We rebellious Zapatistas, along with our mother earth, are threatened with destruction in our Mexican homeland. Both above and below the earth’s surface, the bad governments and bad rich people, all neoliberal capitalists, want to commodify everything they see.
They want to own everything.
They are destructive, they are murderers, criminals, rapists. They are cruel and inhuman, they torture and disappear people, and they are corrupt. They are every bad thing you can imagine, they do not care about humanity. They are, in fact, inhuman.
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2 de Marzo de 2014
Rebeldía Zapatista. La palabra del EZLN
LA JORNADA
Editorial
Las zapatistas y los zapatistas que somos, rebeldes en nuestra patria mexicana, porque somos amenazados de destrucción junto con nuestra madre tierra, debajo del suelo y por encima de nuestro suelo, por los malas personas ricos y malos gobiernos, que todo lo que ven piensan en convertir en su mercancía, que se llaman capitalistas neoliberales.
Quieren ser dueños de todo.
Son destructores, asesinos, criminales, violadores. Son crueles, inhumanos, torturadores, desaparecedores, son unos corruptos y todo lo que se puede pensar de males, así son ellos, no piensan en la humanidad. Más bien son inhumanos. (Continuar leyendo…)
(A text which reflects on those who are absent and on biographies, narrates Durito’s first encounter with the Cat-Dog, and talks about other things that may or may not be relevant, as the impertinent postscript dictates).
November-December 2013
Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death.
Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual,
we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water,
and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air.
Me thinks my body is but the lees of my better being.
In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me.
Herman Melville “Moby Dick.”
For a while now I have maintained that most biographies are merely a collection of documented, well-written (well, sometimes) lies. The typical biography is based on a pre-existing belief and the margin of tolerance for anything that strays from that conviction is very narrow, if not inexistent. The author, starting from that previously held belief, begins the search through the jigsaw puzzle of a life unfamiliar to him or her (which is why the bibliography interests them to begin with), and goes about collecting the false or ill-fitting pieces that allow him or her to document their own belief, not the life they are talking about.
“One knows one has died when
everything around them has
stopped dying.”
Elías Contreras.
Profession: EZLN Investigation Commission.
Civil Condition: Dead.
Age: 521 years old and counting.
It is before dawn, and, if they should ask me, which they haven’t, I would say that the problem with the dead is the living.
Because in their absence, you tend to get that absurd, meaningless, and outrageous argument: “I knew them/ saw them/ was told by them,” really just an alibi that hides the real statement “I am the administrator of that life because I administer its death.”
It’s something like having a “copyright” on death, thus converting it into merchandise that can be possessed, exchanged, circulated, and consumed. There are even historiographical books, biographies, museums, commemorations, theses, newspapers, magazines, and colloquia for this.
Here we explain the reasons behind this strange title and those that will follow, narrate the story of an exceptional encounter between a beetle and a perplexing being (that is, more perplexing than the beetle) and the reflections of no immediate relevance or importance which occurred therein; and finally, given a particular anniversary, the Sub tries to explain, unsuccessfully, how the Zapatistas see their own history.
What you always wanted to know (or be warned) about the Zapatistas, their renowned Little School, and the potential consequences of attending.
July 2013.
So, it seems it is becoming more or less clear what the hell the Zapatistas are thinking when we talk about the little school.
But it is as expected that you would now have more questions than answers. Perhaps you are no longer worried about your footwear, but now you have other questions. It occurs to you that perhaps it is true what they say about Zapatismo being a 21st century rebellion, that they are skilled in all things cybernetic (they even have a graffiti artist for virtual walls). So you go to the nearest internet café, turn on the computer, and search “Zapatista little school, doubts, common questions, FAQ, etc.”
Now we want to explain to you how the little school will work (the list of school items you’ll need, the methodology, the teachers, the course subjects, the schedules, etc.), so the first thing is…
Before we explain how the Little School is going to work (at which point we’ll send a kind of “route manual” or “manual of bad manners” or “survival manual”), let’s take a look at what they’re up to “above.” Not because we’re a little scattered (which we are, no doubt), but because we look at their calendars and geographies above, that is, we try to understand.
So, please be kind and patient and accompany us in this gaze from here below to there above.
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L@S CONDISCÍPUL@S I.
Primero l@s primer@s:
L@S DESAPARECID@S.
Junio del 2013.
