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Radio Pozol

(Español) “¡MARICHEWEU! Diez, cien, mil veces venceremos”, EZLN inicia festival de cine en Chiapas

Sorry, this entry is only available in Mexican Spanish. 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.

Amatenango del Valle, Chiapas. 7 de diciembre. Bases de Apoyo del EZLN, en especial jóvenes y jóvenas, junto con asistentes nacionales e internacionales, se dieron cita este sábado a la inauguración de la segunda edición del Festival de Cine: “Puy Ta Cuxlejaltic”, en el nuevo Caracol Zapatista Tulan Kaw, en los altos de Chiapas.

Tras arduos trabajos para culminar con las instalaciones del nuevo Caracol “Espiral digno tejiendo los colores de la humanidad en memoria de los caídos”, anunciado el pasado mes de agosto, hoy recibe a las y los asistentes al festival.

A la entrada del caracol entre la transitada carretera entre San Cristóbal y Comitán, se pueden apreciar diferentes carteles conmemorativos de las diversas actividades a la que los rebeldes chiapanecos han calendarizado como “diciembre combativo”.

En la parte frontal del Caracol también se encuentra con un sendero el cual lleva al visitante por diferentes exposiciones artísticas, así como proyecciones tanto en mega pantallas y pequeñas proyecciones, y templetes para las diferentes presentaciones al aire libre.

“¡MARICHEWEU! Diez, cien, mil veces venceremos”, se puede leer en una de las salas de proyección del festival en reconocimiento a la lucha del pueblo Mapuche en Chile.

En este primer día se han proyectado las películas: Gran Jornada de Mujeres que Luchan del colectivo Luces Rebeldes; Escuela por la Defensa del Territorio de la Sandía Digital y Witness; Corrientes del sur de Geovanni Ocampo Villanueva; Noosfera de Amelia Hernández; Santo Remedio de Andrea Ayala Luna, Ingrid Denisse Alarcón Díaz; Sobre la hierba de José Alfredo Jiménez Milán; 3 x 10 pesos de Uzziel Ortega Sánchez y David Donner Castro; El caminar de las Pastoras de Gabriela Ruvalcaba; Videoclip & Discurso de El Gran Om; y Soles Negros de Julien Elie.

A decir de los asistentes las proyecciones muestran las difíciles condiciones sociales, económicas y políticas en las que se encuentran las comunidades a nivel nacional e internacional.

Para el día domingo las películas a proyectar son: Huir de Daniel Hernández Delgadillo; Restos de viento de Jimena Montemayor; Birders de Otilia Portillo; Vaquero del mediodía de Diego Osorno; ¿Qué les pasó a las abejas? de Adriana Otero; y Poetas del Cielo de Emilio Maillé.

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EZLN

Program for the Second Film Festival “Puy ta Cuxlejaltic”

 

PROGRAM FOR THE SECOND FILM FESTIVAL “PUY TA CUXLEJALTIC”
December 7-15, 2019.

Saturday, December 7:

Gran Jornada de Mujeres que Luchan by the collective Luces Rebeldes.
Escuela por la Defensa del Territorio by Sandía Digital and Witness.
Corrientes del sur by Geovanni Ocampo Villanueva.
Noosfera by Amelia Hernández.
Santo Remedio by Andrea Ayala Luna, Ingrid Denisse Alarcón Díaz.
Sobre la hierba by José Alfredo Jiménez Milán.
3 x 10 pesos by Uzziel Ortega Sánchez and David Donner Castro.
El caminar de las Pastoras by Gabriela Ruvalcaba.
Videoclip & Discurso by El Gran Om.
Soles Negros by Julien Elie.

Sunday, December 8:

Huir by Daniel Hernández Delgadillo.
Restos de viento by Jimena Montemayor.
Birders by Otilia Portillo.
Vaquero del mediodía by Diego Osorno.
¿Qué les pasó a las abejas? by Adriana Otero.
Poetas del Cielo by Emilio Maillé.

Monday, December 9:

El gallinero by Fabián Ibarra.
Rojo by María Candelaria Palma Marcelino.
La bruja del fósforo paseante by Sofía Carrillo.
Gyuri by Mariana Lacerda.
Un amor en rebeldía by Tania Castillo.
Mujeres que luchan by Larissa Rojas.
El Vapor del Olvido by Marcos Ignacio Hidalgo Sánchez.
La Camarista by Lila Avilés.

