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Sub Galeano | EZLN

Why Yes to the Consultation and Yes to the question.

Why Yes to the Consultation and Yes to the question.

July of 2021

Summary: A call to participate in the Consultation with the victims in mind. Going to the polls. It is suggested that if you dislike or distrust the Supreme, and rightly so, and think that your participation would be used to legitimize those from above, or that that it is a rehearsal for a later consultation which would extend the mandate of the executive, or that is a waste (yet one more) of pay, or that what the Supreme wants is to negotiate with the exes to bring down the bad vibes a notch, or it is demagoguery pure and simple, then don’t go to the polls.

Instead of this, it is proposed that you write a letter, either individual or collective and that you send it off to an organization of victims, telling them that you honor their pain and that you support them in their demands for truth and justice. Or a newspaper column, a tweet, a comment on your blog, in your newsletter, on your facebook, instagram, or wherever. Or a painting, a song, a mural, a poem, a speech, a sonata, a pirouette, a figure, a play, some art. Or an article of analysis, a colloquium, a lecture, a conference, a seedbed. Or whatever occurs to you. And even more, to make your non-conformity clear, do it extemporaneously, say one or several days after August 1st, and continue it for the rest of the year and the following years. It is stressed that you must get organized because, without even knowing it, you make up part of the future and probable victims of “the political decisions made in the present and coming years by political actors” of the Mexican State. It is that or resign yourself to the fact that when you are the victim, the “political actor” responsible for preventing this from happening to you, of investigating, pursuing, and punishing the guilty parties, declares the you “asked for it,” that he condemns the act and of course, it will be investigated “to the ultimate consequences, regardless of who falls” — as your name, and your personal story, pass into a number and a statistic.


First: The Zapatista communities will participate extemporaneously in the so-called “Popular Consultation,” following the usos y costumbres of the indigenous peoples, with community assemblies. The results will be sent to the organizations of victims of violence, the search for the disappeared, and prisoners of conscience. Those who have the INE (National Electoral Institute) credential (in fact there are very few), will go to the polls. We ESPECIALLY call upon our indigenous sisters and brothers, organized in the National Indigenous Congress-Indigenous Governing Council to participate also, according to their times and ways, without losing sight of the victims, and holding present all of the murdered brothers and sisters and communities that have been victims of the decisions of those from above before and now, like the long history of plunder, of deceit, of mockery and of contempt, of destruction of territories and disappearance of indigenous languages and cultures.

(Continuar leyendo…)

Comisión Sexta Zapatista | Subcomandante Insurgente Moisés

The Extemporaneous and a National Initiative


July 2021.

To the adherents of the Declaration for Life:
To the Europe from Below and to the Left:
To the National and International Sixth:
To the National Indigenous Congress-Indigenous Governing Council:
To the Networks of Resistance and Rebellion:
To the Collective «Llegó la Hora de los Pueblos«:

From: Subcomandante Insurgente Moisés.

Compañeras, compañeroas, compañeros:

Sisters, brothers, and hermanoas:

I greet you in the name of the children, women, them, elders and men of the Zapatista communities, and I communicate to you the following:

First.- We already have a strong Zapatista airborne company of 177 Zapatistas ready. It is made up in its totality by nativeso f Mayan roots, from the Cho’ol, Tzotzil, Tzeltal, Tojolabal and Castilian languages. We were born in the geography called Mexico. Our ancestors were born and died in these lands. As the Mexican State does not recognize our identity and origin, and tells us that we are “extemporaneous” (so says the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, that we are “extemporaneous” Mexicans), we have decided to baptize  this unit of Listening and Word [Escucha y Palabra] as “The Extemporaneous.”

As we saw in the dictionaries, “extemporaneous” means “that it is  inopportune, inconvenient”, or “that it is inappropriate for the time in which it happens.” In other words, that we are inopportune, inconvenient and inappropriate.

Never before have we been so adequately defined. We are happy that at last the Mexican State recognizes that this is how it considers the original peoples of this geography called Mexico. I think that’s how it laments not having annihilated us… yet; and that our existence contradicts the official discourse about the «conquest.» Now it is understood that the demand of the government of Mexico to that of Spain, demanding that it ask forgiveness, is for not having exterminated us.

Of the 177 delegates, 62 of us still do not have a passport. The Secretary of Foreign Affairs is in a bind due to the «inconvenience» that we represent. Despite the fact that we have demonstrated our identity and origin, it continues demanding more and more documents. The only thing left for them to do is to ask the governments of Central America to say that we are not citizens of those countries.

(Continuar leyendo…)

Subcomandante Insurgente Galeano

VOLANTEM EST ALIO MODO GRADIENDI. (What are we waiting for?)

(What are we waiting for?)

Any day, any month of any year.

