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VIII.- THE COMMON AGAINST MORTAL BOXES AND PYRAMIDS. An assembly of chiefs.

VIII.- THE COMMON AGAINST MORTAL BOXES AND PYRAMIDS.
An assembly of chiefs.

Imagine you arrive at a Zapatista assembly. Allow me to accompany your gaze and your listening. We are in a meeting. The SubMoy is presiding. From a general overview («from a bird’s eye view,» it used to be said – now it’s «with a drone»), you can detect obvious differences among those participating.

Of gender, for example. There are women, men, and otroas.

Of calendar. There are children, youngsters, adults, and people of sound mind («senior citizens» or «elders»). There is no shortage of 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, Kaqchikel, and Castilian.

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

Of creeds and beliefs. There are Catholics, Evangelicals, Presbyterians, atheists, and those with no defined or undefined beliefs.

There are also differences in what it is or means to be born, grow up, live, and struggle as indigenous people in a geography where being «other» is a cause of 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, posit, debate, shout, wave their hands, get angry, joke, and murmur: «If only we hadn’t been screwed by the Mayan kings, the Aztecs, the Spanish nationalists, the priests, the French, the gringos, the bad governments of Mexico and the world, and all the pigs, gilts, and piglet Caxlanes who 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’re doing just fine, even if we’re slow… like a snail.»

And, on the other hand, there are those who counterargue and defend certain religions and Caxlanes; that for sadness, cumbia has already been discovered; and that, for heartbreak, any carpenter knows that «one nail drives out another.»

-*-

Now look for similarities, common identities.

Well, the first thing that jumps out is that these people are Zapatistas. You assume this because the large warehouse where they’re gathered is in a caracol. A «puy.» These are like work and meeting centers, where there are usually clinics, sometimes laboratories, sports fields, collective and communal stores, a dining hall, platforms, and people walking back and forth.

It’s possible that Verónica Palomitas is also there, and she has her own courier service. In exchange for a sweet, you can ask her to get you something from the cooperative store. Verónica Palomitas hops on her bicycle and pedals tirelessly to accomplish the mission. The distance doesn’t matter. Even if it’s up to 100 meters, the acting head of the Comando Palomitas ensures that your order reaches you.

However, despite the evidence, it may be that not all of them are Zapatistas. It’s normal for non-Zapatista brothers and sisters to occasionally come to a health service—an ultrasound, for example—to ask for guidance on some issue, to have a party, or simply to take a walk.

If we wait for pozol time (that kind of «break lunch» customary in rural areas at work or during long meetings), you’ll hear them speaking and smiling in languages you assume are indigenous because you don’t understand anything. Because yes, laughing in Tzeltal isn’t the same as laughing in Tzotzil or Cho’ol.

Nor crying.

The late supGaleano used to drive Verónica Palomitas to despair when she started yelling: «I don’t understand you if you cry in Cho’ol,» he would say, and Verónica would be disconcerted. «If only I could see you crying in Castilian, maybe I’d understand you.» The little girl was trying to figure out how to cry in Castilian, but she had already forgotten what the tantrum was about…

Oh, right. Some very nice flip-flops that Verónica Palomitas saw at the cooperative store. Her father told her «there’s no money,» and the deceased rambled on, arguing that boots were better. It was all useless, hence the rant. Nothing serious, because the Captain, always prepared, would pull out of his hat… a chamoy candy! And then Verónica and the Captain would start planning terrible and wonderful things… like a play with footnotes. But all of that is a secret that won’t be made public… yet.

But don’t get distracted, focus. The similarities aren’t conclusive, because being indigenous is shared by millions in Mexico and around the world; being Zapatistas is shared by hundreds of thousands; being women or men or otroas is also shared by millions.

True, you’re right. It’s clear that these people aren’t there to complain, whether about their bad luck, about being born indigenous, about being dispossessed, exploited, scorned, or repressed. In short, that history they share with other indigenous peoples of the world.

You don’t hear any complaints other than that their stomach hurts because the tamales were raw, or because they’re already sleepy, or because that other compa uses harsh words that he doesn’t even understand, but what are you going to do about it, one has to respect everybody’s word.

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

Don’t think everything is going smoothly either, no. There are arguments, and loud ones. There are no shouts or hat-throwing because few people wear hats. Let’s just say there are «screams and cap-throwing.» The women are usually more lethal: they exchange dirty looks and gestures. And there are no brawls with chairs as weapons and shields, because… there are no chairs, but benches that discourage any arms race (which is a way of saying that they are heavy).

-*-

Ah, that’s true. Among the differences is their history as Zapatistas. There are those who, in hiding, prepared the lightning strike of January 1994. Those who marched, armed with real weapons and fire, in the streets of seven municipal capitals that were taken over by «the Indians.» Veteran combatants, old guerrilla fighters, local, regional, and zone leaders, commanders of the so-called «Indigenous Revolutionary Clandestine Committee.»

There are those who were children during the uprising and grew up amidst all kinds of betrayals, attacks, and harassment from the armies, the police, and the paramilitaries. Those who built Zapatista autonomy.

There are those born in the last 30 years who have established schools, clinics, and the entire organizational structure of Zapatista autonomy. Those who have organized meetings, festivals, workshops, tournaments, games, arts, and cultural events. Those who are the Tercios Compas, Education Promoters, Health Promoters, Arts and Culture Coordinators, painters, theater artists, singer-songwriters, dancers, musicians, bricklayers, poets, carpenters, novelists, mechanics, drivers, militiamen, militia women, militia otroas, poets, insurgent women and insurgent men, autonomous authorities, filmmakers, sculptors, commissions for everything necessary (bandstand commission, cleaning commission, parking commission, latrine commission, bathroom commission, dog and cat commission, kitchen commission, firewood commission, security commission, shopkeeper commission, taco stand commission, raw tamale commission, pyramid commission, musical commission, motor commission, water commission, electricity commission and… beetle commission?)

And, of course, there are the kids who dedicate themselves to what every kid in the world should dedicate themselves to: making mischief.

Three generations. Four if we count childhood. Five if we count the ones on the way.

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

What is evident 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 on autonomy and built it; the same seriousness with which they defined their path with two words: «Resistance and Rebellion»—and they fight for 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, criticizing not the reflection the mirror gave them back, but what they were and are, and thus they rebuilt themselves.

-*-

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

But they found a point of agreement. Something common. Something they agree on and doesn’t require them to give up who they are, or deny their history, their roots, their way. Something they can contribute to, support, with their knowledge, work, opinions, doubts.

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

Now they are united by a common purpose: to help other geographies, ways, genders, languages, generations understand how, against one pyramid, another was built; how the last one was overthrown; And how the common was and is the machete, the axe, the crowbar, the hammer, that built it first, and then destroyed it, in order to destroy the largest one: the system. Capitalism, the mother pyramid, the one that under its shadow and hierarchy has seen other pyramids rise and grow: patriarchy, homophobia, vanguardism, authoritarianism, psychopathy made government, nationalism, the criminal destruction of nature, wars.

And why the pyramid must be destroyed, any pyramid, all pyramids.

It’s an assembly in its own right. But they didn’t meet to find out, but to reach an agreement on what, how, where, and why.

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

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

From the Mountains of the Mexican Southeast.

The Captain.
Mexico, July 2025.

Images of preparations for the «Meeting of Resistances and Rebellions Some Parts of the Whole» in August 2025, Terci@s Compas Zapatistas.
Audio: Voice and words of Eduardo Galeano, “El derecho al delirio”.

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