A l@s adherentes a la Sexta en México y el Mundo:
A l@s estudiantes de la Escuelita Zapatista:
Compañeroas, compañeras, compañeros:
Como seguramente no saben, la primera fase del primer curso “La Libertad según L@s Zapatistas” se ha completado.
Están ya los materiales de apoyo; están ya las maestras y los maestros listos; están ya llenos los cupos de inscripción; las familias indígenas zapatistas que l@s van a recibir hacen ya la cuenta de cuántos les tocan y preparan las champas, los cacharros para la comida, arreglan los lugares donde pernoctarán; los choferólogos, como les dice el Sub Moisés, afinan los motores y acicalan los vehículos para transportar a l@s alumn@s a sus escuelas; l@s insurgent@s tejen y destejen artesanías: los musiqueros preparan sus mejores rolas para amenizar la fiesta de los 10 años, la de recibimiento de los estudiantes, la de fin de curso; un saludable clima de histeria colectiva empieza a manifestarse entre quienes apoyan la organización; se revisan las listas para ver quién faltó… o quién sobra; y en el CIDECI, sede de la Unitierra en San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Chiapas, se avanza en los preparativos para la escuelita y para la cátedra “Tata Juan Chávez Alonso”.
Y, como era de esperarse, los gobiernos federal y estatal reactivan paramilitares, alientan a quienes provocan confrontaciones, y hacen lo suyo para evitar que ustedes (y otr@s a través de ustedes) constaten el avance en las comunidades zapatistas, y el marcado contraste con las comunidades y organizaciones que se cobijan bajo el ralo manto del asistencialismo gubernamental.
Ya sabe, lo previsible. Tan de manual de contrainsurgencia, tan ineficaz, tan inútil. Tan lo mismo de hace 10, 20, 500 años. PRI, PAN, PRD, PVEM, PT, todos los partidos políticos, con imperceptibles variaciones en el discurso, haciendo lo mismo… y reiterando su fracaso.
Quién iba a decir que los gobiernos de todo el espectro político temieran tanto que mejorara el nivel de vida de los indígenas. Y entendemos su nerviosa inquietud, su pánico mal disimulado, porque el mensaje que sale desde este lado es claro pero sumamente peligroso en su doble filo: no son necesarios… y estorban.
Total: mucho movimiento, adentro y afuera, de ell@s y de nosotr@s.
Y todo, visto desde lo alto de esta ceiba, semeja un ordenado desorden (iba a poner “desmadre”, pero me dicen que, quienes generosamente nos apoyan en la traducción a otros idiomas, se quejan de la abundancia de “localismos” imposibles de traducir). Y podría agregar que todo se mueve “sin ton ni son”, sobre todo por esos ritmos de balada-corrido-ranchera-cumbia de los musiqueros que son como la banda sonora de esto, y que tienen un sonido, a decir lo menos, desconcertante.
En fin, que todo marcha sobre ruedas.
Ahora a mí me toca platicarles de quienes serán sus condiscípul@s. Mujeres, hombres y otr@s de todas las edades, de diferentes rincones de los 5 continentes, de historias distintas.
Y me he subido a la ceiba no sólo por el temor de ser asaltado por un escarabajo impertinente, supuesto andante caballero, o por los melancólicos relatos del gato-perro… bueno, sí, también por eso, pero sobre todo porque, para hablarles de l@s primer@s invitad@s, es necesario mirarse el corazón, que es como nosotros los zapatistas, las zapatistas, llamamos a recordar, a hacer memoria.
Y es que l@s primer@s en la lista de invitad@s fueron, son, serán quienes nos han antecedido y acompañado en este inacabado camino a la libertad, l@s caíd@s y desaparecid@s en la lucha.
A todas ellas, a todos ellos, les mandamos una carta- invitación como la que ahora les anexo aquí. Se las enviamos no hace mucho: ayer, hace un mes, hace un año, 10, 20, 500 años atrás.
Para entender la misiva no sólo será necesario mirar y escuchar los videos que la acompañan, también es necesaria una cierta dosis de memoria… y de digna rabia.
Va pues:
EJÉRCITO ZAPATISTA DE LIBERACIÓN NACIONAL.
MÉXICO.
A tod@s l@s caíd@s y desaparecid@s en la lucha por la libertad:
Compañera, compañero, compañeroa:
Reciba usted el saludo de…
Mmh…
Sí, tal vez usted tenga razón. Tal vez algo tienen que ver las letras de Gieco, Benedetti, Heredia, Viglietti, Galeano, el empecinamiento de las abuelas y las madres de plaza de mayo, el digno valor sin precio de las doñas de Sinaloa y Chihuahua, el dolor hecho búsqueda pertinaz de los familiares de miles de desaparecidos a todo lo largo de este continente. En fin, toda esa gente tan necia… y admirable.