Droughts. Floods. Earthquakes. Volcanic eruptions. Pollution. Current and future pandemics. Assassinations of leaders of originary peoples, human rights defenders and guardians of the earth. Gender violence rising to the level of genocide against women (the foolish suicide of humanity). Racism poorly hidden behind handouts. The criminalization and persecution of difference. The irreparable oblivion of forced disappearance. Repression as a response to legitimate demands. Exploitation of the many by the few. Massive initiatives for the destruction of territories. Desolate villages. The displacement of millions concealed as “migration.” Species at risk of extinction or already just a name on the list of “prehistoric animals.” Enormous profits for the richest of the world’s rich. Extreme misery for the poorest of the world’s poor. The tyranny of money. Virtual reality as a false escape from real reality. Dying nation-states. Each individual a strange enemy. Lies as government policy. Frivolity and superficiality as ideals to aspire to. Cynicism as a new religion. Death as a daily routine. War, always war.

The storm wiping out everything, whispering, advising, screaming:

Give up!

Give up!

Give up!

And nevertheless…

Out there, near and far from our lands and skies, there is someone. A woman, a man, an other [unoa otroa], a group, a collective, an organization, a movement, an originary people, a neighborhood, a street, a town, a house, a room. In the smallest, most forgotten and most distant corner there is someone who says “NO”. Someone who says it quietly, almost inaudibly: who screams it and lives and dies by it. And who rebels and resists. Someone: we must look for them. We must find them. We must listen to them. We must learn from them.

Even if we have to fly to embrace them.

Because, after all, flying is just another way of walking. And walking is our way of fighting, of living.

So, on the Journey for Life, what are we hoping for? We hope to see your heart. We hope that it’s not too late. We hope.. for everything.

I testify.
Planet Earth.. or what’s left of it.

«On lâche rien» in French, Spanish, Catalán, Basque, Galician. Interpreted by: HK et les SALTIMBANKS with LA PULQUERIA, TXARANGO, LA TROBA KUNG-FÙ, FERMIN MUGURUZA et DAKIDARRIA.

[i] Flying is another form of walking

Sup Galeano | EZLN

The Journey for Life: To What End?

The Journey for Life: To What End?

June 2021

A clarification: often when we say “los Zapatistas,” we are not referring to men, but to the Zapatista villages [pueblos]. And when we say “las Zapatistas,” we’re not describing women, but the Zapatista communities [comunidades]. That’s why you’ll notice this ‘gender-hopping’ in our wording. When we refer to gender we always use “otroa” to mark the existence and struggle of those who are neither men nor women (our ignorance on the subject prevents us from going to details—but soon we will learn to name all of the differences).


  That said, the first thing that you should know or understand about the Zapatistas is that when we are going to do something, we prepare first for the worst. We start with a disastrous ending and prepare in reverse to confront it, or ideally to avoid it.

For example, we imagine being attacked: the usual massacres, genocide disguised as modern civilization, total extermination—and we prepare for those possibilities. On January 1, 1994, we did not imagine defeat: we assumed it as a certainty.

Maybe that helps you understand our initial shock, hesitation, and any puzzling improvisation on our part when, after so much time, effort, and preparation for ruin, we discovered that…we live.

So it is out of that skepticism that we develop our initiatives: some smaller, some larger, all outrageous. Our calls are always directed at “the other,” that which is beyond our daily horizon but which we recognize as necessary in the struggle for life, which is to say in the struggle for humanity.

In the maritime version of this initiative-gamble-delirium-folly, we prepared for the Kraken, a storm, or a stray white whale to wreck the vessel. That’s why we carved canoes and sent them with the 421st Squadron on La Montaña all the way to Vigo, Galicia, Spanish State, Europe.

We also knew that we might not be welcomed, so we sought in advance consensus for the invasion—that is, the visit… Actually, we’re still not sure whether we’re exactly “welcome”. For more than one man, woman, or other [una, uno, unoa], our presence is annoying, if not frankly disruptive. And we get it: it could be that after a year or more of lockdown, some might find it inconvenient that a group of indigenous Mayans, mere producers and consumers of commodities (electoral or otherwise), would try to talk in person. In person! (Do you remember how that used to be a part of daily life?) And worse, that they would make it their principal mission to listen to you, to pepper you with questions, to share nightmares and, of course, dreams.

(Continuar leyendo…)


The Landing

The Landing

«El desembarco» by León Gieco performed by León Gieco (Vocals and Harmonica), Jairo (Vocals and Djembe), Silvina Moreno (Vocals), Sandra Corizzo (Vocals), Diego Boris (Harmonica), Antonio Druetta (Mandolin), Pablo Elizondo (Guitar), Luciana Elizondo (Viola da gamba). 2021.

The Landing

From the Other Europe.

Individuals, Groups, Collectives, Organizations and European movements – in collaboration with the 421st Squadron.

June 2021.

P.S. – There is a song by León Gieco[i] called «El Desembarco» [The Landing]. I had it archived in a “pending” folder for years, wondering when and in which video to use it. In the end, I thought that when the time came, I would know.

I thought, as I watched Marijose set foot on Galician soil, not about the song, but about the invisible web that brought music together with a buccaneer boot, worn on a native Mayan foot, stepping onto Iberian soil.

I did a little research and it turns out that the song was released in 2011 on an album of the same name. That was 10 years ago … or more. When was this song born in the heart of León Gieco, our unwitting brother – or sworn brother like Juan Villoro[ii] – who we hold within the great embrace that is Latin America? Months or years before?

Did León dream what the lyrics say?

