Disappeared Victims in Mexico ‘’Are Not a Number, But People’’ – Zapatista

San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Chiapas. The victims of enforced disappearance in Mexico “are not a number to be manipulated in the media, as is happening these days, but rather people with names, stories, relatives, and friends who are nowhere to be found and who must be located and rescued for life, for memory, and for both,” Captain Marcos of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) said.

He added that the struggle of the hundreds of collectives, groups, and organizations searching for their disappeared relatives “has been used for partisan political agendas.”

He said that “there have been attempts to co-opt them, manipulate them, silence them, make them disappear, but they are still there, and no matter what spectacle they put on from above—be it soccer, music, or useless and sterile debates—they will remain there and will not falter until those who are missing today reappear.”

And yes, he added, “perhaps the Mexican soccer team will finally reach the fifth game and it will all be a party and a celebration, and people will say ‘I always knew it,’ and Vasco is Basque, but long live Mexico, you bastards, you bitches, and cheers! But in the uncertain limbo of what was once the Mexican nation, now united only by pain and terror, those who fight tirelessly for the disappeared will continue, among them, one who was once called homeland and who is lost between the frivolous and superficial because truth and justice are part of the disappeared.”

Marcos expressed the above during the third and final day of activities of the April 2026 Semillero: The Storm Inside and Outside, According to the Zapatista Communities and Peoples, held in San Cristóbal.

Unity and Fragmentation in the Struggle

In the 1 p.m. session, she spoke about “A Peep into the Storm in the World: The Fragmentation of Territories and Resistances and Rebellions,” saying that “only those who are clear about the why, that is, their history; the what for, that is, their objective; and the how, that is, their organizational structure, are the ones who do not falter, do not surrender, do not sell out, and do not give up.”

He added: “Here, for example, are some of the parents of the missing students from Ayotzinapa, who, as on other occasions, are with us: Don Mario and Doña Hilda, who, like the rest of their comrades, continue to persevere in the search for their missing loved ones.”

The hundreds of attendees at the meeting held at the Caracol Jacinto Canek*, located within the Comprehensive Indigenous Training Center (CIDECI) in San Cristóbal, chanted: “September 26th is not forgotten, it is a day of combative struggle.”

The captain had previously referred to “the unity and fragmentation of the struggle” and said that “a few months ago” Sub-commander Moisés briefed the militia on what he had discussed in a session of the General Assembly of Local Autonomous Governments.

“He told us that our duty as present-day Zapatistas is to create the material conditions for the survival of future generations; that is, the conditions for them to have life, but that they were already seeing that this wasn’t enough, that we had to transmit to them resistance and rebellion, that is, not surrendering, not selling out, and not giving up, and that this couldn’t be put on paper or in a community assembly resolution. It’s not even something that could be transmitted verbally.”

Resign Yourself or Organize

He pointed out that after several assemblies, they concluded that “one of the proposals was that the legacy should be the example, that resistance and rebellion, not selling out, not surrendering, and not giving up were just empty words if they weren’t accompanied by action; that if we wanted to inherit the Commons, we had to practice it—those of us who are authorities, leaders, organizers, area and inter-zone leaders, officers and militia, and all the titles and roles that arise in our organizational structure.”

This idea of ​​legacy, Marcos explained, “is relevant, because every movement, organization, group, collective, individual who resists and rebels has consciously or unconsciously made a decision in the face of the dilemma posed by this year’s call: to resign yourself or to organize.”

He continued: “Our Zapatista belief is that behind every call for unconditional unity lies an attempt at absorption, hegemony, and homogenization. Every call for unity masks the main issue: who will be in charge and how we will operate. In other words, the implementation of a pyramid structure. We see that fragmentation is not actually division, but rather the recognition of differences. They make us believe that we are stronger if we unite and present a common front, but they don’t clarify that within that union, there are those who command and those who obey.”

He clarified that the Commons proposed by the Zapatistas “doesn’t refer to individual organization but to the objective: confronting the enemy. Many struggles, many battles, and one fight against the system. We don’t know if this vision we have will work, and certainly it can be debated, discussed, and rejected that the fragmentation of organizations leads to a good outcome. What is certain is that there are many examples of unity, with a capital U, ending in failure. We believe that unity should not be confused with the objectives of an organizational community.”

*The Caracol Jacinto Canek is no longer located in CIDECI (translator’s note).

Original article by Elio Henríquez, La Jornada, April 4th, 2026.
Translated by Schools for Chiapas.