Puede ser. Lo cierto es que, pensando en quién podría estar interesado en vernos y escucharnos en este mostrarnos que llamamos “la escuelita zapatista”, quienes primero vinieron a nuestras manos fueron ustedes. Todas, todos. Porque, a pesar de que muchos nombres ignoramos, saberla, saberlo a usted es saberlos a todos, a todas.
Así que, si hay que buscar a alguien responsable de estas líneas, cárguelo usted a la memoria, esa continua y pertinaz impertinente que no nos deja en paz, siempre dando batalla, siempre dando guerra.
Y qué bueno, decimos nosotras, nosotros, indígenas, mayas, zapatistas. Qué bueno que esta guerra contra el olvido no cese, que siga, que crezca, que se haga mundial.
Bueno, sí, también puede ser porque acá tod@s somos un poco, o un mucho, como muert@s, como desaparecid@s, tocando una y otra vez la puerta de la historia, reclamando un lugar, uno pequeño, como somos de por sí. Demandando una memoria.
Pero nos parece, después de darle vueltas y vueltas al asunto, que la culpable es la memoria.
¿Eh?
Claro, también el olvido.
Porque es el olvido el que acecha, ataca, conquista. Y es la memoria la que vigila, la que defiende, la que resiste.
Por eso esta carta-invitación.
¿Qué a dónde la mandamos? Sí, fue un problema. Estuvimos pensando mucho, no se crea.
Sí, tal vez por eso piense usted que algo tuvo que ver León Gieco y su canción ésa de “En el país de la libertad”.
¿Que por eso, es decir, por usted, ustedes, llamamos al curso “La Libertad según l@s Zapatistas”? ¿Para tener una dirección a dónde enviarle la invitación? Bueno, no se nos había ocurrido, pero ahora que usted lo menciona… sí, puede ser. Nos evitaríamos así todo el embrollo de buscar direcciones, oficinas postales, correos electrónicos, blogs, páginas web, nicknames, redes sociales, y todo eso para lo que nuestra ignorancia es enciclopédica.
¿Sabe? Acá ha habido, y hay, no pocos momentos difíciles. Momentos en que todo y todos parecen ponerse en contra. Momentos en que miles de razones, en veces con el mortal ropaje del plomo y el fuego, y en veces vestidas gentilmente de los cómodos argumentos del conformismo, nos han atacado por todos los flancos para convencernos de las bondades de claudicar, de vendernos, de rendirnos.
Y si no sucumbimos, no fue porque fuéramos poderosos y tuviéramos un gran arsenal (de armas y de dogmas al caso o cosa, según).
Fue porque estamos poblados por ustedes, por su memoria.
Ya sabe usted de nuestra obsesión por los calendarios y las geografías, ése nuestro modo tan muy otro de entendernos y entender el mundo.
Bueno, pues acá la memoria no es cuestión de efemérides de un día que sólo sirven como coartada para el olvido durante el resto del año. No es algo de estatuas, monumentos, museos. Es, ¿cómo le diré?… algo con menos bulla, sin tanta pompa y circunstancia. Algo más callado, como un susurro apenas… pero constante, terco, colectivo.
Porque acá, otra forma de decir que no perdonamos ni olvidamos es no claudicar, no venderse, no rendirse. Es resistir.
Sí, es, digámoslo así, “poco ortodoxo”, pero qué le vamos a hacer. Es parte de nuestros modos… o “ni modos”, según.
Bueno, acá la esperamos, lo esperamos.
La presente la estamos remitiendo al “país de la libertad”, la única nación sin fronteras pero con todas las banderas… o ninguna (que no es lo mismo pero es igual), y a la que más difícil es llegar… tal vez porque el único camino para llegar es la memoria.
Sabemos de la imposibilidad actual de que asista a nuestras comunidades, y que mandarle los materiales es problemático. Pero como quiera, ahora, al igual que ayer y que mañana, usted tiene un lugar especial con nosotros.
…
Sí, tal vez nos encontremos antes sin quererlo… o queriéndolo… tocando alguna puerta o asomándonos por una ventana, pero siempre abriendo un corazón.
Mientras tanto, tampoco usted olvide que, cuando las zapatistas y los zapatistas decimos “aquí estamos”, también l@s incluimos a ustedes.