Tuesday, December 10:

El sembrador by Melissa Elizondo Moreno.
Sanctorum by Joshua Gil.
Ya no estoy aquí by Fernando Frías de la Parra.
Titixte by Tania Hernández Velasco.
El Guardián de la memoria by Marcela Arteaga.

Wednesday, December 11:

“Kuxlejal” (life) by Elke Franke.
Rapsodia by Antonio del Rivero Herrera.
Las Lecciones de Silveria by Yolanda Cruz.
Retiro by Daniela Alatorre.
Voces de barro by Tania Paz.
Antes del olvido by Iria Gómez.

Thursday, December 12:

Los nacimientos de Celia by Carlos Hagerman.
Mamartuile by Alejandro Saevich.
Arcángel by Ángeles Cruz.
45 días en Jarbar by César Aréchiga.
Mano de obra by David Zonana.
Chicuarotes by Gael García Bernal.

Friday, December 13:

Lorena by Juan Carlos Rulfo
Nosotras by Natalia Beristain
Polvo by Chema Yazpik
Sonora by Alejandro Springall
Pájaros de Verano by Cristina Gallego and Ciro Guerra

Saturday, December 14:

RECTANGULAR ROUNDTABLE: FILM: CREATURES AND THEIR CREATORS

Sunday, December 15: 

Tuyuku (Ahuehuete) by Nicolás Rojas
Amador Hernández, una cabrona patada en la costilla by Martí Torrens
Dos episodios de la Docuserie Somos valientes, co-produced by Marcela Zendejas and Lidya Cacho:  Yucatán Episode, HUNAB; and Sinaloa Episode, Malala Academia.
Pasco, avanzar más allá de la muerte by Martín Sabio and Patricia Miriam Rodríguez

All programming subject to last-minute changes.

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Subcomandante Insurgente Galeano

A Whale in the Mountains of Southeastern Mexico

Sixth Commission of the EZLN
Mexico

December 2019.

To the National Indigenous Congress – Indigenous Governing Council:
To the individuals, groups, collectives and organizations of the Sixth in Mexico and internationally:
To the Networks of Resistance and Rebellion:
To film-lovers everywhere:

Considering, first and only, that:

A WHALE IN THE MOUNTAINS OF SOUTHEASTERN MEXICO

(Creatures and their Creators)

You have no idea how you ended up here in this place, though it seems it’s becoming something of a habit… “The traditions and customs of cityfolk,” you remember the late SupMarcos saying. You also remember how annoying he found those sarcastic comments…well, not just those comments. The afternoon has given way to evening. You stop, noticing in the distance a red, five-pointed star at the top of a mountain, with an enormous sign with so many letters that you can’t make out its message. Even more distant, you can make out the blue-gray silhouette of a braying horse with huge, illuminated letters that state, laconically: “TULAN KAW ZAPATISTA.”

At the entrance, the girl who guided you through that first impossible movie theater and her gang of kids approach you. You’re not sure whether to run, pretend not to know them, or freeze and see what happens. Any semblance of a strategy collapses because the girl takes you by the hand and chastises you: “Late again.”

You all cross through a wide flat space that appears to be set up like a county fair. You take a winding route through dozens of different “stations,” each booth with its own light-and-sound show, people dressed up as monsters, circus performers, and trapeze artists; over here there’s someone teaching art, and over there you can hear music, singing and dancing. People crowd together at their favorite “station”, laughing and shouting with delight and surprise, and, of course, taking selfies. At the edge of the path through the stations there’s a huge screen. You’re about to say, “Looks like a drive-in theater,” but a nearby sign reads: “Walk-In Theater. Tonight: Cantinflas and Manuel Medel in Águila o Sol[i]. Tomorrow: Piporro and Pedro Infante in Ahí viene Martín Corona[ii].

The girl leads you through the zigzagging path. Up ahead, a strange being, like a cat or a dog, is flanked on both sides by other girls and boys all talking at the same time.