Is it the same dream had by Marijose when, in April’s fiery embrace, it was decided that Marijose [elloa] would be the first to disembark? Is it the same dream that the late SupMarcos had when he wrote «Sailor on the Mountain» years before the uprising? The same one that kept Don Durito[iii] of the Lacandón Jungle awake when he imagined (or made—we’ll never know) his journey through European lands? Did Comandanta Ramona, the first to leave Zapatista territory and from whose path the National Indigenous Congress was born, dream that dream?  Is it the same one dreamed by then Lieutenant Colonel Insurgente Moisés when – in 2010, on the outskirts of a hut in the mountains of the Mexican southeast – he received the rank of Subcomandante? The one that Señor Ik, SubPedro, and 45 other Zapatistas had moments before falling in combat in January 1994? The one that, collectively, the indigenous Sami people – in the northernmost north of Europe – put forward in their Declaration for Life? Was it the dream of Gonzalo Guerrero[iv] over 500 years ago when he made the path and destiny of the Mayan people his own? Is it that dream that unsettled Jacinto Canek[v]?

Did this dream alleviate to some extent the passing of Comandante Ismael, Dr. Paulina Fernández C., Oscar Chávez, Jaime Montejo, Jean Robert, Paul Leduc, Vicente Rojo, Mario Molina, Ernesto Cardenal and so many family members – all brothers and sisters without knowing it – that we have lost in recent months?

Is it the dream that inspired Europe from below to organize such a terrible and marvelous reception in Vigo?

The one that now travels through the streets, neighborhoods, countryside, and coasts of Europe repeating «Will July rain on Paris»?

Is it the dream that inspired the voices that found echo in the emblematic reflections on the beaches of Vigo and crossed the Atlantic to now take nest in the Zapatista communities?

Because the 421st Squadron descends not from a ship, but from La Montaña, «without weapons, and for life.»

Is this what humanity is? That which weaves the long and hidden thread that unites different and distant geographies and links calendars near and far?

I do not know. But I would recommend to those whose curse is art: Give expression to that dream. Whichever it is, let it be yours.

Because you never know when and where another gaze, another ear, other hands, another step, another heart in another calendar and another geography, will need to take it down from the great shelf of hopes and dreams, open its entrails and plant it, like a seed, in painful reality.

I bear witness,

June 2021.

[i] Argentine folk rock performer, composer and interpreter.

[ii] Juan Villoro is a Mexican writer and journalist and the son of philosopher Luis Villoro.

[iii] Don Durito’s adventures across Europe in 1999:

[iv] Gonzalo Guerrero was a sailor from Palos, Andalucia, Spain who was shipwrecked along the Yucatán Peninsula and taken prisoner by the local Maya. Over time he took on Mayan culture as his own, became a Mayan chief, and died fighting alongside the Maya against Spanish conquistadors in defense of Mayan territory.

[v] Jacinto Canek – 18th-century Maya revolutionary who fought against the Spanish in the Yucatán Peninsula of New Spain.


Subcomandante Insurgente Galeano

We Arrived

We Arrived

June 20, 2021

It was 06:59am—Mexico time—on June 20, 2021, when, hazy on the horizon, the Iberian Peninsula became visible from La Montaña. At 09:14:45am, the ship anchored in the Baiona or Bayona Bay, Galicia, Spanish State, Europe. From there, the geography of Portugal is just a stone’s throw away, and a bit to the northeast Vigo is visible. Everyone is healthy. Due to paperwork and other matters, La Montaña and the 421st Squadron will remain here until their tentative disembarkation on Tuesday the 22nd at 17:00—Vigo time and date. The Spanish Civil Guard boarded the ship, took down the crew’s and passenger’s information, checked passports, and carried out a routine check. All is well. Weather conditions: cloudy, light but frequent rain, 15 degrees Celsius.

Shortly after, several sailboats carrying compas from rebellious Europe approached to welcome the ship… or to check if the rumors that run through barrios, mountains, and countryside across the world were true: “the Zapatistas have invaded Europe.”

On land, at the foot of what looks like a lighthouse, another group was shouting something like, “We surrender!”… Nah, just kidding. They were shouting “Long Live Zapata,” “Welcome!” and… well that one is hard to hear. They hold banners and posters. As far as the ship’s passengers can see, there are no obscene signs, which might indicate that we have not been disowned… yet. Some poor disoriented soul carries a sign that reads: “The Rebellious Popcorn Diner. Galician Stew, Idem and Sardine Empanadas. Special discounts for invaders, beetles and cat-dogs” Another sign reads, “Get me out of here!” The most prudent ones use their banners as umbrellas.

The European sky cries, moved. Its tears can’t be distinguished from the ones that moisten the cheeks—weathered by sun, sea, anguish and adrenaline—of the intrepid 421st Squadron. In their step, their gaze, and their heartbeats, the Mayan people—the legend will say—crossed the Atlantic in 50 days and nights, in their long and turbulent journey for life.

It’s cold outside, but inside, in the geography of the heart, something warms the soul. In the mountains of the Mexican southeast, the sun smiles and the first notes of a cumbia emerge joyfully from the sound system.

Of course, the disembarkation, the arrival of the aerial delegation, the organization of the agenda, the meetings, and the celebration of the word are still to be done.

