Title: Sub. Marcos Closing Presentation at the National Indigenous Forum,
January 9, 1996
La Jornada January 10, 1996
The Birth of a Great National Indigenous Movement,
Zapatista Army of National Liberation
Mexico
Closing Speech
The National Indigenous Forum
San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas
January 9, 1996
Through my voice speaks the voice of the Zapatista Army of
National Liberation
Brothers and sisters:
We want to say a few words to those present in the National
Indigenous Forum
1. Counselors
There exists, in many of our indigenous communities in
Mexico, the custom of reading in the first days of January
how the months of the year to come will be. This knowledge
serves to know when to prepare the earth, when to plant the
seed and when to harvest. Amongst the most ancient Mayas,
this practice was known as Xoc-kin or "accounting of the
days".
And there were then, as there are today, learned men and
women. The H-MEN, "those who know"". These H-MEN have great
knowledge which they had learned in their dreams. Through
dreams the gods taught the H-MEN the knowledge of the world.
In this way they could find things that were lost, they could
cure sickness with their medicinal plants and their prayers
and they could read the future in their sacred stones or by
counting grains of corn; but their main responsibility and
concern was to use their direction to ensure a good harvest.
Today we have our H-MEN, those men and women of knowledge
who make up the body of counselors of the EZLN to seek peace
with dignity. They are the ones who organized this forum
which will allow us to find one another and construct the
bridge of the seventh rainbow. They dreamed together with the
great gods, the ones who gave birth to the world, the first
ones, and from them was learned great words and their best
thoughts. They have been able to find things that were lost,
the word, reason, disinterest, dignity. They have been able
to cure that most mortal illness called oblivion. They have
been able to read the future by reading what their hearts say
and counting the grains of corn, which in the world of today
are called hearts.
But, just like our ancient H-MEN, their principal
responsibility and concern is to give direction so that we
may have a good harvest. Therefore we ask you, the
participants of this attending this National Indigenous
Forum, to join us in this salute, which we give to the
knowledge of our counselors, and ask that it be used to
secure a good harvest in the seeding of the word and the
knowledge of dignity, as we end today. We ask for an accurate
tally of the Xoc-kin, so that we may know about the days, and
our harvest may be good and the brown chests of the first
inhabitants of these lands may always be filled with hope.
Some of our counselors are not here today to build this
bridge, for different reasons. A good group of our H-MEN are
not here because they are imprisoned.
They are accused of the crime of belonging to an organization
with which the government dialogues, under the protection of
a law. By keeping them in prison, the government violates a
law that forces it to talk and not to fight. That is why
these men and women are our counselors on this good road. We,
the Zapatistas, want to ask all of you to send, together with
us, a salute to these prisoners. And we ask you to salute
them in the traditional way of indigenous communities, by
applauding.
II. Participants
To all who have attended the National Indigenous Forum
corresponds the task of planting the seeds of the word that
we have gathered these days. Here, in the Valley of Jovel,
where intolerance, racism and stupidity, which excludes,
reign, we have gathered to speak and to know one another. We
have gathered up the seed. We must prepare the planting of a
tomorrow. Today we must live in a country that is not like
the one of our fathers. Today we live in a country with a
government that wants to sell us to the foreigners, as though
we were animals, things. We, the indigenous people, are just
merchandise, they say. The great The Powerful of money does
not want to buy a merchandise that does not produce good
profits. And we the indigenous people are not profitable. We
are a bad investment. That is why the salesman who is in the
government gives us oblivion and repression, because he
cannot get a good price for our sale. Today the salesman has
to modernize his store and has to eliminate all of the
merchandise that is unattractive and we, with our dark skin
and this overwhelming need to stay close to the earth, which
makes us short in stature, are not attractive.
They want to forget us. But it is not only the indigenous
threatened by this oblivion, there are many other
unattractive Mexican men and women because their value is not
transferable in dollars. Those, who are not indigenous, and
we, who are, have been condemned to oblivion. Our hose is
sold by all and along with it our history. If we want to
save ourselves from oblivion, we must do it together, united.
Today the hope of this Nation which hurts has an indigenous
heart, it is up to its brown skin to save us from oblivion.
It is not enough to die, this we have learned now for five
centuries. Now it is necessary to live and to live together
with the others who are also us.
The past is the key of the future. In our past we have wisdom
which can serve to construct a future- where all of us fit
without squeezing one another the way in which we are
squeezed today by those above us. The future of the nation
must be found by looking towards the past, towards those who
were the first inhabitants, to those who first had wisdom,
who first made us.
We have to prepare for the planting. We must become rain, we
have be like the CHAACOB or gods of rain who came out of the
underground reservoirs and met in the sky to travel by horse,
each one with his sacred gourd full of water, in hand
moistening the earth from one to the other so that all might
have the giver of life, water.