You try to make out what they’re saying, but just then you see a huge banner with the face of…Boris Karloff?[iii] made up like the monster from Frankenstein, with a coffee cup in one hand and a half-eaten sweet bun in the other. The banner’s text repeats an ancient truism: “Nothing like coffee and a snack to bring you back to life.” Farther on another sign reads: “Maxillofacial Surgery. Get your best face and an irresistible smile!” with images of the monster from Alien from the series’ various prequels and sequels. You instinctively evaluate the cheeks from each version and shudder.

Amidst lots of brightly-colored lights there is a long mess hall (you can make out signs reading “ZAPATISTAS” and “WELCOME”). You’re about to say that it’s a bit chilly and that a hot coffee and a snack wouldn’t hurt when you see on one of the walls another banner with Edward James Olmos’ face announcing, “Soft-boiled sushi. Origami classes. Pest control. Bow ties. Gaff & Company.” Higher up, as if suspended from the ceiling, there’s an animated image of the geisha from Blade Runner. You pause for a moment trying to guess how such a novelty is possible, but the crowd behind you pushes you forward.

Almost at the end of the winding route of “stations,” there’s a table with a large model of what appears to be a future construction and a sign reading “Theater Project” with a collection box labeled “Anonymous Donations.” Behind an artisan shop nearby you see an image of a Facehugger advertising scarves and sleep eye-masks for sale.

Before you lies a path studded with lights and the silhouette of a large red star, and amidst some rubble, apparently placed there on purpose, flash images of a dystopian backdrop. The flickering lights barely illuminate the forest around you and the mountain above. Instead of individual trees, it’s as if the Zapatistas had strung the entire mountaintop with lights and the trees were merely branches on that great, hulking pine.

You decide that it would be best to turn around; nothing normal happens in Zapatista territory… at least, not to you. Every time you’ve come you’re left feeling somewhat discontent with and skeptical of yourself, and it takes you several days of your regular routine in the city to feel normal again. So you take a few steps back, looking for an opportunity to turn around without the boys and girls seeing you…

But then you see it, and stop dead in your tracks.

You tell yourself you’ve seen everything – that’s what the internet and its bandwidth are for – but what you’re seeing now is so illogical that… Well, you grab your cell phone and try to take a panoramic photo but you realize immediately that it’s impossible. You would need a satellite to capture the whole scene, because it’s clear that all of it is part of a puzzle and that to put it together you’d have to walk… and close your eyes.

But when you open your eyes, it’s still there. An enormous structure. A sort of huge hangar which, in seeming defiance of the laws of physics, extends back until it gets lost in the trees and the moist mountain surface. It’s like a galley whose figurehead is a red, five-pointed star. You wouldn’t be surprised if, in your peripheral vision, tons of small windows opened and dozens, hundreds, thousands of oars came out… and if inside, “writing in the sea[iv],” was the one-armed man of Lepanto.[v] It looks like a galleon, or a whaling ship… No, more like a lost whale who, trying to swim against the current, up the mountainside, has taken a rest among the trees and people—a lot of people, of all sizes and all colors. Even though most of them have their faces covered, their clothes are like a kaleidoscope moving around the great whale, absurd here in its stopover halfway up the mountain, just as everything that happens here is absurd.

No, it didn’t occur to you that this might be the “Pequod,[vi] but rather the legendary whale from Moby Dick with which Gregory Peck[vii] and Herman Melville were obsessed.

You’ve seen several signs that say “Film Festival,” but you haven’t seen any references to John Huston’s film or Melville’s novel. Then you remember something the Zapatistas once said: “We are speaking for another time. Our words will be understood in other calendars and geographies.” Even so, you are willing to respond with “Call me Ishmael[viii] if anyone asks your name, but then you notice three large banners covering one side of the structure. On the middle banner, embroidered with images of rope and spears, you read:

Trempülkalwe

That’s the Mapuche language, Mapudungun,” you hear someone explain to someone else. A little above that line the banner reads “MARICHEWEU! Ten, one hundred, one thousand times we will win.” As if to ratify that statement, ten, one hundred, one thousand masked people swarm around you, Zapatista young people, men, women, and otroas—the rowers on this paradoxical and good-spirited old galley—whose very existence, whose lives, seem to point to a triumph over a past that promised them nothing but death and oblivion.

