Chiapas Support Committee

THEM AND US VI. – Gazes Part 2 – Looking and listening from/towards below

THEM and US

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.

SupMarcos.

Planet Earth.

January 2013.

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“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.

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Liliana Daunes narrates a very other story called “Always and Never Against Sometimes.”  Greetings to the Chiapas Solidarity Network, which struggles and resists right here in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Latin America, Planet Earth.

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“Minimum Wage,” by Oscar Chávez and Los Morales.

Translated from the original Spanish by Kristin Bricker.

Translator’s Notes:

1. Enrique Peña Nieto allegedly bought votes with grocery store gift cards with the full knowledge of the supermarket chain in question.

2. Refers to the #YoSoy132 movement against Enrique Peña Nieto, sparked when 131 university students organized a protest against his visit to their campus.

3. Refers to former President Felipe Calderón busting the Mexican Electrical Workers Union (SME).

4. Calderón teaches at Harvard now.

5. Many Spanish speakers have noted the sexism they argue is inherent in the need to feminize and masculinize nouns and adjectives.  The Zapatistas in particular look for ways to use more inclusive language, and this exchanges makes reference to that.  When the boyfriend says that the Zapatistas will teach us “That we’re not alone” he says “Que no estamos solos,” using the masculine form of alone (solos), which, according to the rules is what one does in mixed company.  So his girlfriend responds, “Ni solas,” saying that women are also not alone.

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.

But…

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.

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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.

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Eduardo Galeano narrates a story from Old Antonio: “The History of the Gazes.”

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Joan Manuel Serrat singing “The South Also Exists” by Mario Benedetti, in concert in Argentina, Latin America.  When he stops singing, Serrat goes behind the curtains and brings Mario Benedetti, so beloved to us, out to the stage (minute 3:01 onward).

Translation from the original Spanish by Kristin Bricker.

Translator’s Notes:

1. In previous parts of “Them and Us,” the Ruler referred to the United States government.

2. In the original Spanish it isn’t clear if this is supposed to be translated as plural “you” or “they,” which in this case is written the same in Spanish.

3. Refers to December 21, 2012, when the Zapatistas staged their silent march on five cities in Chiapas.

4. Refers to the #YoSoy132 movement against Enrique Peña Nieto, sparked when 131 university students organized a protest against his visit to their campus.  Following the protest, the media asked, “Who will be number 132?”, leading to the “I Am 132” movement.

5. Mexico’s elected term.

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

January 2013

P.S. WHICH PROVIDES A FEW TIPS TO REINFORCE YOUR SUSPICIONS:

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.

MULTIPLE CHOICE P.S.

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.

P.S. THAT GUIDES YOU, AND TELLS YOU THAT…

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.

P.S. THAT CONTINUES GIVING ADVICE:

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.”

P.S. ABOUT THE CURSED (IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE) PASSWORD:

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.

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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.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=VdEOqHmyGtQ)

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

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=67RyrykVjdU)

“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.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=33VYndCap3c)

______________________________________

[i] For the gendered nouns in Spanish, the EZLN often uses the masculine, feminine, and then a combination of the two—“trabajador, trabajadora, trabajadoroa”—to include transsexual identities.

[ii] Literally, “I’m made of wood I have the ears of a fish,” a rhyme children use when they cover their ears and pretend not to hear what they don’t want to hear.

[iii] Translator’s note: Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos seems to be playing with the double meaning of “La Tira.” In parts of Latin America, “la tira” refers to the police and military, and it is also the name of a comedy show consisting of spontaneous dialogues that appeared on the Spanish television station “La Sexta.”

[iv] Garnachas are a kind of tortilla with a meat filling.

[v] Laura Bozzo is a Peruvian talk show host. Her talk show “Laura in América” aired on Telemundo in the United States. She has had shows on various Mexican TV networks, and is known for her sensationalist Jerry-Springer style setups. “Que pasa el desgraciado” (bring the wretch on stage) is not an uncommon way of introducing guests.

[vi] Literally “Sixth Floor Press.”

[vii] A character on the TV show The Big Bang Theory, on the US network CBS. Cooper is a theoretical physicist played by Jim Parsons.

[viii] All of these are pejorative terms by which critics refer to Subcomandante Marcos and the Zapatistas and their use of ski-masks.

[ix] Refers to Florence Cassez, French citizen accused of participating in a gang-related kidnapping in Mexico in a highly controversial case. She was incarcerated 7 years of a 60-year sentence, before her case was thrown out for breaches of legal procedure. She was released on January 23, 2013 and returned to Paris.

[x] Literally “the pompadour,” refers to Enrique Peña Nieto and hairstyle he sports.

[xi] The original is “contreras,” playing with the word “contrario.” meaning “contrarian,” but using the last name of Elias Contreras, the main character of “The Uncomfortable Dead,” a crime fiction novel co-written by Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos and a collective pseudonym given to those assigned intelligence detail for the EZLN.

