I know how to obey, I was trained to obey.

I've recently watched a documentary called "A Place Called Chiapas". I'd give it a thumbs up - documenting the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, or EZLN) and its movement. Though history has shown us that revolutions are usually bad (ironically, I can see that through this blog's title), this movement is interesting. Like most uprisings in Mexico, a big issue being fought over is for the better social and economic (which, I think is a bad word to use here) opportunities for the indigenous peoples of Mexico. From what I understand, EZLN, led by Subcomandante Marcos, invaded Mexico City after the signing of NAFTA - only to be pushed back again by the Mexican Army - to bring to light the disadvantages that would continue on the poor. Since that initial uprising in 1994, EZLN has abstained from using any weapons, instead using their voice, which before they did not have. The New York Times, according to the the documentary, have called EZLN the first "post modern" revolution. And you know what? I like the sound of it. If you, my special readers, would like to see the documentary yourself, why, here it is courtesy of the devil's accomplice, Google:



"I have a dead brother. Who doesn't have a dead brother? I have one. Killed by a bullet at dawn on January 1, 1994. Very early came that bullet. Very early death kissed my brother's forehead. He used to laugh. Not now. I can't keep him in my pocket, but I kept the bullet. I asked the bullet where it came from. It answered, 'From a gun. From a government soldier's gun serving those in power who themselves serve others.' That deadly bullet has no country. Nor does the fight to keep brothers, and not bullets, in our pockets. That's why Zapatistas wear uniforms with many pockets. Not to keep bullets, but to keep brothers."

"In the mountains of Chiapas, death was a daily part of life. It was as common as rain or sunshine. People here coexist with death, and with the death of their own, especially the little ones. Paradoxically, death begins to shed its tragic cloak. Death becomes a daily fact. It loses its sacredness. You see it as someone you sit down with at the table, like an old acquaintance. You don't lose your fear of death, but you become familiar with it. It becomes your equal. Death, which is so near, so close, so possible, is less terrifying for us than for others. So, going out and fighting, and perhaps meeting death is not as terrible as it seems. For us, at least. In fact, what surprises and amazes us is life itself. The hope of a better life. Going out to fight and die and finding out you're not dead, but alive. And, unintentionally, you realize you're walking along a middle path between death and life. You're walking on the edge of the border between them."

Para todos todo, para nosotros nada.

Your friend,
Alex