You encounter this Mapuche cry of resistance and rebellion here in the mountains of the Mexican Southeast. Why does Zapatismo greet that originary people in this manner in these lands? Why the effort to take an ancestral history of resistance and rebellion from the continent’s southern tip and plant it here in these mountains—a place called “Tulan Kaw” (“strong horse” in Tojolabal and Tzeltal)—creating an irrational and anachronistic link between two resistances and rebellions with the same objective, the defense of mother earth?

You’re trying to decipher that puzzle when the kid gang pushes you into the belly of the whale…okay, fine, the auditorium. Inside there are lots of wood benches arranged in tiers following the slope of the mountain, and a stage with tables, three screens (the Zapatista version of 3D), speakers, and a bunch of cables spilling out like entrails.

Wait for us here. We’re going to go get some popcorn,” the little girl tells you. You start to say that you didn’t see any popcorn vendors but the kid gang has disappeared, exiting the belly of the whale…okay, okay, the auditorium. While you wait you look around the inside of the building. There are beings of all sorts on the benches, and on stage are people who, you assume, make films. They are talking about film as if responding to questions that, as far as you can tell, nobody has asked… at least, nobody you can see. Or maybe they’re just talking to themselves.

The little girl and her gang come running back in, all carrying bags of popcorn. The little girl gives you a bag and explains, “I only put a little bit of salsa on them so you wouldn’t get a stomach ache.” The entrance of the kid gang serves like a signal and the rest of the crowd leaves en masse. The people on stage heave a sigh of relief. One confesses, “Phew! Now I remember why I chose to work in film!” Another says, “This is like a horror film mixed with a thriller and a science fiction flick. I fear the screenplay holds nothing good in store for me.” And another adds, “To be honest, I didn’t know how to answer her, she just had too many questions.” “True,” says still another, “it’s like being on trial but without a defense attorney… and knowing you’re guilty.”

The little girl whispers in your ear, “If SupGaleano comes looking for us, you tell him that we’ve been here the whole time, that you brought the popcorn yourself from the city and shared it with us. Even if he’s angry, don’t give in, remain firm! Resistance and rebellion, you know.” Just then you hear over the loudspeaker: “Please report any information or tips on the location of one cat-dog, wanted for theft of strategic material from the office of the General Command. The suspect tends to travel in the company of a gang of kids who… okay fine, forget the kids, but the cat-dog is unmistakable.” The aforementioned, with what you could swear is a mischievous smile, burrows into the little girl’s lap.

You are weighing the wisdom of lying to a Subcomandante when everyone comes back in with fragrant bags of popcorn and takes their seats. From the stage, someone says, “Nobody has any frivolous questions? I mean, to get back to normalcy and make everyone believe that this is a film festival like any other.”

Would you look at that,” you say to yourself, “a film festival where explanations, reason, and reflection are expected. As if a great big question mark had appeared on the screen and everyone (todas, todos, todoas) was expecting…what are they expecting? The little girl responds with a confession, “See, the thing is, we’re all kind of happy that these people who make film came here, because what if they are sad or their hearts anxious because they don’t know where these things they created ended up? It’s a good point, right? So we invited them to come and tell us if they are okay, or not okay, or depends. Maybe they’ll even start to dance and eat popcorn and their hearts will be glad,” the little girl says with her mouth full and her cheeks stained bright with salsa.

It seems like there’s an intermission, so everyone, including you, leaves the building. To your surprise, there is now a mobile popcorn vendor outside followed by a long curving line of kids waiting their turn, like a comet with a trail of lights. It looks like there’s another vendor a little ways off, and you can make out another still further away. You get in line and once you have your bag of popcorn you stare in wonder at the absurd movie theater with its rebellious inclinations, challenging all logic and the law of gravity itself…

The mythical Mapuche whale, Mocha Dick, swimming up the mountain, with all these people in its wake… “and mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air,” (Moby Dick. Herman Melville, 1851).

The irreverent cetacean as part of the jigsaw puzzle.

Film as something more, much more, than a movie.

