by Alma L. and Beto G.
translated by Todd Prane with Elizabeth Bright
From Aug. 6 through 9, friendship bore its fruits.
All of the limitations imposed on participants at the National Democratic Convention (CND) were set aside thanks to favoritism and party preference.
As the song says, "Since you're such a good friend..." (three times), no one can deny you.
They entered into Aguascalientes, the site of the CND national meeting, holding hands and shouting "¡Viva Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas!" [leader of the Democratic Revolutionary Party] with the strongly altruistic sentiment of leaving their boots and tents behind, with the great illusion of posing for photos with the Sup [Subcommander Marcos], so that they, upon their return, could show the picture to their relatives and friends, make it into a signed poster, exhibit it in their houses or party offices and feel important as one who has had the good fortune of knowing, in person, someone who went to the convention. For feminists, they only need to hang a photo with Commander Ramona.
San Cristóbal de las Casas became, for one night, a "radical" scene. The "revolutionaries" called attention to themselves with their clowning "approvers" (of attendees of the convention), who did not even go to sleep, since they were so emotional and proud that their walks resembled those of the first astronauts who walked on the moon.
But who really entered that liberated zone, and who stayed outside? How many truly honest and conscious people knew how to value the effort of the Zapatistas—who, in spite of difficulties, and surpassing every obstacle, worked 14 hours daily "for 28 days, in which 600 men and women participated every hour," to construct "a library, a European-style presidium, benches and seats for 8,000 convention-goers, 20 houses, 14 bonfires, parking for 100 vehicles" in record time. And who could not obtain the accreditation because they were not members of the PRD [Partido de la Revolución Democrática, Democratic Revolutionary Party], was not a member of any of the Non-Governmental Organizations, did not know anyone within the CEU [Consejo Estudiantil Universitario, University Student Council, which came about at the beginning of the university strike in 1986 against increasing fees. It is currently divided into three currents, the most important of which is the electoral and PRD current, who have been trying to take over all student struggles by giving them a party line], or did not belong to any circle of intellectuals, but wanted to have their voice, and their vote, count on even one of the five working groups that were established?
What is most likely is that the Zapatistas were not aware of the fraud, the deals and the cons that were carried out in order to get to the convention, and maybe in that moment it was for the best, because disillusionment would have sunk their ship, a ship in which they most likely would have been sailing alone.
We, the anti-authoritarians of Amor y Rabia [Love and Rage], preferred not to participate in the convention rather than accept the impositions coming from organizing groups such as the CONAC-LN [the National Coordination of Civic Action for National Liberation, the organization created with the intention of giving counsel and legal representation to the EZLN], Women for Democracy, and the PRD, among others, and to run the risk of all of the mass of reformists (who only attended in order to carry out party proselytizing) label us as "saboteurs," since our posture and our voice would have spoken only of self-determination and direct action.
Would this have changed the attitudes of the lucky folks who were able to go to the convention? Would it have been sufficiently convincing to win these people over to the side of insurgence? We didn't think so. For the majority it was like attending a great theater show, where the seats of honor were reserved for the privileged analysts who attended with, and even without, exclusive invitations. They came either as participants or, more often, as observers, with the clear assignment of watching, listening and not quieting, but also not committing to or much less taking on a radical position, for fear of their prestige falling in the eyes of cultured and refined society.
The rest of the seats were occupied by students, daddy's children who found, in the tempest, a casestudy for their professional thesis and/or a personal realization, since now is the time to "take pity on the Indians."
There were also those who had the attitude of intellectuals (with sandals, glasses and know-it-all faces); the feminists (with Oaxacan skirts and amber necklaces); the young gang sold out to the, err, rather scholarshipped to the CREA; the future political reporters; the philosophy actors; the Iberophiles; the ears of the Ministry of the Interior.
There may also have been people with the conviction that merely by being on Zapatista land, they would become part of history, or who were there with the surety of getting the insurrectionists to put down their arms.
We are sorry to remove your illusions, but it is not like that. History is built by real women and men, who have masked faces on the outside, but whose hearts and strength are unbendable in the face of the enemy, and equally whose transparency beats and shakes decadent human qualities.
The indigenous people gave us their dark skin and their war-weary blood, their traditions and customs, and, above all, their ancestral wisdom. These are characteristics that all mestizos seize, while we bury deceit, lies, exploitation, hunger and dispossession, using the white man's "progress" as a tool.