If the rain is not present, then we will have to kneel as did
our forefathers and sing much the same way the frogs do
before the rain and beat the branches as the wind of a storm
and someone will play the role of KUNU-CHAAC, the principal
god of rain, with his lightening rod and sacred gourd.
We must know how to sow and how to plant one another. No more
are the times when the stones were soft and they could be
moved by whistling, and when it was not necessary to work to
plow the field, and when one grain of corn was enough to feed
a whole family. Since the chief was defeated by a foreigner
at Chichen Itza the good times have ended and the bad times
began. The ancient chief buried himself in a tunnel which
runs east from Tulum submerged beneath the ocean. Then the
foreigner DZUL, took the Powerful. Today we have to turn so
that reason can reign in our lands. We will do this by
seeding the word.
We are our earth. We understand well how we and the earth are
one. In olden times before the agricultural camp, the field
was protected by four spirits. There were another four which
cared for the village, one for each cross planted in the
corners of the village. The MACEHUALES, our ancient ones, had
seven directions; the first four were the corners of the
field or the village, the fifth was the center and in each
community it was traditionally marked by a cross and a silk-
cotton tree. The sixth and seventh directions go up and
down. In addition to the four guardians of the field and the
four of the village, each person had an individual guardian.
In order to represent the five points, the four plus the
center, our ancestors used a cross. As time passed the
center rose, and the four corners became five and this star
with five points now represents a guardian of men and women
and harvests.
Guardian and heart of the people is Votan-Zapata who is also
the guardian and heart of the word. He, the man, the star
with the five points who represents humanity, he. Today that
we have spoken and listened, he is happy, the heart of Votan-
Zapata is happy.
Brothers and Sisters:
Each one has our own field, our planter , but we all have the
same people , although sometimes we speak different languages
and we sometimes have different traditions. We invite each of
you to plant in his place and in his way. We invite you to
make of this Forum a good planter and that all of us see to
it that everyone has the seed and that the earth be well
prepared.
We have listened to the good planters like our brothers the
Mixes, whose position on autonomy symbolizes a bridge and
wisdom among brothers and sisters. The Totonacos and
Huichole brothers have also spoken with great truth. From the
states of Guerrero, Veracruz, and Oaxaca the brown voices of
great dignity have come, which speak the word persecuted by
the Powerful, yet remains the word filled with wisdom. The
Chinanteco brothers have spoken in the wisdom of the woman
representing them. The Mazatecos, Mixtecos and Zapotecos have
opened our eyes and ears which the heart possesses but which
are sometimes forgotten. The Chatinos, the Chochos, the
Chontales, Cuicatecos, Mayas, Nahuatl, Nanhu, Otomis,
Popoluca, the Tarahumaras, and the Tepehuas are also light
and color in their word. Our Zapoteco brothers from the
United State also have given us the benefit of their thought.
All of you who are seven, you and us, the brothers and
sisters that we are.
All of you have undergone great suffering in order to come
here, to speak and be spoken to, to listen and be listened
to. We know it although others may not. You came although we
did not help you materially; your communities financed you so
you could come here. And you always knew that you would not
receive any land, money or promises upon coming here. You
always knew that you and your community would not have any
material reward. You always knew that you were coming to give
your word and your example. And in spite of all of this, you
came. And my superiors, the comandantes of the CCRI-CG of
the EZLN have ordered me to thank you in their name and in
mine for all that is known and for everything that remains
unknown. We thank you for coming all the way here, for
speaking and listening, for coming to that good agreement
which guides our walk.
We have nothing material to give you, all we can do is salute
you and we ask you accept it as a gift.
III. GUESTS AND OBSERVERS, CICR, MEXICAN RED CROSS AND PEACE
CORDONS
At this National Indigenous Forum, there has been present a
personality, who, because of his timidity, now scurries away
from this room. I refer, of course, to the very great and
beloved Don Durito of the Lacandon, gallant knight and
nobleman who gallops through the mountains of the Mexican
Southeast. The highest and most dignified representative of
gallant knighthood, the always lively Don Durito of the
Lacandon has asked me, since I am his shield-bearer and
companion, to say a few words to you in his name. Due to one
of those promises made and carried out by gallant knights,
Durito has been silent for some time, awaiting the results of
the intergalactic poll that he requested. I have to say,
taking advantage of his absence, that his silence was pretty
strident and I never had one dawn of rest, which, I believe
all good shield-bearers deserve.
So this dawn I was smoking and thinking about how to thank
you, when suddenly I see something which looks strangely like
a beetle scurrying underneath the door. It was. . . DURITO!
