Images of Impossible Bridges: I A Radish… (Or an onion, it depends on the case, or thing)

Ago282024

Images of Impossible Bridges: I A Radish… (Or an onion, it depends on the case, or thing)

Images of Impossible Bridges:

A Radish…
(Or an onion, it depends on the case, or thing)

August 2024.

No, I don’t mean that I don’t give a damn what they say against us, defending your precious president. Nor that, as “progressives”, they are red on the outside and white on the inside. I’m talking about a radish radish. The vegetable, pues, the one they call “radish”.

This little story begins in the Journey for Life, chapter Europe. Before they left, I asked some compañeros and compañeras to send me some photos of what they saw and drew more their attention of the places they were in.

And indeed. After the photos and videos of the departure, of how they were left immobilized at an airport because they lost their connection (thanks to the support of the support team), images began to arrive from different places.

No, contrary to what you might think, the photos were not of monuments, tourist sites, landscapes, walks or selfies. They were of the things that caught their attention, thanks to the importance that the delegation gave to those who were their hosts: people, groups, collectives, organizations and movements so different in color, size, race, language, culture and motivation, that it seemed impossible that a single glance could encompass them. However, in the Zapatista view they were united. “Our family form over here,” they said when they walked the grounds of rebellious Europe, the one that does not faint, the one that does not surrender. Now, in Zapatista lands, it is not unusual to hear “our family over there.”

There were photos of animals, plants, the meals they received, the people, the mountains, the “ways” of the families “over there.”

Of all of them, the one that caught my attention the most was the photo of a radish. Of course, I, as a die-hard enemy of vegetables, thought it was a red onion. I even classified it thus: “photo of purple onion.”

Later, when they returned, the compañera who took the photo explained to me that it was not an onion, but a radish. With emotion She says:

“It’s not an onion. It is a radish, but very different. It has a different size and a different color, but inside it is a radish. That is to say, it’s very different from the one here in my garden, but it’s the same. And the radish was very pretty. And they also plant leeks. Which is different, but it’s the same. And what caught my attention is that they grow crops, that is, they work, to give to other people who don’t have food. That is to say, it is not that they keep the fruit of their work, but rather that they share it with those who need it.”

“And those families over there, do they get discouraged? No, although there is no land to plant, they look for a way. For example, only stones and evens so they make their vegetable garden. What they do is go look for good soil, they carry it and put it over the stones or in pots. And there you have your vegetables!”

“Before I planted my vegetables only in the milpa. But on the trip I learned that it can also be done at home. So I also grow vegetables in the place where I live. And I have radishes and leeks. “They are different from those of the family over there, but they are the same.”

“No, it’s not an onion, it’s a radish. The place is called “Bulgaria”, capital of the country called “Sofia”. I corrected her then and she just said “it’s the same thing”, and continued:

“We had been before in a geography called “Sloveña” and there we also learned about their ways, what they are like and how they fight. In France we got to be abandoned. And meanwhile we had to stay at the house of a compañera who didn’t speak any Spanish, and I speak Cho’ol so my Spanish is very different. My team was made up of only women, Tzotzil, Tzeltal and Cho’ol, and our job was to talk about how women that we are. Then a citizen of Mexico had accompanied us who had to return home. And when she left she told us “don’t worry, here I’m going to install an application that translates. You only speak to the cell phone and the cell phone listens to you, translates it and speaks it in the language you tell it.” But since the cell phone does not understand “Spanish-cho’ol”, nor “tzots-panish”, nor “tzelta-spanish”, then it translated something else different from what we wanted to say. And the compañera who gave us lodging, well, she just laughed. And we suffered a bit, because we wanted to go to the bathroom and we don’t know where it is. And we don’t know how to tell the compañera. And of course we just couldn’t go there standing in front of her. But with signs she understood and showed us where it was.”

“The thing is that the team that was going to take us to another place had not arrived. And we, because there were several of us who were stranded there, we thought about whether we were going to stay there all our lives. And then, well, we just don’t know the way of that geography. So we suffer. We think if we are going to die and we are sad because now who is going to take care of the milpa and the little animals. But then we think that there is no problem, because surely the Zapatistas compañeros will take care of it. But then they found us and rescued us, and that’s it.»

“We were organized, as always. Then it was very cold and dark, and in the house of the compañera from France, they don’t have electricity. That is, it does not have electricity from the city, but rather it has its own light. It has its own light. Then we turned on the lights in the house and, while some of us were preparing breakfast, others were thinking about heating water for bathing. And then a very loud alarm starts to sound and we run away because we think the house is going to explode. We ran to look for the compañera, who is already old and always smiling, and we told her about the misfortune. But she laughed a lot and then, with the translator, she explained to us that you can’t do everything at the same time. For everything there is a season. We laughed too. But before we nearly died of fright.”

“That compañera lives alone. She’s not afraid. She doesn’t live in the city. She preferred to live in the mountains. And there she has her house, in the middle of the mountain. She is in an organization that fights against nuclear centers. And there she has her compañeras in struggle. So she’s alone, but not. She is also accompanied.”

“I can’t say the name of the compañera because I don’t know if it is her civil name or her fighting name, so no. And we do have photos of her, but we cannot publish because we first have to ask for permission, that is, if she authorizes. So you have to use the translator and send it all the way over to her house, but she doesn’t have a cell phone signal there. But tell the story. Maybe her compañeras read about it and tell her when they see it.”

“She asked us to leave our mark with paint on some sacks. To remember us by, she said. We wrote “Thank you. We carry you in our hearts.” And it’s true, that compañera left a mark on us with her heart. The truth is that we felt at home with the compañera. So yes, we were lost, but not. Because we found ourselves with that compañera.”

“No, we weren’t thinking about the husband or the boyfriend. No, we don’t even remember. What we missed was the milpa and the little animals. But don’t go publishing that, because I told him that I did think about him a lot.»

-*-

I hate to say it, but it seems that vegetable is the continuation of politics by other means.

Okay. Health and, as Lenin did not say, zucchini is the main enemy.

From the mountains of Mexican Southeast.