names, although, for sure, they don’t represent us. But, according to what they have told me, the majority of them make it clear that they are not who one supposes that they are. And the truth is that we have fun imagining the quantity of insults and insults (that are not minty), that they have received and will receive, originally directed at the ezetaelene and/or the one who writes this.


Translation by the Chiapas Support Committee

Listen and watch the videos that accompany the original text:

From Japan, the song and choreography “Ya Basta” of Pepe Hasegawa. One supposes that he is present in the prefecture of Nagano, Japan, in 2010. The truth is I don’t know what the mere letter says. I just hope that they are not offenses without mint.


From Sweden, ska with the group Ska´n´ska, of Stockholm. The song is called “Ya Basta” and forms part of their disc “Gunshot Fanfare”.


From Sicily, Italy, the group Skaramanzia with the song “To not forget,” part of the disc “La lucha sigue” (The struggle continues).


From France- “Ya basta – EZLN” with the group Ska Oi. From the disc “Lucha y fiesta” (Struggle and Party).

Translator’s Notes:

[1] ezetaelene – the letters EZLN spelled out in Spanish

[2] “el moño colorado” – The literal translation is “the red topknot.” It is an upbeat song that played over and over again during the Intergaláctica (the 1st Intercontinental Gathering for Humanity and Against Neoliberalism).


Link to source:

February 16, 2013


Gazes Part 5.- To gaze into the night in which we are.

5.- To gaze into the night in which we are.
(From the new moon to the crescent moon)

Many moons ago: under a new moon, brand new, just barely peeking out, barely enough to make shadows below…

We-are-he arrives. Without needing to consult or check notes, his words begin to draw an image of the gazes of those who rule here, and those whom they obey. When he finishes, we look.

The message from the people is clear, short, simple, blunt. As orders should be.

We, male and female soldiers, don’t say anything, we only look, we think: “This is very big. This doesn’t just belong to us anymore, nor just to the Zapatistas. It doesn’t even belong just to this corner of these lands. It belongs to many corners, in all worlds.”

We must care for it,” we-are-all [feminine] say, and we know what it is that we are talking about, but we are also talking about we-are-he.

It will turn out well… but we have to be prepared for it to turn out badly, that is our way in any case,” says we-are-all [masculine].

So then, we have to prepare it,” we-are-all [feminine] say to ourselves, “take care of it, make it grow.”

Yes,” we-are-all [masculine] respond to ourselves.

We must speak with our dead. They will show us the time and the place,” we-are-all [feminine] say to ourselves.

We gaze at our dead, below, we listen to them. We take them this tiny stone. We lay it at the foot of their house. They look at it. We watch them looking at it. They look at us and they take our gaze far, far away, beyond where the calendars and the geographies reach. We see what their gaze shows us. We are silent.

We return, we look at each other, we talk to each other.

We have to prepare far ahead, prepare each step, prepare each eye, prepare each ear… it will take time.”

We will have to do something so that they don’t see us, and later something so that they do.”

In any case they don’t see us, or they see only what they think they see.”

But yes, we will have to do something… It is my turn.”

We-are-he will take care of what corresponds to the peoples. We-are-all will look out for things, gently, quietly, hushed, as is our way.”


A few moons ago, it was raining…

Already? We thought they would need more time.”

Well yes, but, that’s the way it is.

Okay then, think carefully about what we are going to ask: Do they want others to turn and look at them?”

“They do, they feel strong, they are strong. They say that this belongs to everyone, and to no one. They are ready, they say.”

“But, you realize that not only those who are like us will see those who are like us, but that the Bosses from various places who hate and persecute what we are, will also see?

“Yes, we have taken that into account, we know. It is our turn, your turn.”

“Okay then, then it is only a matter of deciding the place and the time.”

“Here,” a hand gestures to the calendar and the geography.

“The gaze that we provoke will no longer be one of pity, of shame, of compassion, of charity, of hand-outs. There will be happiness for those who are like us, but rage and hate from the Bosses. They will attack us with everything they have.”

