The Zapatistas hike up the price of the Indigenous Mexican blood


La Jornada, February 13, 1995

To the national weekly Proceso,
To the national newspaper El Financiero,
To the national newsparer La Jornada,
To the local paper of San Cristobal de Las Casas
Tiempo, February 9, 1995.

Gentlemen:

Here goes a communique... the last one, as we see the events . The Zapatistas hike up the price of the Indigenous Mexican blood. Yesterday it was worth less than the backyard bird. Today its death is the condition of the loan of greatest infamy in the world's history. The price of the Zapatista heads is the only one that maintains a high value in the ups and downs of financial speculation. Mr. Zedillo is starting to pay the loan. His message is clear. Either you speak with submission and kneel down in front of the supreme government or with support of my accomplices in the Congress I annihilate you. Now he is making up a proof that we do not want the dialogue? What is his objective? To pay the loan. Somebody should tell this man who the Zapatistas are. He seems not to have ever talk to people with dignity. He is inexperience in relating to human beings. He knows how to deal with figures, macroeconomic plans, a lying media, and submissive opponents, but not with human beings. We will see if he learns before he breaks up everything.

The first and most enthusiastic applause to the ultimatum in Queretaro, and to the "spectacular coup" of February 9 comes from the great landowners and great merchants of the Southeast. They know that their private armies do not have the guts to confront the Zapatistas. Now they hope that the federal army will do the job that before they used to do themselves without so much media: massive assassinations.

The supreme government threathen us ...The Zapatistas

The Zapatistas and not the ones who are mainly responsible of the present and future misery of millions of Mexicans, of unemployment, the low level of incomes, of the lost confidence in the supreme government and its ``institutions''.

The Zapatistas and not those who, with funds from the Mexican people, travel to sell the economic fallacies in other countries.

The Zapatistas and not the high hierarchy of the church, who while we eat beans, hot peppers and tortilla, they sit at great banquets, and ask about the ``dark'' financing of the ezzee-el-aen (ezetaelene), EZLN.

The Zapatistas and not Hank Gonzalez, to whom the U.S. State Department is tracking down in the laundering of dollars and his ties to narco drug trafficking. What Mexican justice should be doing it's being done by the U.S.

The Zapatistas and not those who knew of the December devaluation and celebrated with champagne the floating of the peso (elegant way of describing a sudden fall).

The Zapatistas and not those surrounding the great lie of the Salinista boom who embroider the complicated net of theoric caravans and "brilliant" and "objective" addemdum analysis to sing praises to the macro-lie.

The Zapatistas and not those in Chiapas, Tabasco, Veracruz, Tlaxcala, San Luis Potosi, Guanajuato, Jalisco, who perpetrated, and now prepare, a greater economic fraud, the fraud of the hopes to the peaceful transition to democracy.

The Zapatistas and not those who raped the Tzetzal Indigenous women in Altamirano.

The Zapatistas and not those who executed with a coup de grace the insurgent combatants detained in the market of Ocosingo.

The Zapatistas and not those who with elegant clarification that bombs were not use, and drop ``rockets'' on civilian populations in San Cristobal, Los Altos and the jungle.

The Zapatistas and not those who use hunting dogs to persecute the civilians.

The Zapatistas and not those who appraised the Indigenous blood, in the stock exchange of Chiapas to be worth less than the price of a chicken.

The Zapatistas and not those who remained with the money in their pockets of the "peace agreements" in San Cristobal.

The Zapatistas and not those who from the impunity of their fraudulent curule (senatorial seat) violated and violate the Constitution.

The Zapatistas and not those responsible of a crime and now retain the power over the energy wealth of Mexico.

The Zapatistas and not those who were active or passive accomplices, of the greatest crime since Porfirio Diaz: Salinismo.

The Zapatistas and not those who live the ``insecurity'' of a salary of thousands of new pesos monthly in exchange of the ``tiring'' exercise of raising the finger to aprove yesterday the sale of the homeland and today the extermination of the Indigenous people of the Southeast.