"Freedom is like the morning. There are those who wait for it asleep, and there are others that stay awake and walk through the night to reach it." - Subcomandante Marcos

#Quotes #SubcomandanteMarcos #Zapatismo #EZLN #Freedom #Liberty

Un semillero zapatista para derribar la gran pirámide del capitalismo

https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://arainfo.org/un-semillero-zapatista-para-derribar-la-gran-piramide-del-capitalismo/

A Common Roof — Zapatistas

The pouring has to be done in one go.  It can’t be done in parts because the roof will look bad.  That’s when you have to pour a lot, but in an organized way.  Pouring a roof is like dancing: everyone knows their place, what they have to do, and with whom.  If it rains, then it’s all over.  So you have to ask the most knowledgeable people, be alert, be ready.  Then you say, “On such and such a day,” and the people gather, and the jobs are distributed.  It’s done early, because otherwise the heat is unbearable and you end up like a fumigated cockroach.  When it’s finished, we laugh and drink pozol.  At lunch, we all gobbled up some beef.  There’s no party outside, but there is one in our hearts.  “It’s ours,” we think.  And we know that it belongs to everyone and no one.  An operating room is a place where those who know how to wield a knife remove the evil from you as if they were removing a bad thought.  It takes time and leaves you a little messed up, but that’s life: which also takes time and leaves you messed up, but there are moments when the damage is already done.  And there is no party outside, but there is one in our hearts.  Construction is like fighting, you do it because you’re going to need it one day.  You or yours, which doesn’t mean they’re your property, but rather your family, those close to you, your compañerxs.

Yes, we still need someone who knows about electricity to come, because they are going to have equipment that not everyone has. Single-phase, two-phase, three-phase, grounding, and I don’t know how many other things. We have ground, but you have to know about electricity because otherwise the equipment will break down and it will be useless.  It’s like when the music stops at a dance, and you’re left with the cumbia unfinished. Imagine you’re having stomach surgery and the power goes out, and you’re left with your guts hanging out like an old bandana.  That’s why the next thing we need is an electrician.  We need to find one who’s willing to work for the community.  Do electricians get sick too?  They get sick, and they have needs too.  So that’s what’s missing. And the windows and doors, because not just any windows or doors. Doctors? There’s already a team, so to speak, but more are sure to come. Because if you have a knife, a machete, a chainsaw, a drill, but there’s no one to open your stomach, then it’s useless, as we say here. And some doctors have already come to see.  I didn’t show my face because what if the doctor sees me and wants to start practicing right away.  And then, once again, there’s no special electricity.  I’d better wait.  But the roof is already there.

Yes, there are still many things missing, but it already has a roof, and a roof is important for life.  That’s why the gods made the sky, so that the world would have its roof.

Yes, what’s missing is yet to come.

Hopefully they’ll make tamales.  Yes, and hopefully they won’t be raw.

From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast.

The Captain
November 2025.

Original text published at Enlace Zapatista on November 26th, 2025.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.

https://abolitionmedia.noblogs.org/?p=24506

#chiapas #ezln #northAmerica #subcomandanteMarcos #zapatista

3 Postscripts 3 VIII.- The Commoin Against Deadly Boxes and Pyramids — Zapatista

An assembly of bosses, female, male and otherwise.

Imagine that you arrive at a Zapatista assembly.  Allow me to accompany your gaze and your listening.  We are in a meeting.  SubMoy is presiding.  At a broad glance (“as the crow flies,” as they used to say – now it is “with a drone”), you can detect obvious differences among those who participate.

In gender, for example.  There are women, men and non-binary people.

In terms of timing.  There are children, youngsters, adults and people already of age (“third age” or “senior citizens”).  There is also the offspring still in the mother’s womb.

Of language.  There are those whose mother tongue is Cho’ol, Tzotzil, Tzeltal, Tojolabal, Mam or Ta Yol Mam, Zoque, Kakchikel, and Castilian.

Of geography.  There are those from the different areas of the original peoples of the southeastern Mexican state of Chiapas.

Of creeds and beliefs.  There are Catholics, Evangelicals, Presbyterians, atheists, and those without defined or undefined beliefs.

There are also differences in what it is or means to be born, grow, live, and fight as natives in a geography where being “other” is a motive for contempt, exploitation, repression and dispossession.  “Being” where “not being” is the rule and the stigma for the different.