As if all this were just part of a bigger jigsaw puzzle, you see a giant poster announcing a dance festival, another about the defense of territory and mother earth, another about an international gathering of women who struggle, another about a birthday, and signs, lots of them, signaling bathrooms, showers, internet, supplies, “a world where many worlds fit,” the Junta de Buen Gobierno (Good Government Council), the Zapatista Autonomous Municipality in Rebellion, the Information and Vigilance Commission… at this point you wouldn’t be surprised to run into Elías Contreras, sitting and smoking outside a hut with “Investigation Commission” inscribed over the doorway.

You detect a lot of loose pieces. There are some people who can only be differentiated from the locals because they have a nametag that reads “National Indigenous Congress” and, of course, they don’t have their faces covered. There are also “citizens” or “cityfolk,” which is what Zapatismo calls those who live or at least survive in the city. You’re exasperated to realize there are and will be many more pieces. It’s as if Zapatismo has set out to challenge humanity with enigmas…or with the silhouette of a world, another world.

It’s as if your life mattered to someone you don’t even know. Someone for whom you may have done much, or a little, or nothing, but who takes you into account in any case. It’s as if only now do you realize that this “Caracol of Our Lives” includes you and yours…ten, one hundred, one thousand times over.

This piece of the puzzle, film, like life, takes place inside a whale injured on both sides, swimming upstream in the mountains of the Mexican Southeast…

But that’s impossible… isn’t it?

-*-

Given the above, the EZLN’s Sixth Commission invites the men, women, otroas, children, and elders of the Sexta, the CNI, and the Networks of Resistance and Rebellion around the world, as well as those film fanatics who can and want to come, to the Film Festival:

“PUY TA CUXLEJALTIC”

(“Caracol of Our Lives”)

The second edition of which will be held in the Zapatista Caracol of Tulan Kaw, in the mountains of the Mexican Southeast, December 7-15, 2019.

The film schedule and festival activities will be posted at the Festival.

From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast,

SupGaleano,
Chasing after the most terrible mutation of Xenomorph: the Cat-Dog.
What? Well, because he stole my popcorn. And film without popcorn is like… how can I explain it?
Like tacos without salsa, like Messi without a ball, like a donkey without a rope, like a penguin without a tux, like Sherlock without Watson, like Donald Trump without Twitter (or vice versa)…
wha? Okay, that was another bad example.
Mexico, December 2019

 

[i]   Águila o Sol (1937): One of the first films starring Mexican comic Cantinflas.
[ii] Here Comes Martin Corona (1952): Mexican comedy Western starring Pedro Infante.
[iii] Stage name for William Henry Pratt [1887-1969], a British actor who played Frankenstein’s monster in the original 1931 film.
[iv] To row.
[v] Miguel de Cervantes, whose lost use of his left arm after a suffering a gunshot wound in the naval Battle of Lepanto against the Ottoman fleet.
[vi] The fictional 19th-century whaling ship that appears in the 1851 novel, Moby Dick.
[vii] Peck starred in John Huston’s 1956 film Moby Dick as Captain Ahab.
[viii] Chapter One of Moby Dick begins with the words «Call me Ishmael,» as narrated by the only surviving crewmember of the Pequod.

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Agencia SubVersiones

(Español) Migrar, resistir y nunca dejar de bailar

Sorry, this entry is only available in Mexican Spanish. 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.

| Agencia SubVersiones

Parte 1 Un carnaval mixteco en Oaxacalifornia

Parte 2 «Si hasta parece Silacayoapan»

Meter todo el equipaje a la camioneta y revisar que no falte nada:  las chivarras, máscaras, sombreros, camisas, el gabán y el resto de los disfraces. Las provisiones para el camino y los encargos de los paisanos. Todo está listo para emprender el viaje a Oregon. A la representación del Comité de Santa Ana le esperaban 16 horas de viaje nocturno para poder cumplir una promesa que se hizo el pasado febrero: acompañar a los paisanos de la Organización de Silacayoapenses en Oregon en el baile de carnaval que realizan año con año.