In other words, we’ve only just begun.

June, 2021

Music: La Cumbia del Sapito – Alfredo y sus Teclados

EZLN | Sub Galeano

Calamidad Zapatista

Calamidad Zapatista

 The story of the encounter between SupGaleano and Calamidad [Calamity], including the History of Popcorn and, in the sports section, the first world soccer match, as well as other unhappy (for the Sup) events

Headnotes (just to annoy the footnotes):

(1) The first version of this story was read aloud in the Second Puy ta Cuxlejaltic Film Festival, celebrated in the Caracol of Tulan Kaw in December 2019. The text was unpublished until now. This version maintains the original text and adds some details that may lead some readers to despair, accustomed as they might be to short readings with few ideas. You may detect some spoilers related to what is now known as the “Journey for Life.” Don’t worry though, it often happens that Zapatismo announces things that have not yet happened. This Zapatista irresponsibility is now legendary, so stop complaining.

(2) Unfortunately, this text doesn’t have the special effects that were used in the aforementioned caracol and that earned SupGaleano seven nominations for the “Cardboard Popcorn Kernel,” the highest prize for whomever consumes the most bowls of popcorn drenched in hot sauce without resorting to antacids, which falls in the award category of “with or without a film.”

(3) Warning: The following accounts may contain images that offend those lacking in imagination, intelligence, and other things equally devalued under modernity. It is not recommended for reading by adults over 21, unless supervised by children under 12. What?! Are you going to read on despite this serious warning? Well there you are, nobody has any principles anymore.

(4) This account is based on real events. Names have been maintained to clarify the responsible parties before the Good Government Council’s Justice Commission… What? Yes, you can doubt the truth of what is recounted here, but…didn’t you also doubt that the zapatones would invade Europe? That’s what I thought. All the beings described herein actually exist. If anyone thinks this isn’t possible, that’s not the fault of reality but rather lack of imagination.

(5) Huh? No, I’m not scolding you. As they say, I’m giving you the context for what is and what follows…


This is the story of a little Zapatista girl who no one loved because she was, and is, different, even among those who are different.

(Continuar leyendo…)

Comisión Sexta | Sub Galeano

(Español) Carta de la Comisión Sexta Zapatista al Colectivo Llegó la hora de los pueblos

Sorry, this entry is only available in Español. For the sake of viewer convenience, the content is shown below in the alternative language. You may click the link to switch the active language.

Publicado en Camino al andar.

 14 de junio de 2021.
 Por El Sup Galeano.

11 de Junio del 2021.

Al Colectivo “Llegó la Hora de los Pueblos”.


Hermanas, hermanoas y hermanos:

Reciban tod@s un abrazo… bueno, varios. Queríamos mandarles un saludo… ok, varios, y, aprovechando el vuelo de estas letras, solicitarles un apoyo.

Resulta que, para la Travesía por la Vida Capítulo Europa, se ha decidido que cumplamos los requisitos legales para poder llegar, con nuestro oído y nuestra palabra, a las tierras que Marijose habrá de rebautizar en unos pocos días. Dentro de unas horas (tomando como referencia el día y la hora en que les escribo –madrugada del 11 de junio del 2021- ), ese desafío delirante llamado “La Montaña”, tocará tierras europeas en las llamadas Islas Azores, de Portugal. Ahí estarán unos días para luego dirigirse al destino marcado: Vigo, Galicia, Estado Español. Después saldrá un grupo aerotransportado.

El así llamado “Escuadrón 421” va con sus papeles en regla. Es decir, tienen doble pasaporte: el oficial mexicano y el llamado “pasaporte de trabajo zapatista”, que expiden las Juntas de Buen Gobierno cuando una compañera, compañero o compañeroa sale del territorio zapatista a hacer un trabajo para nuestros pueblos. Acá decimos que va de “comisión”. En otra ocasión hablaremos de ese “pasaporte zapatista”, ahora quisiéramos hablarles del oficial.

