 |
| Photo: Zapatistas with Tohono O'odham in Sonora by Brenda Norrell, Censored News |
On the Bulletin Board
The Concierge
ZAPATISTA ARMY FOR NATIONAL LIBERATION.
March 2015.
Early morning in reality.
Just here, as usual: watching and listening. The crack in the wall is barely visible from the other side. On our side it expands with persistence.
In the classrooms and in the huts of the thousands of Zapatista families who received, housed, fed, and cared for thousands of others,[1] men, women, and children from the five continents, the evaluations made by the teachers and votanes after you all left still resound.
Some of the evaluations were harsh, it’s true, but that probably won’t matter to those who claimed to had been moved by the experience and then continued on with their lives as if nothing had happened, avoiding looking in the mirror or editing that glance at their whim. Despite this, according to what I’ve heard, there were some, a few, that were evaluated as “pretty good.”
“Pretty good” is how the compas describe something good without making a fuss. “How are you?” “Well, I’m here, pretty good,” is how we greet each other.
Meanwhile time marches on just as we do, without fuss, just moving along, like shadows…
And the compa Galeano, who lit up these classrooms, houses, and schools with his word, now fallen and silent, murdered.
Then came the embrace of our compañeros, collective and sincere, from the Sixth.