Vale. Salud y que la memoria resista, es decir, que viva. Porque vivos se los llevaron y vivos los queremos.
(Fin de la carta-invitación para l@s caíd@s y desaparecid@s en la lucha por la libertad).
(…)
Así que ya sabe quiénes se contarán entre sus condiscípul@s.
Por aquí andarán. No, no espantarán a nadie. Bueno, a menos que alguien tema la memoria y que venga buscando olvido. Pero como creo que no es su caso, o cosa, según, entonces no tiene de qué preocuparse.
Tal vez, sin proponérselo, tope usted con la gran ceiba madre, el árbol que sostiene al mundo. Si tiene la paciencia y la imaginación necesarias, mire su tronco y haga pregunta. Tal vez la ceiba madre, con est@s condiscípulos tan otr@s como compañía, le responda en las áridas arrugas de su tronco. Pregunte lo que quiera, pero sobre todo, pregunte lo más importante:
Pregunte: ¿Con quién todo esto? Y le responderán: Contigo.
Pregunte: ¿Para quién este esfuerzo? Y le dirán: Para ti.
Pregunte: ¿Quién lo hizo posible? Y, tal vez con un ligero temblor, escuchará: Tú.
Pregunte: ¿Para qué este camino?
Y entonces la ceiba madre, la tierra, el viento, la lluvia, el cielo sangrando luz, tod@s nuestr@s caíd@s, nuestr@s desaparecid@s, le responderán:
Libertad… ¡Libertad!… ¡LIBERTAD!
Así que ya lo sabe: si, cuando usted esté en estas montañas del sureste mexicano, llueve, ventea, el cielo cobija o descubre su luz, y la tierra se humedece, será porque, al pie de la ceiba madre, la sostenedora del mundo, alguien está haciendo preguntas… y, sobre todo, porque está recibiendo respuestas.
¿Lo que sigue después? Bueno, me parece que esa historia les tocará contarla a ustedes.
Vale. Salud y que la memoria, ni caiga ni desaparezca.
(Continuará…)
Desde un rincón de la memoria.
SupMarcos.
México, Junio del 2013.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Escucha y ve los videos que acompañan este texto.
Mario Benedetti, el siempre bienvenido, junto a Daniel Vigglietti, cantan, es decir, gritan de l@s desaparecid@s, sobre l@s desaparecid@s, con l@s desaparecid@s. Dedicado a las madres y abuelas que ni claudican, ni se rinden, ni se venden.
…………………………………
De nuevo Mario Benedetti, subrayando, con su voz, la imposibilidad del olvido. Dedicado a quienes no olvidan.
……………………………..
León Gieco canta, de su autoría, “La Memoria”, la necia, implacable, feroz memoria de quienes no están, pero no se han ido, ni se irán… mientras haya alguien que no olvide.
………………………………
León Gieco con su rola “El País de la Libertad”, dirección a la que se dirige la memoria.
…………………………………….
Víctor Heredia explica por qué “Todavía cantamos”, es decir, por qué no olvidamos.
If after reading the excerpts from the compañeras and compañeros of the EZLN you still think that the indigenous members of the Zapatistas are manipulated by the perverted mind of Supmarcos (and now by Subcomandante Insurgente Moíses) and that nothing has changed in Zapatista territory since 1994, then there’s no hope for you.
I wouldn’t recommend that you turn the television off or that you stop regurgitating the circular arguments that tend to be circulated by the intellectuals and their followers, because if you did so your mind would be empty. Go ahead and keep thinking about how the recent telecommunications law will democratize information, that it will increase the quality of programming, and that it will make cell phone service better.
But if you thought this way, you would never have made it to this part of “Them and Us,” so let’s just take it as a hypothetical that you are a person with an average IQ and immersed in progressive culture. With these characteristics, it is very probable that you practice constant doubt in the face of just about everything, so it’s only logical to assume that you doubt what you have read here in the previous pages. To doubt is not something that should be condemned, it is one of the healthiest (and most forgotten) intellectual exercises available to humanity—especially if it is exercised with respect to a movement like the Zapatista or neo-Zapatista movements, about which so many things have been said (the majority of which do not even come close to what we are).
Let’s leave to one side the fact that it was undeniable even to the mainstream press that tens of thousands of indigenous Zapatistas simultaneously took 5 municipal seats in the Southeast states of Chiapas [a reference to the events of December 21, 2012].
