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ELLOS Y NOSOTROS. VI.- Las Miradas. Parte 3: Algunas otras miradas.
THEM AND US VI. GAZES Part 3 – Some Other Gazes
3. – Some other gazes.
one: A dream in that gaze.
It’s a street, a milpa, a factory, a mine shaft, a forest, a school, a department store, an office, a plaza, a market, a city, a field, a country, a continent, a world.
The Ruler is seriously wounded, the machine broken, the beast exhausted, the savage locked up.
The changes in name and flags didn’t work at all, the beatings, the prisons, the cemeteries, the money flowing through corruption’s thousand arteries, the “reality shows,” the religious celebrations, the paid newspaper articles [1], the cybernetic exorcisms.
The Ruler calls for his last overseer. He murmurs something into his ear. The overseer goes out to confront the masses.
He says, asks, demands, requires:
“We want to speak with the man…”
Doubt crosses his face, the majority of those who are confronting him are women.
He corrects himself:
“We want to speak with the woman…”
He doubts himself again, there’s more than a few “others” who are confronting him.
He corrects himself again:
“We want to speak with whomever is in charge.”
From amongst the silence an elderly person and a child step forward, they stand in front of the overseer and, with an innocent and wise voice, they say:
“Here everyone is in charge.”
The overseer shudders, and the Ruler’s voice during his last scream shudders.
The gaze wakes up. ”Weird dream,” is said. And, without the geography
or the calendar mattering, life, struggle, resistance goes on.
S/he only remembers a few words from the odd dream:
“Here everyone is in charge.”
two: Other gaze from another calendar and another geography.
(fragment of a letter received in the eezeelen military headquarters, no date)
“Greetings, Compas.
(…)
My opinion is that everything was really fucking cool. But I do not deny that all of this is in retrospective. It would be very easy to say that I perfectly understood the silence and nothing surprised me. False, I also became impatient with the silence (of course that has nothing to do with what is said about how before the Zapatistas weren’t speaking, I did read all of the denouncements).[2] The issue is that when seen with the advantage of what has already happened, and what is happening, well, of course the conclusion is logical: we are in the middle of a more daring initiative, at least since the Zapatistas’ insurrection. And this has to do with everything, not just with the national situation but also with the international situation, I believe.
Let me tell you what I understood about something which, it seemed to me, was the most significant moment of the [December 21, 2012] action. Of course there are many things: the organization, the militant strength, the show of force, the presence of young people and women, etc. But what really impressed me the most was that they were carrying some boards and that when they arrived at the plazas they made some stages. According to what was said about what went on, many private media outlets, and some of the independent ones, speculated about the arrival of the Zapatista leaders. They didn’t realize that the Zapatista leaders were already there. They were the people who got up onto the stage and said, without speaking, here we are, this is who we are and this is who we will be.
Those who should have been on the stage were there. Nobody has noticed, I think, that moment and, nonetheless, I think, there it is, in a nutshell, the profound significance of a new way of doing politics. That which breaks with all that is old, the only truly new, the only thing that is worth having [illegible in the original] “XXI century.”
The plebeian and freedom-loving soul of those timely moments in history, has been built here without theoretical grandstanding. Rather, with a practical burying. It has been there for too many years to be just a fancy. It is already a long and solid historical social process in the terrain of self-organization.
At the end they picked up their stage, turned it once again into boards, and we should all be a little ashamed and be more modest and simple and recognize that something unexpected and new is in front of our eyes and that we should look, shut up, listen, and learn.
Hugs all around. I hope that you’re all right, all things considered.
El Chueco [Crooked]“
three: “Instructions for what to do in the case… that they look at you”
If someone looks at him, looks at her, and you realize that…
He doesn’t look at you as if you were transparent.
He doesn’t want to convince you yes or no.
He doesn’t want to co-opt you.
He doesn’t want to recruit you.
He doesn’t want to give you orders.
He doesn’t want to judge you-condemn you-absolve you.
He doesn’t want to use you.