For example, there are those who argue, argue, debate, yell, shout, wave their hands, get angry, joke, murmur: “if the Mayan kings, the Aztecs, the Spaniards, the priests, the French, the gringos, the bad governments of Mexico and the world, and all the and caxlan bastards (of all genders) that came just to see what they could steal, we would have already found the cure for cancer, the remedy for sadness and the consolation for heartbreak. For all other misfortunes, we are there, although slow… like a snail”.

And, on the other hand, there are those who argue against it and defend certain religions and caxlans; that for sadness the cumbia has already been discovered; and that, for heartbreak, any carpenter knows that “a nail pulls out another nail”.

-*-

Now look for similarities, common identities.

Well, the first one that jumps out is that these people are Zapatistas. You assume this because the large gallery in which they are gathered is in a caracol. A “puy”. Those like work and meeting centers, where there are usually clinics, sometimes laboratories, athletic fields, collective and common stores, dining rooms, pavilions, and people walking from one side to the other.

It is possible that Veronica Palomitas, who has her own courier service, is also there. In exchange for a piece of candy, you can ask her to go get you something from the co-op store. Veronica Popcorn gets on her bike and pedals relentlessly to accomplish the mission. No matter the distance. Even if it’s up to 100… meters, the acting head of Comando Palomitas ensures that your order gets to her from you.

However, despite the evidence, not everyone may be a Zapatista. It is normal that, at times, non-Zapatistas brothers and sisters arrive for a health service -an ultrasound, for example-, to ask for orientation on some matter, to have a party or simply to go for a walk.

If you wait until pozol time (that kind of “lunch break” that is customary in rural areas at work or in their long meetings), you will hear them talking and smiling in languages that you assume are native because you don’t understand anything. Because yes, laughing in Tzeltal is not the same as laughing in Tzotzil or Cho’ol.

Neither is crying.

The late supGaleano used to drive Veronica Palomitas to despair when she started to scream: “I don’t understand you if you cry in Cho’ol”, he would tell her and Veronica would be disconcerted. “If I saw that you were you squealing in Castilian, maybe I could understand you”. The little girl tried to find out how to cry in Castilian, but she had already forgotten what the tantrum was about?

Oh, right. Some very nice flip-flops that Veronica Palomitas looked at in the cooperative store. Her father told her that “there was no money” and the old man rambled on because he argued that the boots were better. It was all for no use, and so the shrieking. Nothing serious, because the Captain, always prepared, took out of his hat… a chamoy candy! And then Veronica and the Captain would start planning terrible and marvelous things… like a play with footnotes. But those are all secrets that won’t be published…yet.

But don’t get distracted, concentrate. The similarities are not conclusive, because being native is shared with millions in Mexico and in the world; being Zapatistas with hundreds of thousands; being women or men or non-binary is also shared with millions.

Of course, you are right. It is clear that these people are not there to complain, either about their bad luck, or that they were born indigenous, or that they have been dispossessed, exploited, despised, repressed. In short, that history that they share with other native peoples of the world.

No complaints are heard other than that someone’s belly hurts because the tamales were raw, or because now they are sleepy, or because that other compa uses very harsh words that even he doesn’t understand, and no matter what, you have to respect his word.

But don’t be fooled, the silence you hear is not one of agreement, acceptance or resignation. It is one of thought.

Don’t think that everything is calm either, no. There are discussions, and loud ones. There is no shouting and hat-waving because few people wear hats. Let’s say there is “yelling and banging”. The female compañeras tend to be more lethal: they give each other dirty looks and gestures. And there are no fights with chairs as a weapon and shield, because… there are no chairs, but benches that discourage any arms race (they are heavy).

-*-

Ah, that’s right. Among their differences is their history as Zapatistas. There are those who, clandestinely, prepared the blitz of January 1994. Those who marched, armed with truth and fire, in the streets of 7 municipal capitals that were taken by “the Indians”. Veteran combatants, old guerrillas, local, regional and zonal leaders, commanders of the so-called “Clandestine Revolutionary Indigenous Clandestine Committee”.

There are those who were just children in the uprising, and grew up in the midst of betrayals of all kinds, attacks and harassment by the armies, the police, the paramilitaries. There are those who built Zapatista autonomy.