Dressed in an old and torn coat, and a rather large hat,
which to my liking was too big for him, and a cane in his
hand, Durito quickly told me that he was clandestine to avoid
his many admirers and he made it clear that he was not
carrying a cane, but EXCALIBUR his justice-seeking sword,
disguised as a cane.
"The ones you need to avoid are the agents of the PGR,
national security, military intelligence, CIA, FBI, and the
other etceteras who like to attend events of this kind," I
said as I watched him sack a bag of tobacco.
"Quickly", he said to me, "Write down what I'm about to tell
you because I have to go!"
And without giving me a chance to ask why , Durito dictated
the story called . . .
The Story of the Bay Horse
"There once was a bay horse that was pinto like a bean, and
he lived in the home of a very poor farmer and the poor
farmer had a very poor wife and they had a very skinny
chicken and a lame little pig. And so, one day the very poor
wife of the very poor farmer said: We have nothing more to
eat because we are very poor so we must eat the skinny
chicken." So they killed the skinny chicken and made a
skinny soup of skinny chicken and ate it. And so for awhile
they were fine, but the hunger returned and the very poor
farmer told his very poor wife: 'We have nothing more to eat
because we are so poor so we must eat the lame little pig.
And so the lame little pig's turn came and they killed it and
they made a lame soup out of the little lame pig and ate it.
And then it was the bay horse's turn. But the bay horse did
not wait the story to end; it just ran away and went to
another story."
"Is that the end?," I asked Durito, unable to hide my
discomfort.
"Of course not. Didn't you hear me say that the pinto horse
fled to another story? said Durito as he prepared to leave.
"And so?," I ask exasperated.
"And so nothing, you have to look for the pinto horse in
another story!" he said adjusting his hat.
"But Durito! " I said protesting uselessly.
"Not one more word! You tell the story like it is. I can't
because I'm on a secret mission."
"Secret? and what's it about?," I asked in a whisper.
"Insolent knave! Don't you understand that if I tell you it
won't be a secret anymore . . .Durito is able to say while he
slips under the door.
Durito already knows the results of the intergalactic poll
which ended in 1995. He knows that he had a resounding and
indisputable victory, which condemns me to narrating his
great ordeals and adventures. That is why Don Durito of the
Lacandona has left to straighten out injustices and astound
the entire world with his achievements. The greatest thief of
feminine sighs, role model of men, hero of children, the
great Don Durito of the Lacandon returns to us. I know that
many of you are happy that he returns, but as far as I am
concerned, it's no favor to have to be the writer of such
absurd and marvelous stories like this one...stories for a
night of asphyxiation.
IV. The Press
Finally, we want to thank the press which has also
sacrificed to cover this Forum. We want to make it clear that
we are referring to the real press and not the policemen who
hides behind a press credential. We know that we've been
discourteous and rude, and some of you have even said this is
the press politics of the EZLN. But today I repeat to you
what I said almost two years ago here in San Cristobal during
the first dialogues: the press has had an important role in
holding back the war and opening a path for peace.
Like a great mirror the press served so that this country
still called Mexico can see its true image reflected in a war
of oblivion. We know that you are doing your job with
interest, professionalism and pride. We also know that, many
times what is made public is not your full product, but only
what is convenient for the the Powerful and for money
Some of you complained yesterday that there were no political
declarations that were news-worthy. You complained that the
Sup only came to make literature with the stories of Old
Man Antonio. So now we want to make a clear political
declaration, as are all of the political declarations of the
EZLN. And, in response to the audiovisual needs of the mass
media present here, the declaration will be a rough draft
for the video script . . .
PS disguised as a video-clip
First an unfocussed shot and a long screeching in the audio.
Then an image comes into focus and in the background you can
hear that song "Cartas Marcadas". The images bunch up; The
Powerful laughing calmly, celebrating their historic and
definitive triumph in the last minutes of 1993. An army of
shadows introduces itself in the damp and the cold. The
Powerful looks in the mirror and sees only eternal and
omnipotent The Powerful. The great intellectuals predict
greater triumphs, big and robust statues in all the land. A
party of rain has said, "You will rule until the jungle walks
toward your palace." A handful of shadows multiplies in the
mountains. The Powerful knows that it is impossible for the
jungle to walk and it affirms its confidence and euphoria.
The great intellectuals are at his side and pick up the
crumbs of the party. The collective shadow approaches with
wooden guns in the dawn of the beginning. In the dawn of
1994, the indigenous people come down from the mountains.
They go to the palace of the Powerful to take death and
oblivion prisoner. In their wooden weapons walk the trees of
the jungle. The Powerful trembles and begins to die. A rifle
of wood has wounded them mortally. The end and the beginning