He doesn’t want to tell you what you can or can’t do.
He doesn’t want to give you advice, recommendations, orders.
He doesn’t want to reproach you because you don’t know, or because you do know.
He doesn’t look down on you.
He doesn’t want to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.
He doesn’t want to buy your old car, your face, your body, your future, your dignity, your free will.
He doesn’t want to sell you anything…
(a time share, a 4D LCD television, a super-ultra-hyper-modern machine with an instant crisis button (warning: don’t confuse it with the ejection button, because the warranty doesn’t include amnesia due to ridiculous media stunts), a political party that changes its ideology as the wind blows, a life insurance policy, an encyclopedia, a VIP entrance to the performance or the revolution or whatever heaven is fashionable right now, furniture in small installments, a cell phone plan, an exclusive membership, a future given as a gift from the generous leader, the excuse to give up, sell out, throw in the towel, a new ideological paradigm, etc.).
So…
First. – Rule out if it was a degenerate man or woman. You can be as dirty, ugly, bad, rude, as you want, but, whatever it is, you have this sexy and horny touch that comes from working really hard; and that “that” can awaken anyone’s most carnal passions. Mmm… well, yes, a little hairstyling wouldn’t be too much. If it wasn’t a degenerate man or woman, don’t lose heart, the world is round and it spins, and see below (this list, understand).
Second.- Are you sure that he is looking at you? Couldn’t it be that deodorant ad that was behind you (you, understand)? Or could it be that he’s thinking (him, the one that’s looking at you, understand): “I think that’s how I look when I don’t comb my hair”? If you have ruled that out, continue.
Third.- Doesn’t he look like a cop looking to complete the payment that he has to report to his superior? If yes, run, there’s still time to not lose the cost of the ticket. If not, go on to the next point.
Fourth.- Return his gaze, fiercely. A gaze that’s a mix of anger, stomach ache, annoyance, and the “look” of a serial killer will work. No, that makes you look like a constipated bear cub. Try again. Ok, passable, but keep practicing. Now, he doesn’t flee terrified? He doesn’t divert his gaze? He doesn’t get closer to you exclaiming, “uncle juancho! I didn’t recognize you! But with that gesture…”? No? Ok, continue.
Fifth. – Repeat the first, second, third, and fourth steps. There could be problems with our system (which, of course, is made in China). If you come back to this point again, go on to the next one:
Sixth. – There’s a high probability that you have run into someone from the Sixth. We don’t know if we should congratulate you or send you our sympathies. In any case, what follows that gaze is your decision and your responsibility.
fourth: A gaze at a Zapatista post.
(calendar and geography not specified)
SupMarcos: “You have to hurry because time is running out.”
The female health insurgent: “Hey, Sup, time isn’t running out, people are running out. Time comes from far away and follows its path all the way over there, where we can’t look at it. And we are like little pieces of time, that is, time can’t march on without us. We are what makes time march on, and when we come to an end along comes another and s/he pushes time along for another bit, until it arrives at where it needs to arrive, but we’re not going to look where it arrives but rather others are going to see if gets there alright or if suddenly it couldn’t summon up enough strength to arrive and it has to be pushed again, until it arrives.”
(…)
The female infantry captain: “And why did it take you so long?”
The female health insurgent: “It’s that I was chatting about politics with the Sup, I was helping him to explain well that it’s important to look far away, to where neither time nor gazes can reach us.”
The female infantry captain: “Uh-huh, and then?”
The female health insurgent: He punished me because I didn’t hurry the work and he sent me to the clinic.
(…)
fifth: Extract of the “Notes to gaze upon winter.”
(…)
And yes, all of them got up on the stage with their fists held high. But they didn’t look very well. They didn’t look at the gaze of those men and women. They didn’t look at when they were crossing up [on the stage], they turned their gaze down below and they saw their tens of thousands of compañeros. That is, they looked at themselves. Up there they didn’t look at us looking at us. Up there they didn’t understand, nor will they understand anything.
six: Put your gaze here (or your insults, even if they aren’t minty).[3]
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(To be continued…)
From any corner of any world.