[xii] The original is “mentadas que no son de menta.” “Mentada” is like a telling-off or insult. Menta is mint. Literally this would be unminty insults.

[xiii] Pozol is a highly nutritious drink made of the dough from ground corn mixed with water. It is commonly consumed in the Mexican countryside as a midday meal.

[xiv] Literally, I hope your complaints will now be “minty.”

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Traducción del Kilombo Intergaláctico.

*************************

THEM AND US

III. – The Overseers

 Somewhere in Mexico…

The man hits the table, furious.

-Annihilate them!

-Sir, with all due respect, we’ve been trying to do that for 500 years.  Each successive empire that has arisen has attempted to do so with all of their era’s military might–

-So why are they still there?

-Err…we’re still trying to figure that out–the lackey glares reproachfully at the man in a military uniform.

The aforementioned man gets up and, standing at attention, extends his right hand frontward, with his hand out[1], and shouts enthusiastically:

-Heil!… Sorry, I meant to say that I salute you, sir — After shooting a threatening look that shuts up the snickering from other guests, he continues:

-The problem, sir, is that those heretics don’t confront us where we’re strong; they turn around and attack us where we’re weak.  If it were all just a matter of lead and fire, well, those lands, with their forests, water, minerals, people, would have been conquered a long time ago and you would have been able to offer them up as a tribute to the great Ruler, sir.  Those cowards, instead of confronting us with just their heroic bare chests, or with bows, arrows, and spears, and go down in history as heroes (beaten, yes, but heroes), they prepare, they organize, they reach agreements, they give us the slip, and they hide when they take off their masks.  But we wouldn’t be in this situation if you had listened to me when everything began– and he glares reproachfully at the guest whose place card says “chupa-cabras version 8.8.1.3.”[2]

The aforementioned guest smiles as he says:

-General, with all due respect, we didn’t have an atomic bomb.  And even if we could have acquired one from our allies (the guest who has the ambassador place card expresses his thanks for the mention), we would have been able to wipe out the aboriginals, but we would have also destroyed the forests and the water; moreover, the work of mining exploration and operations would have been impossible for, say, a couple of centuries-.

Another one of the lackeys speaks up:

-We offered them songs and poems praising their sacrifice, ballads, movies, roundtables, essays, books, plays, statues, their name in golden letters when they died.  We told them that if they insisted on resisting and staying alive, we would spread rumors and doubts about why they haven’t disappeared, why they haven’t died, and we would say they were of our own creation, that we were going to bring forth a smear campaign that would even include the support of some intellectuals, artists, and progressive journalists — The aforementioned guests make a gesture of approval, although more than one appears displeased by so many “-ists.”

The man impatiently interrupts:

-And?

-They responded with this gesture — (the lackey shows them a hand balled into a fist but with the middle finger raised).

The guests squirm indignantly and clamor:

-Proles! Degenerates! Louts! Plebeians! Hood rats! –

The lackey still has his hand up, facing the man.  The man rebukes him:

-I get it! You can put your hand down.

The lackey slowly lowers his hand winks at the rest of the guests.  Then he continues:

-The problem, sir, is that these people don’t worship death, but rather life.  We’ve tried to eliminate their visible leaders, buy them, seduce them.

-And?

-Not only have we not succeeded we haven’t even realized that the bigger problem is the invisible leaders.

-Ok, let’s find them.

-We already found them, sir.

-And?

-They’re everyone, sir.

-What do you mean, everyone?

-Yes, everyone.  That was one of the messages they sent on the day the world ended.  We managed to keep the media from talking about it, but I think that we can say it here without fearing that someone else will find out.  They used a code so that we would understand: he who is on the stage is the leader. [3]

-What!? 40,000 leaders?

-Err… sir, excuse me, those are the ones we saw, you’d have to add in the many more that we didn’t see.

-Then buy them!  I imagine we have enough money – he adds, addressing the guest with the place card that says “non-Automated Teller Machine.”

The so-called ATM begins to stammer:

-Well, sir, we’d have to sell off a State asset, but we don’t really have anything anymore.

The lackey interrupts:

-Sir, we’ve tried.

-And?

-They’re not for sale.

-Then convince them.

-They don’t understand what we say to them.  And to tell you the truth, we don’t understand what they say, either.  They talk about dignity, freedom, justice, democracy…

-Ok, then we’ll act like they don’t exist.  That way they’ll die of hunger, curable diseases, a good media blackout, no one will even notice until it’s too late.  That’s it, let’s kill them with oblivion.

The guest who bears a striking resemblance to a chupa-cabras makes a sign of approval.  The man thanks him for the gesture.

-But sir, there’s a problem.

-Which?