Llegamos a la ciudad de Hillsboro, al oeste de Portland, el viernes 12 de abril a las 10:00 AM. A pesar de estar en plena primavera, el frío y la lluvia parecían no quererse ir. La vista es muy distinta a la de Los Ángeles y Santa Ana. Aquí, los bosques espesos y la neblina dominan el paisaje. También es muy diferente a Sila: «es otro tono de verde» me dice uno de los paisanos cuando le pregunto sobre los contrastes con el pueblo que les vio nacer.

(Continuar leyendo…)

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Radio Zapatista

(Español) La weychafe mapuche Moira Milán presenta su primera novela “El tren del olvido”

Sorry, this entry is only available in Mexican Spanish. 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.

Este próximo miércoles, 14 de agosto, la weychafe mapuche Moira Milán presentará en Buenos Aires su primera novela, El tren del olvido, publicada por la Editorial Planeta.

En la novela, Llankaray cuenta la historia de su bisabuela Fresia Coliman y de su abuela Pirenrayen, nacida en 1900 en la Puelwillimapu, la Patagonia. Sangre mapuche y tehuelche corre por las venas de la narradora, que ha decidido dar testimonio de su comunidad y de sus raíces indígenas, para que la memoria le gane la partida al olvido que quieren imponer los promotores del progreso. Con el fin de extender el ferrocarril por el sur argentino, una compañía inglesa lleva adelante la apropiación del territorio mapuche, y las familias se ven obligadas a abandonar sus rukas en busca de otros lugares donde asentarse.

En la misma época, en Irlanda, nace y crece Liam O’Sullivan. De niño juega en las vías del tren y sueña con ser ingeniero ferroviario. A pesar de las diferencias históricas y culturales que los separan, Pirenrayen y Liam son testigos, en sus respectivos territorios, de la opresión que padece su gente bajo el avance del poder británico. Tras un enfrentamiento con la policía inglesa, Liam debe exiliarse y se embarca hacia la Argentina. En ese punto, los pasos de Pirenrayen y de Liam comenzarán a acercarse.

El tren del olvido es, a la vez, una conmovedora historia de amor y el relato de un pueblo valiente, que no está dispuesto a rendirse. Brillante debut de Moira Millán como escritora, de esta weychafe —guerrera y cuidadora de su pueblo— dueña de una fructífera imaginación y de un lenguaje cargado de simbolismo y poesía.

Moira Millan nació el 20 de agosto de 1970 en El Maitén, provincia de Chubut. Es hija y nieta de ferroviarios. En 1992, junto con su hermano Mauro Millán, fundó la Organización Mapuche-Tehuelche 11 de Octubre. Su acción logró evitar desalojos y la recuperación de los territorios de varias comunidades. En 2002, formó parte de las luchas y marchas contra la megaminería en la Patagonia. En Esquel, provincia del Chubut, fundó en 2011 el Movimiento Lucha por Trabajo (MLT). En 2013-2014, inició una caminata por la Argentina para convocar a todas las hermanas a movilizarse, lo que dio origen a la primera Marcha de Mujeres Originarias por el Buen Vivir realizada en 2015. Un año después, la MMO se consolidó como una organización gestora de derechos. En 2018, la autora organizó el Primer Parlamento de Mujeres Indígenas, donde se acordó llevar adelante la campaña por la plurinacionalidad del encuentro de mujeres. En los últimos años, su activismo cobró mayor visibilidad a raíz de la fuerte represión que tuvo lugar en la Patagonia. Por su continua participación en la defensa del pueblo mapuche, recibió reiteradas amenazas contra ella y su familia.

Como representante de su comunidad, Moira Millán ha dado conferencias y seminarios en diversas universidades del mundo. En su faceta creativa, ganó en 2012 la tercera edición del Concurso DOCTV Latinoamérica como coguionista de Pupila de mujer, mirada de la tierra, que permitió la realización del documental protagonizado por ella y dirigido por Flor Copley. Participó con su texto «Ausencia de la voz indígena» en el libro colectivo Ni una menos. Vivxs nos queremos (Milena Caserola, 2015), compilado por Karina Bidaseca. En 2018, ganó el Certamen Periodístico Internacional de Intercontinental Cry sobre temáticas indígenas con su artículo «La maternidad mapuche en tiempos de Benetton», publicado después por la revista Incomindios.