SupMarcos.
Planet Earth.
Mexico, February 2013.
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Listen to and watch the videos that accompany this text.
Daniel Viglietti and Mario Benedetti to a “duet” interpretation of the song “La Llamarada” and Benedetti’s poem “Pregón.” Concert in Montevideo, Uruguay, Latin America, Planet Earth. At the beginning, Daniel takes a moment to recognize all of those who are not on the stage but who make it possible that Daniel and Mario are. Almost at the end, you can hear Mario Benedetti singing, singing to himself, singing to us, and without the calendar and geography mattering, and vice versa.
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Amparanoia plays “Somos Viento.” At one point, Amparo Sánchez says “Ik´otik,” which in tzeltal means “we are the wind (“somos viento).”
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Amparo Ochoa, whose voice still reverberates through our mountains, singing “Quien tiene la voz (Who Has the Voice)” by Gabino Palomares.
Translated from the original Spanish by Kristin Bricker.
Translator’s Notes:
1. Some Mexican newspapers run articles that someone (often a branch of the government) pays for. In the case of La Jornada, the only thing that sets the “paid insertions” apart from genuine news articles is that a “paid insertion” headline is in italics.
2. Referring to the fact that while most media outlets report that the Zapatistas are breaking some sort of silence, they really haven’t been silent. They’ve been sending out a steady stream of denouncements against the government and antagonistic organizations.
3. Play on words that only makes sense in Spanish. ”Mentada” is insult, but it also sort of sounds like “menta,” which means mint.
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Ellos y Nosotros. VI.- Miradas. Parte 2: Mirar y escuchar desde/hacia abajo.
THEM AND US.
VI.- The Gaze 2.2.- To look and to listen from/toward below.
Can we still choose toward where and from where we look?
We could, for example, look at those who work in supermarket chains, scolding them for their complicity in the electoral fraud[i] and ridiculing them for the orange uniforms they must wear, or, we could look at the employee who, after cashing out…
The cashier takes off her orange apron, grumbling her rage at being accused of complicity in the fraud that brought ignorance and frivolity into Power. A woman, young or old, single or divorced, a widower, a mother, a single mother, an expecting mother, a woman without children, or whatever the case may be. She starts work at 7 in the morning and is let out at 4 in the afternoon, if there are no overtime hours, that is. That’s without counting the time it takes for her to get from home to work and back, and the time she spends afterward on school work or housework, that “women’s-labor-that-one-can-do-with-a-bit-of-flair.” She read this accusation of complicity in one of the magazines beside the cash register. They blame her, who supposedly they are going to save, it’s just a question of a vote and ta-da, happiness. “What, do they think the owners wear the orange apron?” she murmurs, irritated. She fixes herself up a bit from the purposeful disheveledness with which she arrives to work so that the manager doesn’t hit on her. She leaves. Her partner is waiting for her outside. They hug, kiss, touch each other with a gaze, walk together. They enter an internet café or cybercafé or whatever you call it. 10 pesos per hour, 5 for a half hour…
“Half hour,” they say, mentally calculating their budget-transit-time-metro-bus-walk.
“Cover me Roco, don’t be a jerk,” he says.
“Okay, but come mid-month you’d better come by and pay up or the owner will be all over me and it will be you covering me.”
“Fine, I’ll cover you, but it will be when you have a car, man, because I’m working at the car wash.”
“Well wash it then man,” Roco says.
The three of them laugh.
“Number 7,” Roco says.
“Go ahead, look for it,” she says.
He starts to put in a number.
“No,” she says, “look for when this all started.”
They search. They get to where there were just a few more than 131.[ii] They play the video.
“They’re bourgeois” he says.
“Calm yourself, revolutionary vanguard. You’re wrong in the head if you judge people on their appearance, look at how they call me white girl and bourgeois for having light skin, and don’t see that I live paycheck to paycheck. You have to look at what each person does and where they come from, dummy,” she says, giving him a smack upside the head.