There are those who have been born in the last 30 years and who have built schools, clinics and the entire organizational structure of Zapatista autonomy. Those who have organized meetings, festivals, workshops, tournaments, games, arts, and culture. Those who are Tercios Compas, Education Promoters, Health Promoters, Art and Culture Coordinators, painters, theater artists, singer-songwriters, dancers, musicians (no offense), bricklayers, poets, carpenters, novelists, mechanics, chauffeurs, militiamen, militiamen and militiapeople, poets, insurgents, autonomous authorities, filmmakers, sculptors, commissions of everything necessary (templete commission, cleaning, parking, latrines, bathrooms, puppies and kittens, kitchen, firewood, surveillance, shopkeepers, taqueria, tamale crudo, pyramid, musicals, motor, water, light, …, beetles? beetles? )

And, of course, there are the kids who do what every kid in the world should do: get into mischief.

Three generations. Four if we take into account childhood. Five, counting the one on the way.

In short, a more or less complex society. With their jobs and their quarrels. With the way these same communities have equipped themselves to organize the former and resolve the latter.

What is appreciated is the seriousness of the meeting. The same seriousness with which they decided and carried out an uprising; the same seriousness with which they decided autonomy and raised it; the same seriousness with which they defined their path with two words “Resistance and Rebellion” -and they fight it and live it day and night-; the same seriousness with which they called for the struggle for life; the same seriousness with which they now plan this next meeting.

The same seriousness with which they looked at themselves in the mirror of practice, critiqued not the reflection that the mirror gave back to them, but what they were and are, and thus reconstructed themselves.

-*-

Many people. Many differences. And what they have in common doesn’t really make them different from others in the world.

But they found a common ground. A commonality. Something in which they coincide and does not require that they stop being who they are, nor deny their history, their roots, their way. Something to which they can contribute, support, with their knowledge, work, opinions, doubts.

Anyway. They are part of what is known as “Interzone”. But only a part, because there are authorities of Inter-ACGAZ, ACGAZ, CGAZ and GAL. There are coordinators. There are young people from the different areas. A lot of youth. A lot of noise.

Now they are united by a common purpose: to make other geographies, modes, genders, languages, generations understand how, against one pyramid, another one was built; how the latter was demolished; and how the common was and is the machete, axe, barretón, hammer, that first built it , and then destroyed it, in order to then destroy the biggest one: the system. Capitalism, the mother pyramid, which under its shadow and hierarchy has seen the birth and growth of other pyramids: patriarchy, homophobia, vanguardism, authoritarianism, psychopathy-turned- government, nationalism, criminal destruction of nature, and wars.

And why it is necessary to destroy the pyramid, any pyramid, and all pyramids.

It is an assembly by the way. But they did not meet to find out about something, but to reach an agreement on what, how, where, why.

A meeting to agree and organize. To prepare everything so that our compañeras, compañeros and compañeras from Mexico and the world, feel as they should, that is to say, accompanied.

And all this noise to prepare for a meeting. One with compañeros, compañeras and compañeroas who are similar in their differences. An international one. One for life.

From the Mountains of the Mexican Southeast.

The Captain
July 2025.

Original text published at Enlace Zapatista on July 27th, 2025.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.

https://abolitionmedia.noblogs.org/?p=20612

#chiapas #ezln #mexico #northAmerica #subcomandanteMarcos #zapatista

3 Postscripts 3: The Maverick

First he snorted in irritation. His fur bristled like a surly and rebellious cat, disdainful of boxes and pyramids. Just like that, without even warning.

Then, for those who do not know, a kind of tender caress.  Then the clawing, increasing  in quantity and strength.  And then, a whirlwhind of discontent.  Before long, it was a runner.  The fury of the wind was joined by a rain as if to tell the windstorm that it shared its rage.  It threw men and leaves against the walls of the champas and, I swear, the foundations of the concrete pavilion creaked.

Wind and rain.  Nowhere to turn.  Better to be left in the middle of the fury than to risk the guillotine flight of the torn sheet metal as if defying the modest modesty of the galleries already cleaned, with paint and walls renovated.

But, strangely enough, the storm respected the periphery and concentrated in the center.  There, where the skeleton of a pyramid rose not a few meters from the gravel.

As if to say: “No pyramids here”.

And the blankets that simulated the walls of the pyramid, swelled with that mixture of wings and sails that at times resembled a wandering ship and at times a lost aircraft, with no land in sight, only with the certainty that below was the ground waiting without haste, as if saying “just right here”.

We tried to talk to it, but, between the rain and the gale force winds, we barely managed to get it to let up long enough for the fellows who had climbed to the top to place the money sign to come down.  Immediately, a strong, concentrated blowing blew the sails off and the blanket flew up the mountain.

“That’s how ghosts are born,” I thought.