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Radio Zapatista

Cal State Los Angeles celebrates encounter for the 25 years of zapatismo

On April 26 and 27, the Encounter 25 Years of Zapatismo, Across Time & Space took place at California State University Los Angeles. The encounter brought together activists, scholars, militants, and members of organizations and collectives in the US who have been struggling for autonomy, justice and dignity in the country, many of them inspired by the Zapatista uprising. Also present were councilmembers of the Indigenous Governing Council and, via the internet, the intellectuals Raúl Zibechi and Gustavo Esteva and other Mexican activists and journalists, who analyzed the current situation experienced in that country and the organization of resistance and rebellion.

Since the Zapatista uprising on January 1, 1994, and especially after the Chican@-Zapatista Encounter in August 1997, zapatismo has inspired a large number of collectives and organizations in the US, especially of Chicanos, migrants, and people of color in general, who have adopted Zapatista forms of struggle to resist state violence, racism and repression against people of color, the prison industrial complex, gentrification and the systematic displacement of those from below, labor exploitation, deportations, raids, and much more. Thus, during these 25 years there have emerged artistic groups (see for example our documentary on the Chicano-Zapatista musical movement, Rhythms of Zapata), autonomous experiences of food sovereignty, community spaces, independent media collectives, groups of scholars proposing other epistemologies, self-defense organizations, exchanges and youth delegations to Chiapas, women’s groups, etc.

This encounter was therefore an opportunity to exchange experiences and connect struggles, while reflecting on the changes in Zapatismo in these 25 years, the civilizational crisis we face, and the situation for the peoples under the current Mexican administration.

Of fundamental importance was the participation of the councilmembers Betina Cruz Velázquez and Fortino Domínguez Rueda, of the National Indigenous Congress / Indigenous Governing Council (CNI-CIG). From his perspective as a member of the Zoque people, Fortino led us on a voyage through the history of the CNI up to the creation of the CIG and its relevance for indigenous peoples in Mexico and the world, in the context of the destruction caused by the current phase of capitalism. Betina Cruz in turn undertook a decisive and carefully documented analysis of this destruction, now led by the government of Andrés Manuel López Obrador and his so-called “fourth transformation.”

This was complemented by the analyses by Raúl Zibechi and Gustavo Esteva, who discussed the relevance of zapatismo for Latin American social movements (or societies in movement, as Zibechi proposes) and, again, the threat that the current Mexican government represents for indigenous peoples and for the construction of Zapatista autonomy. Also via the internet, from Mexico, the activists María Laura Orozco and Evangelina Ceja and the journalist Arturo de Dios analyzed the use of forced disappearance as a tool of the state, based on specific cases. And a member of the Radio Zapatista collective explained what the Zapatistas understand by the “storm” and the civilizational crisis underway.

From the standpoint of education, the influence of the Zapatista uprising on universities in the US was discussed, as well as the contributions of Zapatista education toward a decolonial and deschooling thought in that country. The topics of borders, identities, nations, and states oriented several roundtables, as well as patriarchy, feminism, and queer subversion. Former members of the now extinct organization Estación Libre shared the experience of their efforts to connect the struggles of people of color in the US and the ideas and practices of zapatismo. Food justice was present in the discussion of various autonomous experiences in food sovereignty in California, such as the South Central Farm, Zapotepec, and the Oxnard Heirloom Seed Library.

The Encounter also included a film festival, an art exhibit, a poetry recital, an evening of CompArte at the Floricanto Center, and a festive fandango at the Chicano organizational and cultural space Eastside Café.

 

radio
Radio Zapatista

(Español) Entrevista con el artista plástico zoque Saúl Kak

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En el contexto del 37 aniversario de la erupción del volcán Chichonal y del Foro del Pueblo Creyente Zoque en Defensa de la Tierra y el Territorio, entrevistamos al artista plástico zoque Saúl Kak, que en el momento realiza un documental justamente sobre el desplazamiento de familias zoques a partir de la erupción. En su estudio en el barrio de Guayabal, Rayón, Chiapas (barrio compuesto por familias desplazadas de la comunidad de Guayabal, completamente destruida por el volcán), Saúl nos habla de la resistencia zoque a los megaproyectos extractivos en su territorio, y del papel del arte en el movimiento.