Ya antes nos hemos referido, en escritos y pláticas, a eso que llamamos “el calendario y la geografía”. Bueno, pues nuestra geografía se llama “México”. Y, para nosotras, las comunidades zapatistas, esto no es sólo una palabra. Es, en sentido zapatista, una geografía. Cuando decimos que somos “mexicanos” señalamos que compartimos historias con otros pueblos originarios hermanos (como quienes se agrupan en el Congreso Nacional Indígena-Concejo Indígena de Gobierno). Historias, es decir: dolores, alegrías, rabias, agravios, luchas. Pero no sólo con los pueblos originarios de esta geografía, también con individuos, grupos, colectivos, organizaciones y movimientos que coinciden con nosotros, los pueblos zapatistas, en sueños y, claro, en pesadillas.
Quiero decir con esto que a nosotras, las comunidades zapatistas, no sólo no nos avergüenza decir que somos mexicanas, nos enorgullece. Porque ese orgullo no nos nace mirando hacia arriba y a sus historietas, sino mirando, escuchando y hablando con el México de abajo, sus vidas y sus muertes. No es mi despropósito el hacer un recuento, así sea apresurado, de lo que vive y lucha en ese México. Cada quien tiene sus modos, sus propias historias, sus derrotas y victorias, su mirar y explicar su mundo, su mirarse y explicarse. Pero miramos que hay algo común, una especie de raíz, o trama, o columna vertebral… debe haber una forma de decirlo en lenguaje cibernético… ¿una matriz o matrix? Bueno, pues es en esa raíz común que nos identificamos.
Oh, yo sé que a más de una, uno, unoa, le preocupará si lo que digo es una versión “zapatista” del nacionalismo. No, eso nos da pereza a veces, enfado otras, y siempre preocupación. No me refiero a un nacionalismo. En los nacionalismos se esconden, por ejemplo, desigualdades y, ojo, relaciones criminales. En los nacionalismos confluyen el criminal y la víctima, el Mandón y el mandado. Algo tan perverso como “te destruyo pero lo hago por tu bien porque somos compatriotas”. Algo como el sentido maligno que se da a “lo humano”, por ejemplo al señalar que tanto hombres como mujeres son seres humanos. Voy a dejar de lado el hecho de que se olvide que hay quien no es ni mujer ni hombre y, al ser innominado, ya no es “un ser humano”. En ese sentido de “lo humano” se olvida la relación de dominio que hay entre hombres y mujeres. No escribiré un rollo sobre el patriarcado, su genealogía y su crimen enloquecido actual; hay entre ustedes quien sabe más de eso y lo explica mejor de lo que yo podría.
¿Es posible referirse a la humanidad sin caer en la trampa de una igualdad hipócrita? Nosotras pensamos que sí, y es refiriendo la humanidad a las ciencias y las artes, Pero no sólo. También a sentimientos, pensamientos y propuestas básicas: el sentido de la justicia, de la moral y la ética (que el finado compañero Don Luis Villoro explicaría mejor de lo que yo intentara siquiera), la fraternidad y otras cosas que no detallaré (pero ustedes siéntanse en la libertad de hacerlo). Por ejemplo, yo agregaría el baile –música y canciones incluidas-, y el juego, pero no me hagan mucho caso.
En fin, de detalle en detalle se irán abriendo las diferencias, las distancias, los desacuerdos. Pero, en sentido inverso, se podría encontrar algo común: a eso llamamos nosotros “humanidad”.
Entonces, cuando decimos que los pueblos zapatistas somos “mexicanos” y que nos enorgullece el serlo, nos referimos a esa matriz común con lo otro que lucha en esta geografía atrapada entre el río Bravo y el Suchiate, con el mordisco que le dio el mar de oriente y la alargada curva que el mar de occidente le forjó en el talle, e incluyendo el brazo solitario que bordea el llamado “Mar de Cortés”. Agreguen ustedes la historia real, la de las geografías vecinas y…
Bueno, basta de rollo. El asunto es que nuestra delegación aerotransportada está en el trámite de sus pasaportes. Y digo “trámite” por delicadeza, porque es como un infierno, uno que se alimenta en silencio y llega a verse como “normal”.
Porque resulta que nuestras compañeras, compañeros y compañeroas cumplen todos los requisitos que se exigen, hacen el pago estipulado, viajan desde sus comunidades hasta las oficinas de la mal llamada “Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores” y, con todo y la pandemia, hacen cita, fila, esperan su turno y… se les niega el documento.
Son indignantes los obstáculos del supremo gobierno y su burocracia ignorante, necia y racista.
Porque podría pensarse que es sólo burocracia, que te toca la mala suerte de topar con alguien que piensa que tiene Poder porque está detrás de una ventanilla, un escritorio, una oficina. Pero no, es también algo más y se podría sintetizar así: racismo.
¿Las razones? Bueno, hay una fundamental y, claro, sus derivadas: hay en el gobierno un ambiente de histeria mal disimulada. Acorde con su compromiso con el gobierno estadunidense, de detener el flujo de migrantes de Centroamérica, para los gobiernos federal, estatal y municipales, todo lo que no sea rubio, de ojos claros y proceda de más al sur de Puebla, es centroamericano. Para las esquizofrénicas autoridades gubernamentales, cualquier centroamericano lo primero que hace es: sacar su acta de nacimiento, su credencial del INE o sus constancias de identidad con fotografía (que es un documento oficial porque lo expide el municipio), y de origen en la cabecera oficial, su fe de bautismo, las actas de nacimiento de sus padres o herman@s mayores, copias de los INE´s de ell@s, constancias de municipio autónomo y de Junta de Buen Gobierno, testigos presenciales con identificación oficial, etcétera. Con todo eso cumplido, se rechaza su petición del documento al que todo mexicano tiene derecho para salir y entrar a territorio nacional.