The Zapatistas and not the political arm of organized crime and narco- drug trafficking which in addition dares to boast as supreme insult, the colors of the national flag in its seal.

The Zapatistas and not the handful of U.S. capitalists who already paid, in advance, for the purchase of our wealth under ground.

The Zapatistas and not those who from the pulpit of mass media, lied, lie and will lie to the Nation.

The Zapatistas and not those who on January,1995, introduced themselves in Switzerland, to the IMF, saying, "President Salinas has instructed me... Excuse me, President Zedillo..."

The Zapatistas and not those who from the IDB with a foreign race and vocation lead the destiny of our country.

The Zapatistas and not the white guards.

The Zapatistas, the men and women who rose up in arms so as not to live on their knees anymore and not those who for centuries have kept us down in ignorance, misery, death, and hopelessness.

The Zapatistas, the ones who decided to give their life as a guarantee so that they never again will talk under threaths with anybody.

The Zapatistas, the littlest ones, always forgoten, the flesh destined yesterday to death by diarrhea, malnutrition, forgotten, in the coffee fields, in the landowners fields, the streets, the mountain.

The Zapatistas, the littlest ones, always forgotten, the flesh destined tommorrow to serve as polygon of exercise for the modern armament of an army which instead of defending national sovereignty and point their weapons against the traitors of the homeland, they point to their sibblings in blood, soil and history.

The Zapatistas, the millioners of undelivered promises, the ones who cover their face, so that their brothers and sisters in other lands can see them. The Zapatistas the ones of ``for everybody everything, nothing for us."

The Zapatistas, the ones who taught to the present rulers what they did not learn in post graduate studies abroad, and what is not in textbooks of the ones who miseducate the Mexican children: that which is shame, dignity for human beings and love for homeland and history.

The Zapatistas, the ones who, in the middle of a country of fritters, foreign goods, ``grate'' macroeconomic achievements, fictitious first worlds y despairs of change, they drew up again, in the soil and sky of these lands, the six letters that had already been sold cheap in the international market: Mexico.

The Zapatistas, the men, women, children and old people who (long before those who today usurpe the Mexican will, were a dream even in the blood of their last generation), reside, live and die in these lands. The ones who together with other Indigenous people gave to this country, as national seal, the image of the eagle devouring a serpent.

The Zapatistas, we, you, all the ones who are not themselves...

Anyway, whatever happens, thanks to everybody for everything. If we were to turn back the clock of history, not for a second we would doubt in doing again what we have done. One time, one thousand times we would say again "Ya Basta," "Enough."

Vale,
a salute and a strong, strong embrace (for the cold and so that we do not allow forgetfulness to reign again).

From the mountains of Southeast Mexico
Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos
Mexico, February, 1995.

P.S. that applauds furiously to the new ``success'' of the government police: I heard that they discover another Marcos and he is very (much from Tampico) tampiqueno. It does not sound bad, the port is beutiful. I remember when I was working as a bouncer in a brothel in Ciudad Madero during the times in which La Quina did to the regional economy what Salinas did to the stock exchange: to inject money to hide poverty. I left the port because humidity makes me sleepy, and seafood makes the sleepiness go away.

P.S. that does not go away, inspite of the circumstance, its narcissism: Well, and about all of this, ? this new Subcomandante Marcos, is he handsome? It's because lately they have thrown at me only ugly ones and it ruins all the correspondence from females.

P.S. that counts ammunition and time: I have 300 shots, so try to bring more than 299 soldiers and policemen to catch me (legend has it that I don't miss. ? Dou you want to find out?) ? Why 299 if there are 300 bullets? Well, the last one is for "yours truly." It happens that one becomes fond of things like that, and a bullet seems the only consolation for a solitary chest.

Vale again.
Health and ?
Would there be a little piece in her bosom for a memory? The sup retouching with macabre flirtation the ski-mask.


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