-Even if we ignore them, they insist on continuing to exist.  Without our charity, sorry, what I meant is without our help, they built schools, they made the land productive, they built clinics and hospitals, they improved their homes and their diets, they lowered crime rates, they did away with alcoholism.  And not only did they prohibit the production, distribution, and consumption of narcotics, they raised their life expectancy and theirs is almost equal to that of big cities.

-Oh, so it’s still higher in the cities — content, the man smiles.

-No, sir, when I said “almost” I meant that theirs is higher.  The life expectancy in the cities went down thanks to your predecessor’s strategy, sir.

Everyone turns to look with mockery and reproach at the man with the blue tie.

-You’re saying that those rebels live better than those who sell out to us?

-Absolutely, sir.  But you don’t have to worry about that, we’ve initiated an ad hoc media campaign to put a lid on it.

-And?

-The problem is that neither they nor our people watch television, or read our media, or have Twitter, or Facebook, or even a cell phone signal.  They know that they’re better off and our people know they’re worse off.

The guest with the place card that says “modern left” rises to her feet:

-Sir, if you’ll allow me.  With the new program called Solid…sorry, I meant to say “National Crusade”…[4]

The lackey impatiently interrupts:

-Enough, Chayo [4], don’t start with another one of your speeches for the media.  All of us agree that the main enemy is those damn Indians and not the other unmentionable.  We have that one good and infiltrated and completely fenced in by people who belong to this man here.

The man with the “chupa cabras” place card nods with satisfaction and gratefully accepts the pats on the back that nearby guests give him.

The lackey continues:

-But you and I and everyone else who is here knows that all of this about social programs is a lie, that it doesn’t matter how much money is invested, at the end of the bottleneck there’s nothing.  Because everyone takes their cut.  After the señor, with all due respect, you take a big chunk, everyone else here does, too, and then the governors, the heads of the military zones, the local legislatures, the mayors, the commissioners, the leaders, those in charge, the cashiers, so little or nothing is left over for those below.

The man intervenes:

-Well we have to do something fast, because if we don’t, the Ruler will look for other overseers and you are all well aware, ladies and gentlemen, of what that means: unemployment, ridicule, and maybe even jail or exile. 

The person marked “chupa cabras” shudders and makes an affirmative gesture.

-And it is urgent, because if those Indians with the cracked feet… (the man’s daughter makes an expression of disgust, the woman sits there, suddenly indisposed, and turns so green that, well, forget about the Green Lantern).  The woman leaves, saying something about a pregnancy. [6]

The man goes on:

-If those fucking Indians unite, we’ll have serious problems because…

-Ahem, ahem, sir — the lackey interrupts.

-Yes?

-I’m afraid there’s a bigger problem; that is, worse, sir-.

-Bigger?  Worse?  What could be worse than an Indian insurrection?

-Well, if they reached an agreement with the others, sir-.

-The Others?  Who are they?

-Hmm… let me see… ok, well, peasants, workers, the unemployed, youth, students, teachers, employees, women, men, the elderly, professionals, fags and dykes, punks, Rastafarians, skaters, rappers, hip-hop artists, rockers, metal heads, chauffeurs, tenant farmers, NGOs, street vendors, crews, races, hood rats, plebes…-

-Enough!  I get it… I think.

The lackeys look at each other with a knowing smile.

-Where are the leaders we bought?  Where are the ones we’ve convinced that the solution to everything is to be like us?

 -They’re believing them less and less, sir.  They have less and less control over their people.

-Look for someone to buy!  Offer them money, trips, television programs, candidacies, seats in congress, governments!  But above all money, a lot of money!

-We’re doing that, sir, but… — the lackey looks doubtful.

–And? — the man prods him on.

-We find more and more…-

-Magnificent!  More money is needed then?

-Sir, what I mean is that we find more and more who won’t sell out.

-Terror, then?

-Sir, there’s more and more who aren’t afraid of us, or if they are, they have it under control.

-Deception?

-Sir, more and more think for themselves.

-We have to finish off all of them, then!

-Sir, if we make everyone disappear, we would disappear, too.  Who would sow the land, who would run the machines, who would work in the corporate media, who would serve us, who would fight in our wars, who would praise us?

-Then we have to convince them that we are as important as they are.

-Sir, not only are more and more people realizing that we’re not necessary, it appears that the Ruler is doubting our usefulness, and by “our” I mean all of us.

The guests sitting at the man’s table shift uncomfortable in their seats.

-Well then?

-Sir, while we look for another solution, because the “Pact”[7] didn’t work at all, and seeing that we have to avoid the embarrassment of once again hiding out in a bathroom [8], we’ve acquired something better: a “panic room!”[9]

The guests stand up and applaud.  The all crowd around the machine.  The man gets in and takes the controls.

The lackey nervously warns him:

-Sir, just be careful you don’t hit the “eject” button.

-This one?