Sí, todos esos papeles se presentan, pero el problema es que, a ojos de la burocracia de la Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores, el color de la piel, el modo de hablar, la forma de vestir y el lugar de procedencia es lo que cuenta. “Al sur del metro Taxqueña, todo es Centroamérica”.
Tanto bla, bla, bla de derechos y reconocimiento de nuestras raíces, y etcétera –incluidos perdones hipócritas pedidos sobre la tierra a destruir-, pero la población originaria, o indígena, sigue siendo tratada como extranjera en su propia tierra. Y peor en la Ciudad de México, que se supone “progresista”. Ahí, una señora, burócrata de la Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores, rechazó la credencial del INE con un despectivo “ésa no sirve para nada, sólo para votar”, y le exigió a la compañera, de más de 40 años de edad, habitante de la Selva Lacandona, su certificado de secundaria, para comprobar que no era guatemalteca. La compañera alegó: “pero yo vivo de la tierra, soy campesina, no tengo estudios de secundaria”. La burócrata, altanera y prepotente: “pues no estudian porque no quieren”. “Pero vengo desde Chiapas”, insiste la compañera. “No me importa. A ver, el que sigue”, responde la burócrata.
¿Se excita la burocracia gubernamental al maltratar a indígenas? ¿Es la prepotencia su afrodisíaco? “Ya vine, querid@, hoy retaché a una pinche india y traigo muchas ganas”, dirán entornando los ojos con coquetería.
Para probar si era racismo y no sólo burocracia, mandamos a un compañero “blanco y barbado” a sacar su pasaporte. Le entregaron el mismo día y sin pedirle nada más allá de su acta de nacimiento, su identificación con fotografía y comprobante de pago, que son los requisitos legales.
Y no sólo eso: la Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores retiene el pago que han hecho tod@s l@s compas a quienes se les niega el pasaporte con pretextos y requisitos que ni siquiera están en su página de internet. Ha de estar muy dura la austeridad si es que tienen que despojar a los indígenas de sus dineros.
A un compañero (más de 60 años de edad) lo cuestionaron: “¿No será que quieres ir a Estados Unidos a trabajar?” El compa respondió: “No, ahí toca luego, en otra vuelta. Ahorita nos toca Europa”. El funcionario, cual Tribunal Federal Electoral, se lavó las manos y lo mandó a otra ventanilla. Ahí le dijeron: “Eso está muy lejos y es caro el viaje, no puede ser que tengas el dinero necesario porque eres indígena. Tienes que traer el estado de cuenta de tu tarjeta de crédito. El que sigue”. A una compañera le dijeron: “A ver, canta el himno”. Y la compañera se arrancó con el “ya se mira el horizonte”. Rechazada. Ella me dijo apenada: “creo que es porque lo canté con ritmo de cumbia y no como corrido ranchero. Pero es que la cumbia es más alegre. Los corridos rancheros son de pura matazón de mujeres. Si te llamas “Martina” o “Rosita”, pues ya valiste”.
Mismo en la Ciudad de México: Dos compañeras, lengua tzeltal, de la Selva Lacandona. Caminan desde su pueblo hasta donde toman un camión de redilas a la cabecera municipal; de ahí en transporte público hasta San Cristóbal de Las Casas; de ahí otro a Tuxtla Gutiérrez; de ahí otro más hasta la Ciudad de México; hacen el pago del pasaporte por 10 años “porque recorrer el mundo va a tardar”; se presentan en una oficina de la SRE; hacen fila con cubre bocas, careta y sana distancia; entran y presentan sus papeles; les toman la fotografía; esperan afuera a que las llamen para entregarles el pasaporte; las llaman y les dicen “está mal una letra de tu apellido” y “tu hermano tiene otro apellido materno”; la del hermano: “es que así son los pinches hombres y mi papá anduvo de cabrón”; la de la letra “es que el que hizo el acta no sabe la diferencia escrita entre la “s” y la ´z´”; en ambos casos l@s funcionari@s: risas burlonas y “tienes que regresar y traer más comprobantes de que eres mexicana”; ellas “pero vivo hasta Chiapas”; la SRE: “no te entrego hasta que traigas eso”. Las compañeras regresan en sentido inverso, llegan a su pueblo, actualizan y juntan más comprobantes de que son mexicanas. Nuevo viaje a la Ciudad de México. Otra vez cita, fila con cubre bocas, careta, sana distancia. Ventanilla. Alta funcionaria de la Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores: “ahora hay que esperar a que comprobamos que sí son mexicanas”. Las compas: “pero traje lo que me dijeron”. La SRE: “pero tenemos que comprobar que sí son ciertos los papeles, entonces vamos a preguntar en Registro Civil de su municipio y su estado”. Las compañeras: “¿Cuánto tarda?”. La SRE: “10 días o un mes, ahí te vamos a avisar”. Las compañeras esperan 10 días y nada. Se regresan. Pasa un mes y nada. Otros 30 días y nada. Vuelven a ir a la Ciudad de México. Mismo periplo. La SRE: “no han respondido, sigan esperando”.
Y ahí están las dos compañeras. Empezaron sus trámites en marzo y es el mes de… junio.