(Descarga aquí)  

 

radio
Inter Campus, Lo Stato Sociale/Garrincha Dischi, Radio Popolare y 20ZLN

(Español) Exposición fotográfica “Chiapas visto con pasamontañas” en Italia por el 25 aniversario

Sorry, this entry is only available in Mexican Spanish. 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.

– Chiapas visto con pasamontañas –

– Inter Campus, Lo Stato Sociale/Garrincha Dischi, Radio Popolare y 20ZLN organizan una exposición fotográfica y cuentan sus viajes a México, en tierras zapatistas. –
– 13/11 de enero 2019 – Milán – Via Ollearo 5

El 1 de enero de 1994 el Tratado de Libre Comercio de América del Norte entró en vigor en México. México, EE. UU. Y Canadá experimentaron la primera experiencia de mercado único. El mismo día, campesinas y campesinos indígenas de Chiapas entraron a varias ciudades con el rostro cubierto por pasamontañas para decir ¡no! a ese acuerdo y al mundo que iba a determinar.

Veinticinco años después aquellas campesinas y campesinos siguen en sus lugares, su crítica del neoliberalismo se ha convertido en una sociedad libre y autorganizada. La experiencia zapatista al principio asombró y sorprendió, y luego atrajo al mundo entero. Y así sucedió que las historias deportivas y culturales se entrelazaran y se encontraran justo en ese territorio tan diferente y vivo.

Inter Campus, el proyecto social del F.C. Internacional, trabaja en Chiapas desde 2011. Nació de un intercambio de cartas entre el Presidente Massimo Moratti y el SubComandante Marcos, el proyecto Chiapas es ahora un programa de cooperación para el desarrollo sostenible del sistema educativo autónomo de las comunidades indígenas zapatistas e involucra a 300 niños y niñas cada año y más de 150 “promotores de educación”.

Lo Stato Sociale conoció de cerca las y los zapatistas e involucró a toda su casa discográfica Garrincha Dischi en el proyecto Garrincha Loves Chiapas.

Radio Popolare organiza un viaje anual de aficionados en Chiapas, y entre las diferentes etapas hay una visita al Caracol de Oventik.

Estas tres realidades, junto con el colectivo 20ZLN, organizan una exposición fotográfica para relatar su experiencia en tierra zapatista, y en México, del 11 al 13 de enero de 2019, en el 25 aniversario de la marcha por la paz (el 12 de enero de 1994, 1 millón de personas manifestaron en la Ciudad de México para pedir que el gobierno mexicano empezara a dialogar con los indígenas zapatistas).

La exposición tendrá lugar en el auditorio de Radio Popolare, Via Ollearo 5 Milan, con los siguientes horarios y citas:

Viernes 11 de enero – Inauguración a las 17.30 horas y cierre a las 22.00 horas. A las 18.00 habrá un encuentro público/rueda de prensa para explicar las razones de la exposición y las diferentes experiencias involucradas. Las cuatro realidades promotoras estarán presentes y tomarán la palabra para contar su experiencia.

Sábado 12 – Apertura a las 11.00 y cierre a las 19.00.
Domingo 13 – Apertura a las 11.00 y cierre a las 19.00.

Entrada gratuita

radio

(Español) Segundo recital de danza: Otro mundo es posible (19/1 – CDMX)

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radio
Radio Zapatista

(Español) Entrevista a Pedro Valtierra a 21 años de la masacre de Acteal

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El 21 de diciembre de 2018, durante el festival cultural en conmemoración a los 21 años de la Masacre de Acteal, entrevistamos al fotógrafo Pedro Valtierra, quien en 1996 llegó a Acteal pocos días después de la masacre y en los primeros días de enero documentó el conflicto en el campamento X’Oyeb, donde se refugiaban cientos de desplazados por la violencia paramilitar, y que el ejército pretendía desmantelar. Las mujeres, con el valor de la dignidad y la rabia, rodearon a los militares para impedirles el paso. Una foto en particular le ha dado la vuelta al mundo, convirtiéndose en símbolo de la resistencia organizada ante los atropellos del poder.

Escucha aquí la entrevista: (Descarga aquí)  

 

 

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