We began to explain in a rushed manner that it was not to be left per se, but rather as an explanation of the policy.  To reveal, that is.  That there were no true or false gods.  That, of itself, is going to be destroyed.  Not only that one, but all the pyramids.  Yes, in the whole and in the parts.  Yes, in all the corners of the planet.

He slowly faded away, as if doubting our commitment.

He left later but not quickly, as if to say “if the human being does not comply, we, the parts of the first mother, will comply”.

-*-

SubMoy checked the construction and said: “It’s not going to fall easy”.

A compa, as it were, made a nick in one of the crossbeams with his machete.  He only muttered: “It’s going to fall, it’s going to fall.  It might delay, but it falls because it falls”.

“The most difficult thing will be the central column, it is very solid,” he added, “we will have to put a lot of strength, a lot of desire and not just a few of us, but many”.

“That is: in common and organized,” said a young painter.  We all laughed, although we were still frightened by that irritated wind, who knows where it came from.

“That post is well rooted.  Even if they knock it down, it will resprout.  You have to pull it up to the roots,” said an elderly woman, planted in jars in front of the wooden construction, as if defying it.

“It is the soul of the system,” responded a companion to a girl’s question about the central mast, “the private property of the land, of the machines, of the houses, of the people, of nature, of dreams and nightmares, of the skies and the seas, of what is seen and what is not seen, of the world, therefore.  It is not only at the foundation of the system.  It is also in our head, in our heart and in our history.”

“But how many are coming?” they asked me.

“A good many,” I replied.

“But do they bring their will to fight?” they insisted.

“Saber,” I said to myself, “as SubMoy says: it remains to be seen.”

“Hey captain, is that thing going to be there all my life,” a militia woman asked me.

“No, how do you think, it’s for the Zapatista talk, why do you ask?”

“Because I think a soccer team is coming and that thing is in front of one of the goals, where our dining room is.  So there will be neither  game or food.  The soccer game, whatever, but the food, well…”

The afternoon began to sprout from the trees.  For an instant, the moon, the sun, the rain and the wind coincided, appearing before the mountain.

-*-

Is that going to be there forever?

Well, no, that’s why we are fighting.  It might linger, but there are going to be more of us.

And in the wind followed the warning that the rain engraved on the earth:

“If the human being does not comply, we will comply, the parts of the first mother.  The pyramid will fall.

-*-

Not far away in calendars and geographies, Palestine remained a tear of blood on the indifferent face of the world’s governments.

From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast.

The Captain
July 2025

Original text published at Enlace Zapatista on July 16th, 2025.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.

https://abolitionmedia.noblogs.org/?p=20405

#chiapas #ezln #mexico #northAmerica #subcomandanteMarcos #zapatista

3 Postscripts 3 IV.- Of Cats and Boxes

A paradox of Schrödinger’s paradox

Erwin Schrödinger (Austria-Ireland. 1887-1966), who seems to have been not very fond of house cats, proposed a theoretical exercise for quantum physics.

The approach is simple, although its implications are very complex.  A cat has been placed inside a box. The box has a device that, with no definite time, releases a sort of lethal mechanism and the cat will die.  Since the box is airtight, it is not known whether the cat is still alive or has already perished.  Once the box is opened, one possibility or the other is proven.  The previous moment, when we do not know if it is alive or dead, suggests that there are two worlds or two simultaneous universes.  In one the cat is already dead, in the other it is still alive.  A mortal mechanism activated and not activated; a cat alive and dead at the same time; a superposition of states according to quantum physics.

Let’s leave aside, for now, the references to comic book multiverses and the consequences in quantum physics. Let us also leave aside Don Schördinger’s animosity towards cats, and that he obviously did not know much about those felines (anyone who has dealt with them knows that they would not let themselves be caught, much less allow themselves to be locked up, without protesting and without defending themselves -even more so if it is a… cat-dog-). Let’s also not take too much notice that the cat is imprisoned and condemned to death, unless someone sees fit to open the box when the lethal mechanism has not been activated, and the cat jumps out and frees itself from the prison.

This theoretical exercise is supposed to be a basis for showing that worlds in several universes are possible, that is, in a multiverse (although it is also to show that the laws of quantum physics do not apply in everyday life).

As far as my limited knowledge of comics allows me, I understand that, in those diverse worlds, the individual still prevails, but in different versions. In one world, Sheldon Cooper (TV series “The Big Bang Theory”), is a scientist with social problems. In another, he is an irredeemable womanizer. In another, he is a “popular” judge in Mexico’s judicial system (oh, I know, my perversity is sublime).