Si tienen tiempo, hagan ustedes esto: imaginen que nacieron con la piel oscura, que son de ascendencia indígena y que son de algún estado del sureste mexicano. Ahora vean los requisitos para obtener el pasaporte: acta de nacimiento, identificación oficial con fotografía, o cédula profesional, o título profesional, o cartilla militar liberada, o credencial del Instituto Nacional de las Personas Adultas Mayores, o credencial de servicios médicos de una institución pública de salud; y comprobante de pago.

Y aún cuando ustedes tengan cualquiera de, o todos, estos requisitos, si es de piel oscura, habla muy otro, y se viste “como la India María” (textual de una funcionaria de la SRE), se va a enfrentar con algo como: “no, necesitas traer tus calificaciones del kínder, de la primaria, secundaria, preparatoria –CCH no, los de ahí son grillos-, diplomado, curso de superación personal en NXIVM, y una carta de buena conducta del prefecto de disciplina”.

Del INE no hay mucho qué decir. Ocupado como estuvo el gran jefe Tatanka (el buen Jairo Calixto dixit –oh, oh, sí, yo leo también la prensa fifí-) en simular que es una persona decente, y los ladridos de Murayama, ni siquiera se dieron cuenta de que sus “oficinas” en Chiapas cerraron desde antes del 1 de febrero, a pesar de que se había dicho que del 1 al 10 de febrero se podía acudir sin cita. Perdimos así la oportunidad de mandar más delegados en La Montaña. Y el INE refrendó la actitud racista que tuvo frente a Marichuy.

Y creo que, entre tantas entrevistas que dieron y dan a medios, neoconservadores y neoliberales, para defender “su independencia” (já), no se han percatado que la credencial del INE es, también, una identificación oficial y, al negarla o cerrar, le niegan ese derecho a cualquier ciudadan@, o lo que sea que quiera decir eso de “ciudadanía”.

Lo paradójico de todo esto, es que, es@s indígenas a quienes les niegan el INE e el pasaporte, están luchando también por la vida de es@s burócratas que creen que sirven “a la Nación Mexicana” rechazando lo que les viene en gana, desde su pequeño trono detrás de una ventanilla, sólo por el placer de decirle “no” a quien consideran inferior porque tiene otro color de piel, otra lengua, otra cultura, otro modo, y cuyos ancestros estuvieron en estas tierras desde mucho antes de que los criollos se independizaran de los ibéricos y los relevaran en la opresión sobre los pueblos originarios.


  Entonces el apoyo que les pedimos es que platiquen entre ustedes a ver si se puede hacer algo. Por ejemplo: que le den un curso de vergüenza a los burócratas de la SRE; que le digan al señor Marcelo Ebrard que entendemos que, por la austeridad, no tenga paga para su campaña con miras al 2024, pero que robarle a los indígenas el costo del pasaporte y quedárselo sin darles su documento, pues, ¿cómo les diré sin ser grosero?… pues es de sinvergüenzas. ¿O tal vez los quiere para comprarse sus abrigos modelo “Neo de Matrix”? O que, con el dinero que están reteniendo por los pasaportes negados, tomen un curso de género, tolerancia e inclusión. O de plano regálenles unos libros de historia para que entiendan cuál es el lugar de los pueblos originarios en esta geografía.
Somos mexicanos, aquí nos tocó nacer, vivir, luchar y morir. Ni modos. Si hubiéramos caído en la Unión Americana, o en Belice o Guatemala, Honduras o El Salvador, Costa Rica o Nicaragua, pues igual estaríamos orgullosos de esas geografías… y estaríamos denunciando a sus respectivos gobiernos por burócratas, racistas e ignorantes, que es lo que hacemos con el actual de México y su “Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores”.
En fin, no se me ocurren muchas opciones, pero tal vez a ustedes sí. Ahí lo vean y nos dicen.
Mientras tanto, les mandamos (todoas, todas, y todos) un gran abrazo que, aunque a la distancia, no deja de ser sincero y fraterno.
Desde algún lugar del Planeta Tierra.
El Sup Galeano.

P.D.- En unas horas más les mando un texto para la sección deportiva de su página electrónica… ¡¿Cómo?! ¿No tienen sección deportiva? No les digo. Bueno, pues “quid pro quo”, dando y dando, con ese texto inauguran la mentada “sección deportiva” y a cambio, ustedes nos echan la mano en el asunto referido. Oh, lo sé, quedan a deber. Pero de ribete podrían, no sé, mandar algunos euros pa´ los chescos en las Europas… o, mejor aún, acompañarnos y, como su nombre lo indica, compartir, además de un espacio acogedor en un centro de detención para migrantes, palabras, oídos, miradas, y… ¿saben nadar?

Subcomandante Insurgente Galeano

The Zapatista Passport (See you soon, Portugal; Galicia, here we come)

The Zapatista Passport
(See you soon, Portugal; Galicia, here we come).

June of 2021.

On June 12th, 2021, the 421st Squadron, as well as the rest of the passengers and crew, had their passports stamped for legal entry into the space or zone known as Schengen and disembarked in Horta, Azores Islands, Portugal, Europe. Gracefully and without losing their composure (so to speak), they debarked from La Montaña [the Mountain]. As it should be, there was a frenzy of dancing, photos, and feasting. Marijose discovered an old prophecy that predicted their arrival. And they played that so-called “game” of the kind where “last one off pays for the food” (Diego Osorno lost). There was a toast to life, of course.