-Nooooooooooo!

The make-up artists and puppeteers run to provide first aid.

The lackey addresses one of the cameramen who recorded everything:

-You have to erase that part… And tell the Ruler to get a replacement doll ready.  This one always needs resetting.

The guests straighten their ties and skirts, comb their hair, cough, trying to draw attention.  The cameras’ clicks and flashes overshadow everything…

(to be continued…)

From any corner of any world.

Sup Marcos.

Planet Earth.

January 2013.

Information from Report #69 of the Autonomous Intelligence Service (SIA in its Spanish abbreviation) regarding what was heard and seen in an ultra-arch-extremely-hyper secret meeting which took place in Mexico City, in the backyard of the United States, latitude 19° 24´ N, longitude 99° 9´ W.  Date: a few hours ago.  Classification: Eyes only.  Recommendation: do not make this document public because they’ll burn us alive.  Note: send more pozol because Elías [10] drank it all when someone shouted: “Eat while there’s lots of food!” and he’s skanking to the Nana Pancha cover of the Tijuana No song “Transgresores de la Ley” [Law Breakers].  Yes, the song is cool, but it’s tough to go in the mosh pit because Elías is wearing steel-toed boots.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Listen and watch the video the accompanies this text at: http://enlacezapatista.ezln.org.mx/2013/01/23/ellos-y-nosotros-iii-los-capataces/

“Luna Negra” [Black Moon].  Lyrics by Arcadio Hidalgo.  Scored and played by Los Cojolites.  The other son jarocho.  ¡A zapatearle en el fandango raza![11]

“En esta tierra que me vio nacer” [On this land where I was born] with MC LOKOTER.  Greetings to the Other Zumpango [town in Mexico State].  Production and photography: Joana López.  Directed and edited by: Ricardo Santillán.  Production: BLASJOY DESIGNER.  Year 2012.

Note: An MC is something like a DJ with noble feelings and cool words, but with a hip-hop rhythm.  Rap!

“Transgresores de la ley” by Tijuana No, covered by Nana Pancha on their album “Flores para los muertos” [Flowers for the dead].  Every time Tijuana No played this song, they dedicated it to the EZLN, even when the Zaps weren’t fashionable.  Greetings and a big hug to those who never forgot us.  Skaaaaaaaaaaaaa!  Everybody jump!

Translated from the original Spanish by Kristin Bricker.

Translator’s Notes:

The “Ruler” is the United States government, “the man” (el señor) is current president Enrique Peña Nieto, “chupacabras” is former president Carlos Salinas, and the “man with the blue tie” is former president Felipe Calderón.

1.The Mexican military salute looks a lot like the Nazi German military salute.

2.The chupacabras is a mythical Mexican vampire beast that sucks the blood out of goats.  It was allegedly invented by Carlos Salinas to distract people’s attention from the fact that he was running the country into the ground.

3.Referring to the December 21, 2012, mobilization in which 40,000 Zapatistas took to the streets in silence.  The Zapatista communique released that day stated: “Did you listen?  It is the sound of their world crumbling.  It is the sound of our world resurging.”

4.”Solidaridad” (Solidarity) was a public works program initiated by Carlos Salinas, who is Enrique Peña Nieto’s godfather and widely considered to be the latter’s puppet master.  So it was no surprise when Peña Nieto recently announced his new campaign, the National Crusade Against Hunger and Poverty, to which the Zapatistas responded with the middle finger.

5.Chayo is a nickname for a woman named Rosario, in this case referring to Rosario Robles, the head of Sedesol, Mexico’s Social Development Agency, which is responsible for implementing the National Crusade.  Here she’s referred to as the “modern left” because she defected from the center-left Democratic Revolution Party (PRD) to join the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI), which currently rules Mexico.

6.Mexican indigenous people who live in rural areas often have cracked feet because they walk barefoot.  During the presidential campaign, Enrique Peña Nieto’s daughter re-tweeted a tweet from her boyfriend referring to her father’s critics as “a bunch of idiots” and “proles.”

7.When Enrique Peña Nieto took office, he announced a “Pact for Mexico” that would supposedly solve the country’s problems.  Not many people were particularly impressed.

8.During the presidential campaign, Peña Nieto was confronted by student protesters at the private Ibero-American University…so he hid in a bathroom.  The Ibero protest sparked the massive #YoSoy132 student movement.

9.Panic rooms are being constructed in some Mexican courthouses to protect judges.

1. Comandante Elías Contreras is the EZLN’s head of intelligence.  Pozol is a corn drink popular in Chiapas and Tabasco, the two states with confirmed Zapatista presence.
2. Son jarocho is a folksy musical genre from Veracruz.  Zapatear is how one dances to son jarocho; it involves stomping on a wooden platform in hard-soled shoes to make noise.  Fandango is a son jarocho dance party.