And this digression that, I hope, is perplexing, comes to the topic, or point supposedly that even with the imaginative capacity to raise the simultaneous existence of the living cat and the dead cat, the possibility (or the universe) of there being one or several cats that refuse to enter the box is not raised. And perhaps with the aggravating factor that the supposed cat is actually a cat-dog.

In pointing out some possibilities, others are omitted.

When talking about the capitalist system, the different proposals refer to what they can do to improve the conditions of the cat locked in the trap, to lengthen its life (or its chances of life), or to “humanize” the lethal device.

It is, shall we say, what progressivism is all about. Definition of progressivism? Well, those who are leftists until the eve of taking office and having a position, office, pay, well, then. Then they stop being leftist, they become the establishment, and disguise their pragmatism (which leads them to ally and join their enemies of the eve -and to distance themselves from their social past-), as “political realism.” It is, then, a capital-friendly left. That is to say, a “cool”, pretty, demure and blushing right wing.

In this case, progressivism promises, on the eve of the event, to free the cat from its prison. Then, because he cannot or will not do it, he “changes” his proposal: “I will make you more comfortable”; “I will get better conditions for your death”; “I will fight so that the lethal mechanism does not activate too quickly.” Or, he may instead urge the prisoner to hang on, since he has a 50% chance of temporarily surviving. Imprisoned, yes, but alive.

-*-

The capitalist system is that box. Inside it, multitudes wait, without knowing it, for the murderous mechanism to be activated. Wars, famines, “natural” catastrophes, violent assaults, assassinations, governmental arbitrariness, destructions that will have to solve the enigma: “to live or to die.”

In the box there are those who have the crime of being a woman, boy or girl, young, old, other, dark-skinned, native, with a foreign language in their own land, and so on. No matter their condition, gender, race, ideology, religion, manner, stature, physical complexion: that person is inside the box and is subject to those deadly laws.

Not only without the possibility of getting out, but also without even imagining that another world exists out there.

The option to delay death or improve the conditions of condemnation is submission and acceptance to be part of the showcase of “weird things” that the system exhibits for its own amusement. Woman, Non-binary person, Native, Race, Neighborhood, Nationality, every “oddity” has its place in the curiosity store if it behaves “well.” If not, well, the “invisible hand of the market” will pull the exterminating lever.

Example: the crime of being born, growing up and fighting in Palestinian lands is not to accept being part of the showcase of capital. And to resist and rebel against the machine. The machine wants a recreational center in Gaza and Palestinian civilization is in its way, the Palestinian people are fighting for a land to live in.

Palestine is the best example of the terminal crisis of the so called “Nation States” and their governments. They do not command, they only obey at convenience. They are incapable of presenting an independent, dignified and consistent foreign policy.

And in the ongoing mass murder, the complicity and neglect of the governments of the planet (with a few exceptions), is pathetic. The police of the different European and American governments repressing the demonstrations for the cessation of the genocide in Palestine, are the best oratory about Western “humanism”.

In the world above, European governments are the idle and useless court of the reigning king, Russia and China are the counts and dukes conspiring for regicide, and offering an alternate monarch. The rest of the national governments in the world, except for those who have clearly spoken out against it, are the busy pages, stressed by the continuous demands and harassments of the royal family.

Who are those that contemplate, operate, have fun and make bets on what happens in the box? The big financial, commercial, industrial and, now, digital and aerospace capital.

The governments of the world, for the most part, are just the ticket-takers of the bets, the “brokers” on the stock exchanges where the wars are always up, and life below… down. And, as the Mileis of the world are and will be, they are the ones who are sent to buy and serve the wine that will preside over the monarchic banquets (the chainsaw is an autochthonous detail).

-*-

However, there are those who consider another possibility: not to enter the box or to get out of it.

Moreover, there are those who question the box itself, its eternal and omnipotent existence; and its claim to be the only universe that tolerates the existence, within itself, of diversity, of several universes or multiverses… domesticated.

Those people who are posing that are what we Zapatistas call “resistance and rebellion.” Resistance to enter the box or, if you are inside, Rebellion to fight to get out.

Resistance and Rebellion that proposes the destruction of the box, of the logic that created it and of the belief that “something else” is not possible.

From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast.

The Captain
July 2025.

Original text published at Enlace Zapatista on July 7th, 2025.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.

https://abolitionmedia.noblogs.org/?p=20290

#chiapas #ezln #mexico #northAmerica #subcomandanteMarcos #zapatista