Opinion • Andrea Quevedo • February 2, 2024 • Leer en castellano

Almost a month has passed since I returned from Dolores Hidalgo, Chiapas, where I participated in celebrations marking the 30th anniversary of the Zapatista uprising, the War against Oblivion. I’m still going over everything that I experienced.

How to describe living in Zapatista territory, if only for a few days? How to describe a process as complex as the one that communities in Chiapas have gone through since January 1, 1994 and before?

It is clear to me that the Zapatistas have weathered many storms and forged a path to a dignified life that is grounded in constant movement. "Walking and asking," as they say. 

La Montaña comes to mind. This is the ship that carried the 421 Squadron, a maritime delegation made up of seven brave Zapatista comrades, who sailed to Europe in the spring of 2021, traveling for 52 days across the Atlantic Ocean.

Where does one find the incredible determination to journey for thousands of kilometers in a small boat, ignoring all the enigmas hidden in the ocean?

Another journey—of much lesser magnitude—was our trip from Mexico City to the "Resistance and Rebellion: A New Horizon" Caracol [Zapatista base community], where we would stay until the morning of January 2. 

We mapped out the most appropriate route and planned the entire itinerary, taking into account the dangers posed by paramilitary organizations, organized crime, and the growing presence of soldiers. In total, we spent more than 24 hours behind the wheel.

Joy and relief came when signs started to appear announcing that we were finally entering Zapatista territory. Each sign is unique and hand-painted, and the messages change depending on the location.

Banners announced that we were nearly there. I must confess that I saw them with half-closed eyes because, during the last stretch, I was concentrating on not asking for my friends to stop the car—for a second time—as I was nauseous from the curves that brought us down to a more humid climate than that of Los Altos, where San Cristóbal de las Casas is located.

Some bore phrases that seemed to be written for me specifically. "Wake up sleepyheads! It's close. Only five kilometers before you reach the Caracol Dolores Hidalgo." Another one said: "Why did you come? Are you ready, or not?"

Further along, we passed several rows of young militiawomen and men and various historical banners recounting key demonstrations, cultural activities and events in the thirty year history of this struggle. After getting out of the van, we lined up to register, as more vehicles arrived.

Sustaining collective life

The internal organization in the Caracoles is impeccable and impressive and this event was no exception. On the first day, they managed to sate the voracious hunger of one guest after another. In the invitation, they warned that those of us who do not eat meat would have to bring our own food. 

Even in the nonstop hustle and bustle, our hosts managed to attend to individual needs as much as they could, having set up a food stand that sold a variety of dishes. Amidst smoke and the smell of burning wood, other kitchens shared free food and hot coffee. 

I was thrilled to see Marijose, a Zapatista comrade who had been part of the 421 Squadron, and who was in charge of organizing food provision during the gathering. Where did the will and capacity to sustain the lives of thousands of people for several days come from?

No one was left hungry or without shelter, which was another challenge, as it wasn't easy to accommodate such a large number of people. I don't know if they had an approximate estimate of the number of visitors; what I do know is that they had to spread us among three Caracoles near Dolores Hidalgo due to the probability of rain Luckily it stayed dry, leaving some scattered mudflats. The sun shone for most of the mornings and afternoons. 

They took us to dormitories, so that we could sleep inside and wouldn’t have to bear the elements. About fifty temporary showers were set up at the edge of a ravine with a view that, in the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun, I very much enjoyed. 

All the activities took place in this environment of care, including plays, music, poetry, dance performances, and documentary screenings.

Plays of the past, future and present

Youth from the Caracols performed plays throughout the day on December 31. They had presented two around sunset the day before, amidst the chaos of the mass arrival of visitors.

Through the loudspeakers that amplified the voices of those who were standing in a pavilion in front of the Caracol’s esplanade, someone said that they would perform the plays again the following day, but that they required our full attention. We had to have "our brains on tight" to listen, they said. 

The plays—and some dances—narrated a process that began in the era of plantations and continues up to the organizational and theoretical-practical changes announced in recent communiqués, all in a non-linear way. The latest development is the emergence of a new internal structure as well as notions of "the commons and non-property."

I wish I could watch the plays again so as to better understand what they said about the period before 1994; what has happened in the past thirty years; and the horizon that they envision in the present as it connects with the past. I think these new strategies can’t be fully grasped without taking into account what was represented by a character in a play that was performed by the Oventik Caracol, whose role was to constantly weave "history" on a loom.

The experience of the 30th anniversary of the beginning of the War against Oblivion showed us how the complexity of the past, the present, and the future are woven together on the loom of history. For me, the new stage of organization announced in the latest communiqués is evidence of the transformative capacity that runs through the Zapatista’s practice of weaving history.

Reclaiming the land

The communiqué titled "Twentieth and last part: the commons and non-property," which came out in December, explains, in the words of Subcomandante Moisés, the path that led the communities to promote both forms of landholding and what each entails. Non-property is understood as a form of mutual lending between peoples, where part of the land liberated by the communities is managed in turns. 

The yield of that portion of land will go to those who have tended it for the period of time in question. It will later be rotated to others, always under the framework of common work. Participation isn’t restricted to members of Zapatista base communities; it will be open for other communities to join in.

In this way, they will guarantee what they call the "material base" that has allowed them to build a dignified life based on autonomy. The Zapatistas also encouraged those of us who live farther away but who are interested in finding a way to weather the storm—which is nothing more than the capitalist crisis that keeps getting worse—to do so.

This strategy for managing land, where work on the land also benefits those who will work on it later, is a self-defense strategy. And it emerges from the need to build a material foundation upon which to survive the storm. 

The communiqué also highlights the link between property titles and violence and social fragmentation. Unlike shared property, privately owned land is finite, and so it encourages fragmentation, continuously generating disputes and violence. Without land titles, there would be nothing to fight over and no one to kill.

According to the communiqué, “If you ask if it is the land of Zapatistas, or ‘partidistas’ or who, well, none of them. Or all of them, it’s the same. There is no commissioner or agent to buy, kill, disappear. There are just people who work these lands and care of them. And they defend them.”

It is impossible not to try to imagine what the fruit of this common work will be like in a few years, or what this non-property will be like in 120 years, when the unnamed utopian child presented in the third part of the last series of communiqués is born. 

Children played an important role in the celebration of the uprising. They were star performers in the plays and participated in the workshops just like adults. 

I saw several groups of children playing freely and running around the Caracol without concern. Watching them gave me a feeling of deep fulfillment, surrounded by green mountains hiding in the clouds, even knowing I was in a territory that once belonged to a plantation owner. 

Where does the determination to take up arms and start building a decent world come from? I get a thrill just thinking about the answer.