They keep watching.
They watch, fall silent, listening.
“Well the fact that they went at him right to his face, to that Peña Nieto… they’re brave, that’s for sure, you can see they’ve got balls.”
“Or ovaries, idiot,” she gives him another smack.
“Keep that up princess, and I’m going to accuse you of interfamilial violence.”
“It would be gender violence, idiot,” and another smack.
They finish watching the video.
Him: “So that’s where things started, with a handful of people who weren’t scared.”
Her: “Or they were scared, but they controlled it.”
“Half hour!” Roco yells.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
She walks out smiling.
“Now what are you laughing at?” he asks.
“Nothing, I was just remembering,” she walks closer to him, “that thing you said about ‘interfamilial.’ Does that mean you want us to be, like they say, a family?”
He doesn’t even skip a beat.
“That’s right my princess, I mean we’re already headed there, that’s what we’re already doing, but without so many smacks on the head, make them kisses instead, lower and to the left.”
“Hey don’t mess with me man!” Another smack. “And enough of this “princess” stuff, aren’t we against the fucking monarchy?”
Expecting an even bigger smack, he says: “Okay then, my… plebian.”
She laughs, and he does too. After a few more steps, she says:
“So you think the Zapatistas will invite us?”
“Definitely, my buddy Vins said he’s buddies with the sockface[iii] because he let him win at Mortal Combat, at the arcades, so we’ll just say we’re Vins’ people and we’re in,” he explains enthusiastically.
“You think I’d be able to take my mother? She’s getting pretty old…”
“Of course, with any luck my future mother-in-law will get stuck in the mud,” he ducks the smack he expects but that doesn’t come.
She’s angry now:
“And what the hell are the Zapatistas going to give us if they’re so far away? What, they’re going to give me a better salary? Make people respect me? Make those fucking men stop looking at my ass in the street? Make the fucking boss stop using any pretext to touch me? Are they going to help me pay my rent? Buy my daughter or my son clothes? Are they going to bring the price down for sugar, beans, rice, oil? Are they going to make sure I have enough to eat? Are they going to confront the police that come every day to the barrio to harass and extort the vendors that sell pirated DVDs telling them that it’s so they don’t have to denounce them to Mr. or Mrs. Sony…?”
“It’s not called ‘piracy,’ it’s ‘alternative production’ my princ… plebian. Don’t get all bent out of shape with me, we’re on the same side.”
But she’s on a roll now and there’s no stopping her:
“And for you, are they going to give your job back at the factory, where you were already certified as whatever-the-hell-it-was? Are they going to make your studies, all your training courses, worth something so that in the end that jackass of a boss takes the business who the hell knows where, along with the union and the strike and everything you did, so that you end up washing cars?” Or what about your buddy El Chompis, they took his job away and disappeared the official employment records so he can’t even defend himself? And the government with its same story about how it’s going to improve service and be world class and all that nonsense, and what about that stuff about lowering rates, now they’re more expensive! And the electricity goes out all the time[iv] and fucking Calderón is going to go give classes on shamelessness to the gringos,[v] who are the real mothers of this mess. And my father, god bless his soul, who went to work on the other side [in the US], not as a tourist but in order to get some bread, some dough, some pay to maintain us when we were still real little, and when he was just crossing the border la migra [immigration agents] grabbed him like he was a terrorist rather than an honest worker and they never even gave us his body back and that fucking Obama whose heart appears to be the color of the dollar.
“Whoa, cool your jets, my plebian,” he says.
“It’s just that every time I even think about it I get angry, so much work and effort so that in the end those above end up with everything, the only thing left is for them to privatize laughter, although that’s not probable because there is so little of it, but maybe they’ll privatize tears, those are abundant, and they’ll get rich… richer. And then you come with this stuff about the Zapatistas this and the Zapatistas that and that below and to the left and that the eighth…”
“The Sixth, not the eighth,” he interrupts her.