Let’s leave that aside and deal head on with doubts: if nothing has changed in the Zapatista indigenous communities, why have they grown? Weren’t they saying that the EZLN was history? That the ezln’s errors (okay, okay, Marcos’ errors) had come at the cost of their existence (their “media” existence, but they never mentioned that part)? Wasn’t the Zapatista leadership disbanded? Hadn’t the EZLN disappeared and all that remained of them was the vague memories of those outside of Chiapas who feel and know that struggle isn’t something that can be subject to the comings and goings of fads?
Ok, let’s ignore this fact (that the EZLN grew exponentially during these times when they had fallen out of fashion) and abandon any attempt to raise these concerns (concerns that will only lead to the editing of your comments on articles in the national newspapers or your banning from these sites, “for ever more”).
Lets return to methodical doubt:
What if the words that appeared in the previous pages that were supposedly from indigenous Zapatistas (men and women) were actually written by Marcos?
That is, what if Marcos just simulated that others were the ones that wrote and felt those words?
What if the autonomous schools don’t actually exist?
What if….the hospitals and the clinics, and the accountability process, and the indigenous women in leadership positions, and the productive lands, and the Zapatista air force, and…..?
Seriously, what if none of the things that those indigenous people talk about exist, what if those indigenous people don’t exist?
In sum, what if everything is just a monumental lie created by Marcos (and Moíses since that’s the process we’ve now begun) in order to console those leftists (don’t ever forget that they’re dirty, ugly, bad, irreverent) who are always present and who are always just a few, very few, a tiny minority, with mere illusion? What if the Supmarcos made all that stuff up?
Wouldn’t it be good to place your doubts side by side with reality?
What if it was possible for you to see for yourself those schools, the clinics, the hospitals, those projects, those women and men?
What if you could listen directly to those Mexican, indigenous, Zapatista men and women, making an effort to speak in Spanish so that they could explain, so that they could tell you their history, not to try to convince or recruit you, but just so that you could understand that the world is very big and it has many worlds inside itself?
What if you could concentrate on observing and listening, without talking, without giving your opinion?
Would you take up that challenge? Or would you continue taking refuge in your cynicism, that solid and wonderful castle of reasons not to do anything?
Would you ask to be invited? Would you accept that invitation?
Would you come to a little school in which the professors (women and men) are indigenous and whose mother tongue is considered a mere “dialect”?
Would you be able to contain your desire to study them as if they were anthropological, psychological, legal, esoteric, or historiographic objects? Would you hold back your desire to interview them? To tell them your opinion? To give them your advice? To give them orders?
Would you look at them? That is, would you listen to them?
-*-
Shadows.
On one side of this light that now shines you can’t see the form of the strangely shaped shadows that have made it all possible. Because another of the paradoxes that characterize Zapatismo is that it is not light that creates the shadows, rather, it is from these shadows that light is born.
Women and men from corners near and far across the planet made possible what we will show you, but they also enriched, with their gaze, the path of these indigenous Zapatista men and women who today once again raise the banner of a dignified life.
Individuals (women and men), groups, collectives, all types of organizations, and at all different levels, contributed so that this small step of the very smallest could be taken.
From all five continents arrived gazes that, from below and to the left, offered their respect and support. And with this respect and support not only schools and hospitals were built, but we also the indigenous Zapatista heart that, through those gazes, through those windows, were able to look out to all of the corners of the world.
If there is a cosmopolitan place on Mexican lands it is certainly Zapatista territory.
In the face of all this support nothing but an effort of equal magnitude would have sufficed.
I think, we think, that all those people from Mexico and the world can and should share in this small joy that today walks through the mountains of Southeastern Mexico and has an indigenous face.
We know, I know, that you are not expecting, that you are not asking for, that you do not demand this great embrace that we send you. But this is the way that the Zapatistas (men and women) thank our companer@s (and we especially thank those who knew how to be nobody). Perhaps without intending to, you were and are for us (women and men) the best school. And it goes without saying that we will not spare any effort to assure that, regardless of your calendars and geographies, you will always respond affirmatively to the question of whether it was worth it.
To all (women) (I apologize from the depths of my sexist essence, but women are a majority both quantitatively and qualitatively) and to all (men): thank you.
(….)
And, well, there are shadows and then there are shadows.
The most anonymous and imperceptible [of these shadows] are some short-statured women and men whose skin is the color of the earth. They left behind everything that they had, even if it wasn’t much, and they became warriors (women and men). In silence, in darkness, they contributed and continue to contribute, like no one else, so that all of this could be possible.
