Monday `I went to the 'Office of Human Rights" for information to visit a Zapatista community. I admit that, until now, almost completely ignorant of what were the ideals and actions of this active clandestine armed movement in Chiapas. A few nights ago, I witnessed a documentary screened on the wall of the Cathedral of San Cristobal.
Sitting on the floor along with about fifty people in a couple of hours, I managed to get an idea and understand what were the topics of the EZLN, which owes its name to the Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata. Piqued my curiosity I did some research on the Internet is determined to want to go in person.
It was 12:30 when I walked into the office and the secretary I notice is that the (pre-visit) to the organization, was in full swing in the next room. About a dozen of children of different nationalities, sitting around a large table, took notes and followed with attention the words of a woman strong and very serious-looking, as that of my Italian teacher in high school. My community, without smiling, that the "lesson" was about to end but I still call 'to take place. I declined the invitation and I simply ask when would be the next. "` Every Monday from 11.00 to 13.00, "he said calmly but` austere, taking care to articulate the words properly to avoid being forced to repeat and prolong the interruption of his prayer, the content certainly very interesting. I apologized for the trouble and left the room. As I walked under the sun of early afternoon, in the crowded streets of the city, looking for a place to eat, I thought that I could not stop in a week more just to make a two-hour course on the Zapatistas, and I decided is that we I went on my own.
In truth, I was driven only by a strong curiosity, far from any interest politically motivated.
The next morning I got up early and walked to the market in search of a means of direct transport to the small community called Oventik. It was a cold, wet morning, the sky was covered by dense white clouds intent on hiding the tops of the mountains surrounding the city. I was not in great shape, suffering from a bad cold and I felt weak because of some line fever.
The problem here is that on cloudy days, the temperature drops dramatically and the rooms are almost all devoid of heating. The first of these is my hostel.
In the great room to sleep, the night temperature is not much higher than the outside. There is, therefore, at least for me, shivering in the pleasure of walking into a room and be able to undress and heat over a cup of hot tea. Perhaps this happens in places that I considered "luxury", where a dinner might cost the equivalent of 5 nights in the cold and my modest hostel. On the contrary, most of the bars and restaurants keep their doors open as an invitation to major customers, `But that must be careful not to sit in the middle of a cold current.
I had never crossed before, the market of San Cristobal, located behind the craft, mostly to tourists. A large corner of "real Mexico" comes to life in the north of the city. The traffic, the din of clacsons, the cries of vendors, music from all over, people who like to sneak into a nest among the cars in columns to immerse yourself in the expanse of stalls, produce a noisy and chaotic environment.
the street can walk on it while walking around and if you are not careful, even the walk to the wrong person. After 30 minutes of waiting and a salad purchased from an elderly man who moved with plastic containers on a tray, as an experienced waiter, finally departed.
made me get off the taxi on the roadside in front of a large red gate, 60 miles north of San Cristobal, in the mountains an hour and a half before innebbiate admired the town. Behind those cold, wet bars, surrounded by dense fog, and there were two strong men of average height. Both were wearing walking boots, jeans, heavy wool sweaters with dark colors. A distinguished and to attract my attention, blacks were the hood which covered their head completely and leaving his face to see, only the eyes. They asked me my passport and only after having brought him in to office and having received permission, I did pass.
The community is on the sides of a cobbled street down, 500m long, which ends with a big square of concrete brick color. After my ID and some brief questions from three members sitting behind an old wooden table, they accompany me to one of the colorful houses along the road. The buildings were mostly used as offices, stores, houses, and decorated with colorful murals representing images, faces, flags of the revolutionary movement. A couple of English guys had preceded me a few minutes and I had to wait outside in the cold for about half an hour.
The fog was very thick and dense, driven by moving wind if a few meters away was a large fire broke out. The clouds of smoke made it hard on the Environment and silent, almost eerie, ghostly. Sir, I have deliberately decided to call "The Captain", kindly welcomed me into the room and made me sit on a wooden bench. He sat behind the big desk, full of sheets stored in an orderly way, and start talking `. The tone of his voice was quiet and slightly hoarse and his words, spoken with great conviction and firmness, echoed in the empty room. She held hands with fingers crossed. They were strong hands of a worker, marked by dark and cold. Sconpose not even a second from his statuesque posture and looked at me straight in the eye.
In those few inches defined by the hood, I could learn more if I had seen his face uncovered. "The eyes are the mirror of the soul," someone once said ... dovendomi and just focus on them, I felt strongly idealistic energy and spirit that we send. The pupils, black and shiny like beads of tourmaline, highlighted the determination of the man hooded and red blood that surrounded, symbolized the passion and effort with which he was performing his role within the community independently.
Behind him, the flag symbol of the movement, completely black with the words red fire, "Democracia, justicia y libertad" arch-shaped, with a big star in the middle representing the five continents. More below, the EZLN acronym that means: Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional. The conversation was very engaging and interesting, and I, many times, I could not stop myself from interrupting to ask questions. I left the room satisfied with the meeting and the special and unique, experience of life. Near the exit, in the small craft shop, I admired the great photos on the walls and as compensation for the time dedicated to free, I bought a T-shirt as a souvenir, and above it printed in red the face of Subcomandante Marcos, Zapatista Army spokesman.
I was struck by words such as "bad governance, independence, tired of waiting, the Our land, our water, our air ...." and on the return journey I stopped to reflect. I do not want and do not possess sufficient knowledge to be able to deploy, simply admire the effort of those people who give life, time and money to combat and support their cause.
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