“Whatever, if those guys are so far away and speak worse Spanish than you.”
“Hey now, don’t be mean.”
She wipes away her tears and mutters: “Damned rain, it’s ruined my Este Lauder and I had fixed myself up to please you.”
“Ahhh but you please me without anything… especially clothes.”
They laugh.
She says, very serious: “Well, then, tell me, are these Zapatistas going to save us?”
“No my plebian, they’re not going to save us. That, among other things, we’re going to have to do ourselves.”
“So what then?”
“Well, they’re going to teach us.”
“And what are they going to teach us?”
“That’s we’re not alone [solos].”[vi]
She is quiet a moment. Then suddenly:
“Nor alone [solas],[vii] dummy,” another smack.
The minibus is packed. They wait to see if the next one has room.
It is cold, rainy. They hug each other tighter, not to keep from getting wet, but rather to get wet together.
Far away someone waits, there is always someone waiting. And that someone waits, with an old pen and an old tattered notebook, keeping count of the gazes below that see themselves in a window.
(To be continued…)
From whatever corner, of whichever world.
SupMarcos.
Planet Earth.
January of 2013.
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“Los Nadies,” [the Nobody’s] based on the text by the same name by Eduardo Galeano. Performed by La Gran Orquesta Republicana, ska-fusión band, Mallorca, Spain. Band members include: Javier Vegas, Nacho Vegas: saxophone. Nestor Casas: trumpet. Didac Buscató: trombone. Juan Antonio Molina: electric guitar. Xema Bestard: bass. José Luis García: drums.
Liliana Daunes narrates a very other story called “Always and Never Against Sometimes.” Greetings to the Network of Solidarity with Chiapas that struggles and resists here just a little ways away, in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Latin America, Planet Earth.
“Salario Mínimo” (Minimum Wage) Oscar Chávez and Los Morales.
[i] The PRI was accused of buying votes during the presidential campaigns in 2012 with gift cards to the popular chain store Soriana. Many on the institutional left blamed the working class people who used the gift cards for “complicity” with the PRI’s electoral fraud.
[ii] During a speech at the Universidad Iberoamericana during the presidential campaigns, then presidential candidate Enrique Peña Nieto (PRI) was confronted by students protesting events that occurred during his tenure as governor of Mexico State. Peña Nieto hid and eventually fled the University, but party affiliates later dismissed the protesters in the media as a handful of non-student opposition supporters that were sent to disturb the event. Iberoamericana students then made a youtube video in which 131 of them held up their university ID’s and testified to their participation in the protest, sparking the name for a wider student movement “Yosoy#132,” “Iam#132.”
[iii] Sockface is a reference to the ski-mask worn by Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos.
[iv] This is a reference to Calderón shutting down the public electric company Luz y Fuerza del Centro and union-busting the Mexican Electrical Workers Union (SME). The official reason for the shut-down was inefficiency, but people complain that under the private company that took over the service area rates are higher and service worse. The implication is that El Chompis was an electrical worker with Luz y Fuerza.
[v] Ex-president of Mexico Felipe Calderón is slated for a teaching position at Harvard University in the United States.
[vi] The masculine form of “alone.”
[vii] The feminine form of “alone.”
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Traducción del Kilombo Intergaláctico.
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“Los Nadies”, basada en el texto homónimo de Eduardo Galeano. Interpreta La Gran Orquesta Republicana, banda de ska-fusión, Mallorca, Estado Español. Formada por: Javier Vegas, Nacho Vegas: saxo. Nestor Casas: trompeta. Didac Buscató: trombón. Juan Antonio Molina: guitarra eléctrica. Xema Bestard: bajo. José Luis García: batería.
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Liliana Daunes narra un cuento muy otro llamado “Siempre y Nunca contra A Veces”. Saludos a la Red de Solidaridad con Chiapas, que lucha y resiste aquí nomacito, en Buenos Aires, Argentina, Latinoamérica, Planeta Tierra.
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“Salario Mínimo” Oscar Chávez y Los Morales.