And now I am referring to the insurgents (women and men), my compañer@s.
They come and go, they live, they struggle and die in silence, without making any fuss, and without anyone, besides ourselves, noticing them. They have no face and no life to themselves. Their names, their stories. may only come to mind after many calendars have come and gone. Maybe then around a fire, while the coffee is at a boil in an old pewter pot and the fire of the word has been ignited, someone or something will toast to their memory.
Regardless, it won’t matter much because what this has been about, what it is about, what it has always been about, is to contribute in some way to build those words with which the Zapatista stories, anecdotes, and histories, real and imaginary, begin. Just like how what is today a reality began, that is, with a:
“There Will Be a Time…”
Vale. Health, and let there always be listening and the gaze.
(this will not continue)
In name of the women, men, children, elderly, insurgents (men and women) of
The Zapatista Army for National Liberation.
From the Mountains of Southeastern Mexico.
Subcomandante Insurgent Marcos.
Mexico, March 2013.
An Anticipatory P.S.: There will be more writings, don’t get happy ahead of yourselves. They will be primarily from Subcomandante Insurgent Moíses regarding the little school: the dates, the places, the invitations, the sign-up, the propaedeutics, the rules, the grade levels, the uniforms, the school supplies, the grades, the extra help, where you can find the exams with all the answers etc… But if you ask us how many grade levels there are [in our little school] and how much time it will take until graduation, we will answer: we (women and men) have been here for more than 500 years and we are still learning.
P.S. That Gives Some Advice Regarding Attendance at the Little School: Eduardo Galeano, a sage in that difficult art of observing and listening, wrote the following in his book, “ The Children of the Days,” on the March calendar:
“Carlos and Gudrun Lenkersdorf were born and had lived in Germany. In 1973 these illustrious professors arrived in Mexico. They entered the Mayan world, a Tojolobal community, and they introduced themselves with the following words:
‘We came to learn.’
The indigenous people were silent. Later someone would explain the silence:
‘This is the first time that someone has said that to us.’
Learning, they stayed there for years and years.
From the indigenous languages they learned that there is no hierarchy that separates the object from the subject, because I drink the water that drinks me and I am observed by everything I observe, and they learned how to greet people in the following way:
‘I am another you.’
‘You are another me.’ “
Take heed of Don Galeano, because it is only by knowing how to observe and listen that one learns.
P.S. That Explains Something About Calendars and Geographies: Our dead say that we have to know how to observe and listen to everything, but that in the south there will always be a special richness. As you may have noticed from watching the videos (there are many videos still left over, perhaps for another time) that accompanied the communiqués in this “Them and Us” series, we tried to thread together many calendars and geographies, but we dug into our much respected southern region of Latin America. This was not only because of Argentina and Uruguay, lands wise to rebellion, but also due to the fact that according to us (women and men), there exists in the Mapuche people not only pain and rage, but also an impeccable integrity in the struggle and a profound sagacity for those who know how to observe and listen. If there is a corner of the world toward which bridges must be built, it is Mapuche territory. It is thanks to those people and to all the disappeared and all the imprisoned of this pained continent that our memory still lives. I’m not sure about the other side of these words, but I know that from this side of these words, “Neither forgive nor forget!”
A Synthetic P.S.: Yes, we know that this challenge has not been and will not be easy. Great threats and blows of all types will come from all directions. That is how our path has been and will be. Terrible and marvelous things make up our history. It will continue to be this way. But if you were to ask us how we would summarize all of this in one word: the pain, the sleepless nights, the deaths that hurt us, the sacrifices, the continual effort to swim against the tide, the loneliness, the absences, the persecution, and, above all, the stubborn memory of those who came before us and are no longer here, it would be something that unites all the colors that exist below and to the left no matter what their calendar or geography. More than a word, it is a cry:
Liberty…………Liberty!……………LIBERTY!
Vale de Nuez.
The Sup putting away his computer and walking, always walking.
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A poem by Mario Benedetti (which responds to the question of why, despite everything, we sing), put to music by Alberto Favero. Here performed by Silvana Garre, Juan Carlos Baglietto, Nito Mestre. ¡Ni perdón ni olvido!
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Camila Moreno performs “De la tierra,” dedicated to the Mapuche warrior of struggle, Jaime Mendoza Collio, shot in the back by police.
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Mercedes Sosa, ours, everyone’s, of all times, singing Rafael Amor’s “Corazón Libre.” The message is terrible and wonderful: never give up.