At 9:17:45am on June 14th of the current year, La Montaña pulled away from the Portuguese embrace and turned to the northeast at a speed of between 6 and 7 knots. At 12:30:06pm, the ship passed “Pico das Urzes” on the left. Latitude: 38.805213; longitude: -28.343418. Captain Ludwig planned to catch sight of the coast of the Iberian Peninsula somewhere around June 19th or 20th (although it could be sooner, as La Montaña, having reconciled with the wind, seemed eager to embrace her Portuguese and Galician sisters). From that date on, it will greet the rising waters of the San Martino, Monte Faro, and Monte Agudo Islands, and then enter Vigo Bay, planning to arrive at the Marina Punta Lagoa, north of the Port of Vigo, Galicia, Spanish State.

(Continuar leyendo…)

Subcomandante Insurgente Galeano

The Azores Islands, Portugal, Europe


 June 11, 2021.
(Note: Times and dates are in accordance with Mexican geography.)

With a dusty face, a cleaned and refreshed exterior, and repaired sails, La Montaña departed Cienfuegos, Cuba, on May 16 and headed East. Skirting along the edge of the Las Coloradas beach, with the Sierra Maestra mountains to its left, the ship was accompanied once again by the dolphins convoked by Durito Stahlkäfer, who cursed as the vessel passed the US aberration in Guantánamo. They were greeted by whales near Haiti, and Durito and the Cat-Dog disembarked on Tortuga Island[i] mumbling something about buried treasure… or treasure to be buried. In support of the support team, Lupita, Ximena and Bernal amicably threw up, though they would have preferred to offer support some other way. In Punta Rucia, Dominican Republic, La Montaña docked and waited cautiously for strong winds to pass. On May 24, at daybreak and propelled by its sails alone (“as not to scare the wind,” Captain Ludwig said), La Montaña set off northwards. This time orcas greeted the ship, waving farewell as it departed Caribbean waters. Between May 25 and 26, the schizophrenic ship [el navío] – who thinks he is a she as well as a mountain – navigated around the Bahamas and on May 27 turned Northeast, now on the open ocean, Duc in Altum[ii].

On June 4, having exited the so-called Bermuda Triangle, the ship and its esteemed crew reoriented East toward the rising sun. Between June 5-9, they navigated waters where, according to legend, the mythical city of Atlantis lies.

It was 22:10:15hrs on June 10 when, through the haze of the European dawn, from the top of La Montaña’s crow’s nest, the outlines of a sister mountain became discernable: Cabeço Gordo on Faial Island in the Azores Archipelago, autonomous region of the geography of Portugal, in Europe.

It was 02:30:45hrs on June 11 when the coast of the port of Horta came into view, just a stone’s throw away, bringing tears to the eyes of the crew and passengers. It was 7:30am in the Azores mountains. It was 03:45:13hrs when a port authority motorboat approached La Montaña to indicate where to drop anchor. At 04:15:33hrs the shop dropped anchor in front of the other mountains. At 08:23:54hrs the Port Captaincy picked up the crew members of La Montaña and took them to shore for Covid PCR tests, and returned them to the boat to await the results. At all times the “Autoridade Maritima” of the port of Horta was friendly and respectful.

The crew and passengers are in good health, “in good spirits, happy, with no problems, gossip, or fighting. (In the 421st Squadron) they take care of each other.

It is now time to tell you who else, besides the crew of the Stahlratte and the Zapatista 421st Squadron, have made the voyage. Tasked with documenting the maritime journey are María Secco, independent filmmaker and photographer, and Diego Enrique Osorno, independent reporter. In the role of support team for the Zapatista delegation is Javier Elorriaga.

In accordance with the traditional Zapatista ways and customs, and in addition to paying their own expenses, these three people were required to show written authorizations from their families, partners and children. Each letter was presented to Subcomandante Insurgente Moisés. Wives, husbands, mothers, sons and daughters wrote and signed the authorization letters. I got to read them. There was a little bit of everything, from philosophical reflections to children’s illustrations, including a little girl’s respectful request for a whale. Nobody requested beetles or cat-dogs, which is either an affront or a relief, I’m not quite sure. In the children’s writing you could detect pride in the fact that their mother or father had to ask permission from them (as the Zapatista saying goes: “the ducks shoot at the rifles.”[iii]) I imagine you will have the opportunity to get to know María and Diego’s observations, their anecdotes, their reflections and their assessment of their participation on “the front lines” (both are filmmakers) of this delirium. New gazes are always welcome and are refreshing.


When this news arrived in the mountains of Southeastern Mexico, the Zapatista communities sent a message to the crew of the Stahlratte via the captain: “Thank you, you all are fucking awesome.” They are still trying to translate it into German.


Something to reflect on: the motto of the Azores is “Antes morrer livres que em paz sujeitos” (Better to die free than live in peace as slaves).


In the distance, to the East, the Pillars of Hercules – which in their day were the limits of the known world – gazed in astonishment on a mountain that has made a journey by sea from the West.[iv]

I testify.


June 11, 2021

[i]Small island off the northwest coast of Haiti which was a major center of Caribbean piracy in the 17th century.

[ii]Duc in altum et laxate retia vestra in capturam “Cast out into the deep, and let down your nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4).

[iii]Phrase used when a subordinate attempts to go over the head of his/her boss.

[iv]The Pillars of Hercules was the name given in ancient times to the rocky mountains at the edge of the Strait of Gibraltar.