“Yes, I told them. But they gazed at each other, and this is what they said: ‘We want to see those who we are, to see ourselves with those who we are, even though neither we nor they know that they are what we are. We want them to see us. We are ready for the Bosses, ready, and waiting.”

“When, where then?” Calendars and maps are spread out on the table.

“At night, when winter awakens.”


“In your heart.”

“Is everything ready?”

“Everything is ready, yes.”



A few nights ago, the moon sleepless and fading…

They are ready, that which we look at. The next part will be for other gazes. It’s your turn, we say to we-are-he.

“I’m ready, willing,” says we-are-he.

We-are-all concurs in silence, as is our way.


“When our dead speak.”


“In their heart.”


February 2013. Night. Crescent moon. The hand that we are writes:

“Compañeroas, compañeras y compañeros of the Sixth:

We want to introduce you to one of the many we-are-he that we are, our compañero Subcomandante Insurgente Moisés. He guards our door and through his word the we that we are speaks. We ask you to listen to him, that is, that you look at him and thus see us. (…)”

(To be continued…)

From whatever corner of whatever world.

Planet Earth.
February 2013.

P.S. THAT GIVES NOTICE AND HINTS: The next text, which will appear on the Enlace Zapatista webpage on February 14, the day the we the Zapatistas honor and greet our dead, is principally for our compañeros, compañeras y compañeroas of the Sixth. The complete text can only be read with a password (for which we have given various hints and should be easy to guess) which has already been sent via email wherever we could send it. If you haven’t received it and you can’t figure out the hint (you can find it by reading closely this text and the previous one, “Gaze and Communicate”), you can send an email to the webpage and you will get a response with the password. As we have explained before, the independent media are free to publish, or not, the complete text according to their own autonomous and libertarian considerations. The same goes for whatever compañera, compañero y compañeroa of the Sixth wherever they are. We have no other aim but to let you know that it is you to whom we are talking, and also, importantly, those to whom you decide to extend our gaze.

“B Side Players” from San Diego, Califas, with the track “Nuestras Demandas” (our demands). “B Side Players” is composed of Karlos “Solrak” Paez – voice, guitar; Damián DeRobbio – bass; Luis “El General” Cuenca – percussion and voice; Victor Tapia – Congas and percussion; Reagan Branch – Sax; Emmanuel Alarcon – guitar, cuatro puertorriqueño, and voice; Aldo Perretta – charango, tres cubano, jarana veracruzana, ronrroco, cuatro venezolano, kena, zampoña; Russ Gonzales – tenor sax; Mike Benge – Trombone; Michael Cannon – drums; Camilo Moreno – congas and percussion; Jamal Siurano – alto sax; Kevin Nolan – trombone and trumpet; Andy Krier – keyboard; Omar Lopez – base.

From Galicia, Spain, the track “EZLN” from the group “Dakidarría,” composed by: Gabri (guitar and lead vocals); Simón: (guitar and vocals); Toñete: (trombone); David: (base and vocals); Juaki: (trumpet and vocals); Anxo: (baritone sax); Charli: (keyboard); Jorge Guerra: (drum set)

A very special version of the “Himno Zapatista” (Zapatista Hymn) music and voices from “Flor del Fango.” The musical group “Flor del Fango” was composed of: Marucha Castillo – vocals: Napo Romero – vocals, guitar, charango and quena; Alejandro Marassi – bass, vocals, choir and guitarrón; Danie Jamer “el peligroso” – flamenco, folk, and electric guitars and cuatro; Sven Pohlhammer – electric, sinte, and electric acoustic guitars, Cavaquinho y Mandolina; Philippe Teboul “Garbancito” – vocals, drum set, percussion, choir; Patrick Lemarchand – drum set and percussion; Martín Longan – conductor.

Traducción del Kilombo Intergaláctico.


Link to source:

February 16, 2013


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