Them and Us Part 3: The Overseers by Subcomandante Marcos
THEM AND US
III.- The Overseers
Somewhere in Mexico… The man hits the table, furious. -Annihilate them! The aforementioned man gets up and, standing at attention, extends his right hand frontward, with his hand out[1], and shouts enthusiastically: -The problem, sir, is that those heretics don’t confront us where we’re strong, they turn around and attack us where we’re weak. If it were all just a matter of lead and fire, well, those lands, with their forests, water, minerals, people, would have been conquered a long time ago and you would have been able to offer them up as a tribute to the great Ruler, sir. Those cowards, instead of confronting us with just their heroic bare chests, or with bows, arrows, and spears, and go down in history as heroes (beaten, yes, but heroes), they prepare, they organize, they reach agreements, they give us the slip, and they hide when they take off their masks. But we wouldn’t be in this situation if you would have listened to me when everything began– and he glares reproachfully at the guest whose place card says “chupa-cabras version 8.8.1.3.”[2] The aforementioned guest smiles as he says: -General, with all due respect, we didn’t have an atomic bomb. And even if we could have acquired one from our allies (the guest who has the ambassador place card expresses his thanks for the mention), we would have been able to wipe out the aboriginals, but we would have also destroyed the forests and the water; moreover, the work of mining exploration and operations would have been impossible for, say, a couple of centuries-. Another one of the lackeys speaks up: -We offered them songs and poems praising their sacrifice, ballads, movies, roundtables, essays, books, plays, statues, their name in golden letters when they died. We told them that if they insisted on resisting and staying alive, we would spread rumors and doubts about why they haven’t disappeared, why they haven’t died, and we would say they were of our own creation, that we were going to bring forth a smear campaign that would even include the support of some intellectuals, artists, and progressive journalists — The aforementioned guests make a gesture of approval, although more than one appears displeased by so many “-ists.” The man impatiently interrupts: -And? The guests squirm indignantly and clamor: -Proles! Degenerates! Louts! Plebeians! Hood rats! – The lackey still has his hand up, facing the man. The man rebukes him: -I get it! You can put your hand down. The lackey slowly lowers his hand winks at the rest of the guests. Then he continues: -The problem, sir, is that these people don’t worship death, but rather life. We’ve tried to eliminate their visible leaders, buy them, seduce them. -We already found them, sir. The so-called ATM begins to stammer: -Well, sir, we’d have to sell off a State asset, but we don’t really have anything anymore. The lackey interrupts: -Sir, we’ve tried. The guest who bears a striking resemblance to a chupa-cabras makes a sign of approval. The man thanks him for the gesture. Everyone turns to look with mockery and reproach at the man with the blue tie. -You’re saying that those rebels live better than those who sell out to us? The guest with the place card that says “modern left” rises to her feet: -Sir, if you’ll allow me. With the new program called Solid…sorry, I meant to say “National Crusade”…[4] The lackey impatiently interrupts: The man with the “chupa cabras” place card nods with satisfaction and gratefully accepts the pats on the back that nearby guests give him. The lackey continues: -But you and I and everyone else who is here knows that all of this about social programs is a lie, that it doesn’t matter how much money is invested, at the end of the bottleneck there’s nothing. Because everyone takes their cut. After the señor, with all due respect, you take a big chunk, everyone else here does, too, and then the governors, the heads of the military zones, the local legislatures, the mayors, the commissioners, the leaders, those in charge, the cashiers, so little or nothing is left over for those below. The man intervenes: -Well we have to do something fast, because if we don’t, the Ruler will look for other overseers and you are all well aware, ladies and gentlemen, of what that means: unemployment, ridicule, and maybe even jail or exile. The person marked “chupa cabras” shudders and makes an affirmative gesture. -And it is urgent, because if those indians with the cracked feet… (the man’s daughter makes an expression of disgust, the woman sits there, suddenly indisposed, and turns so green that, well, forget about the Green Lantern). The woman leaves, saying something about a pregnancy.[6] The man goes on: -If those fucking indians unite, we’ll have serious problems because… -Yes? The lackeys look at each other with a knowing smile. -Where are the leaders we bought? Where are the ones we’ve convinced that the solution to everything is to be like us? –And? — the man prods him on. -We find more and more…- The guests sitting at the man’s table shift uncomfortable in their seats. -Well then? The guests stand up and applaud. The all crowd around the machine. The man gets in and takes the controls. The lackey nervously warns him: -Sir, just be careful you don’t hit the “eject” button. The make-up artists and puppeteers run to provide first aid. The lackey addresses one of the cameramen who recorded everything: -You have to erase that part… And tell the Ruler to get a replacement doll ready. This one always needs resetting. The guests straighten their ties and skirts, comb their hair, cough, trying to draw attention. The the cameras’ clicks and flashes overshadow everything… (to be continued…) From any corner of any world. Sup Marcos. Information from Report #69 of the Autonomous Intelligence Service (SIA in its Spanish abbreviation) regarding what was heard and seen in an ultra-arch-extremely-hyper secret meeting which took place in Mexico City, in the backyard of the United States, latitude 19° 24´ N, longitude 99° 9´ W. Date: a few hours ago. Classification: eyes only. Recommendation: do not make this document public because they’ll burn us alive. Note: send more pozol because Elías[10] drank it all when someone shouted: “Eat while there’s lots of food!” and he’s skanking to the Nana Pancha cover of the Tijuana No song “Transgresores de la Ley” [Law Breakers]. Yes, the song is cool, but it’s tough to go in the mosh pit because Elías is wearing steel-toed boots. ::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Listen and watch the video the accompanies this text: “Luna Negra.” Lyrics by Arcadio Hidalgo. Music and performance by Los Cojolites. Now for real the other son jarocho. ¡A zapatearle en el fandango raza!
“En esta tierra que me vio nacer” (In this land where I was born) with MC LOKOTER. Greetings to the other Zumpango. Production and Photography: Joana López. Direction and editing: Ricardo Santillán. Production: BLASJOY DESIGNER. Year 2012.
“Transgresores de la ley” (Transgressors of the law) by Tijuana No, version from Nana Pancha, on the album “Flores para los muertos”(Flowers for the dead). Every time “Tijuana No” played this song they dedicated it to the ezetaelene [EZLN], even when the zapatones weren’t in style. Greetings and a big hug to those who never forgot us. ¡Skaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! ¡Al brincolín banda! [Everybody jump!] Translated from the original Spanish by Kristin Bricker. Translator’s Notes:
This is Part 3 of a series of communiques from Subcomandante Marcos. ********************************************************************************************
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January 25, 2013
Them and Us Part 3: The Overseers by Subcomandante Marcos
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