Pueblos Indígenas
The National Indigenous Congress denounces the murder of Marcos Aguilar Rojas, from the Indigenous community of San Lorenzo de Azqueltán
November 26, 2025
We denounce with indignation, rage, and deep concern the murder of our comrade Marcos Aguilar Rojas, agrarian representative of the community of San Lorenzo de Azqueltán, as well as the gunshot wounds inflicted on his brother Gabriel Aguilar Rojas, delegate of the National Indigenous Congress.
The attack was carried out on November 26, 2025, by the assailants Esteban Aguilar Herrera, Manuel Aguilar Herrera, José Aguilar Herrera, Victor Hugo Pérez, Favio Flores Sánchez, and Abraham Pérez, all of whom are linked to the local caciques–or political bosses–and small landowners of the municipality of Villa Guerrero, Jalisco. They fled in a gray car toward either Villa Guerrero or Mezquitic.
The cowardly attack occurred on the communal land of El Caracol, a territory that the Azqueltán community has collectively defended against previous attempts at dispossession by these same individuals, who have acted under the protection of the systematic impunity granted to them by the Jalisco State Judiciary and Prosecutor’s Office. These institutions have repeatedly protected those who violate, threaten, and attack the Indigenous community, deepening the violence through their omission, silence, and complicity.
We hold the federal government responsible for denying agrarian recognition to the Indigenous community of Azqueltán; the government of the state of Jalisco for the impunity it guarantees to the criminals who have historically attacked the community; and we hold directly responsible the murderers Manuel and Esteban Aguilar Herrera and Victor Hugo Pérez, whose acts form part of a permanent strategy of dispossession and aggression against native peoples.
Today, as the National Indigenous Congress, we declare loud and clear: the violence against Azqueltán is not an isolated incident, but part of a national pattern in which power—whether governmental, economic, or criminal—attacks Indigenous communities when they defend their territory and their lives. We will not accept that the murder of our comrade goes unpunished, nor will we allow the dignity of Azqueltán to be trampled upon by the interests of local bosses, corporations, governments, or organized crime.
We demand full justice, immediate punishment for those materially and intellectually responsible, and a real guarantee of security for the community of San Lorenzo de Azqueltán.
From the rage and pain that we make our own, we embrace the community and its family.
Never again a Mexico without us!
National Indigenous Congress
EZLN: A Roof in Common
A roof in common
A construction deep in the mountain. A calling for health. A masonry technique. Thousands of hands and wills, including some from across the seas. Different colors, heights, languages, cultures, and ways of life, and a roof in common.
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The concrete pour has to be done all at once. You can’t do it in sections because the roof will look bad. That’s when everyone has to work together, but in an organized way. Pouring a roof is like dancing: everyone knows their place, what they’re supposed to do, and who they’re working with. If it rains, then it’s all over. So you have to ask the most knowledgeable people, keep an eye on things, be ready. Then they announce «such and such a day,» and the crew gathers, the jobs are divided up. You have to start early, because otherwise the heat becomes unbearable and you end up feeling like a fumigated cockroach. When it’s finished, we laugh and drink pozol. For lunch, we ate beef together. There’s no party outside, but there is one in our hearts. “It’s ours,” we think. And we know it belongs to everyone and to no one. An operating room means a place where those who know how to use a knife extract the evil as if they were removing a bad thought. It takes time and leaves you a little messed up, but that’s life: it also takes time and leaves you messed up, but there are moments when the roof is done. And there’s no celebration outside, but there is in your heart. Building is like the struggle; you do it because you’ll need it someday. You or yours—not that they’re your property, but rather your family, your close friends, that is, the ‘compas’.
Yes, we need someone who knows about electricity, because there’s going to be equipment that not just anyone can handle. Single-phase, two-phase, three-phase, and grounding, and who knows what else. We already have the grounding, but you have to know about electricity because otherwise, the equipment will break down, and it’ll be for nothing. It’s like when the music stops at a dance; you’re left with the cumbia unfinished. Imagine you’re having abdominal surgery and the power goes out, and you’re left with your guts hanging out like an old bandana. That’s why we need an electrician. We just need to find someone who’s willing to work in common. Do electricians get sick too? They do, and they have needs. So that’s what we need. And windows and doors, because not just any window or door will do. Women and men doctors? We already have a team, so to speak, but more are sure to come. Because if you have a knife, a machete, a chainsaw, a drill, but no one to cut open your stomach, it’ll be for nothing, as we say here. And some doctors have already arrived to take a look. I didn’t show myself because what if the doctor sees me and wants to start practicing right away? And then there’s no special electricity. I’d better wait. But the roof is already up.
Yes, many things are still missing, but it already has a roof, and a roof is important for life. That’s why the gods made the sky, so the world would have its roof.
Yes, what’s missing is still missing.
I hope they make tamales. Yes, I hope they’re not raw.
From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast
El Capitán.
November 2025.
Images by Terci@s Compas Zapatistas
Music by El Cañón del Sonidero «Reina de Cumbias/La cumbia sobre el Río»
