By: Krista Trofka
I recently had the privilege to attend the SERAZLN language school in Oventic, Chiapas for a week in February, where I studied Spanish amidst the Zapatista autonomous secondary school and the Junta de Buen Gobierno. I arrived in Oventic on Saturday with a friend, and after passing through the customary checkpoints to approve our presence in Oventic, we settled into our wooden bunks at the end of the carretera (highway) at the bottom of the hill.
I felt submerged; in what exactly, I am not sure. Oventic is a beautiful place – if you want to see it, throw the word into the “Google images” search engine. I did my research before I went there too; I skimmed through all of the photos and searched the websites that Google brought up for me. As I walked down the hill of Oventic, I recognized the murals from my research, of the junta, of Mut Vitz coffee collective, of the women’s artisan collective, the church, the ‘town hall’, etc.; I recognized the bunks for visitors and the pictures of children smiling beneath their masks. Yet this, I could have experienced from a computer screen.
It wasn’t until a cloud crept in from the mountains afar and it cut out the sun that I experienced Oventic. Mud seemed to spring up in every possible corner, the tin roof of our barracks pattered endlessly for three days, temperatures were at a wet, cold 50 degrees F during the day, and an even wetter and colder 35 degrees F at night. I was excited to learn from the Zapatistas for the next five days, yet dreading the week ahead because of the forsaken weather conditions.
My first lesson of classes in Oventic is simple at first passing, but becomes much more complicated when applied. I learned a few ‘rules’; “sirvir y no sirvirse; representar y no suplantar; constiruir y no destruir; convencer y no vencer; proponer y no iponer; bajar y no subir.” These rules, as were explained to me by my promotores, are also principles of the Zapatista Revolution. We (the class) were asked if our own experiences with these principles proved them to be feasible. I was the lone soldier who argued the impossibility of such a task, I argued that the people within the movement are constantly changing and therefore the movement itself is constantly changing, making an effective and true representation impossible because it is inevitable that people change faster than a governing body. They were glad to hear my arguments, but then proceeded to explain why I was wrong. Upon the answers of our indigenous instructors. I began to understand their view of the goals for the Zapatista revolution; mostly importantly I began to understand how different it is than mine. They could only understand one response – “yes, it does work because it is working.”
They had grown up in a system of traditional community government, I had grown up in a system of “representative republic” (if one so wishes to call it such). The importance of community made it is much easier feel truly ‘represented’, because it was easier to fight for a communal representation. My strong sense of individualism led me to believe that true representation meant that my best interest was being represented, rather than that of the community.
It was at this moment that my view was blocked by a wall; I could go no farther unless I found a new way of looking. It was at this moment that I had two options: to continue to see things based on my experiences as an American, constantly comparing the experiences of these people to my own understanding of what happens in my world, or to acknowledge that this is a new world, a new way of seeing things, a new way of dealing with things and it was time for me to listen and learn without trying to always put things into my old perspective. One of the instructors asked me if I understood the phrase “cambiar preguntando.” I understood the words, the literal translation; but it is another thing to actually do it, to be able to see the world in a different way.
It is a duty of the traveler to research, watch, listen, and learn to the best of their ability, but it is also their duty to acknowledge that all these sensory activities are subjective, such that they are dependent on the subject and object of observation. Rather than being seen as infallible or true, we must acknowledge the context of our observations and accurately present them as a small subset of a subset of a subset of experiences in a much larger picture of dynamic, contested struggle that will never be ‘truly’ represented.
Chances are that I will not single handedly be able to change the fate of the peoples of Chiapas. However, that does not mean I abandon the dream - our dream - of democracy, justice, and liberty for all. I am here to express my solidarity, to show that the indigenous peoples of Chiapas (and the rest of the world) are not alone in the battle against oblivion. I am fighting for “a world in which many worlds fit.” I am here to learn about a revolution and from a revolution so that I will be better equipped to fight against the systems of oppression which challenge my life.
I have not lived this struggle nor fought this revolution. My time here is limited to 4 months, hardly a blip of time during the 500 year struggle of Mayan oppression by the conquistadors, by the church, by the mestizos, by capitalism, and by the government. Yet, I argue that I am not a tourist. I have come here in solidarity to listen to the struggle for life, liberty, and justice so that I can in turn be better equipped in my own fight. I am not here to consume, but to learn.
Our battles are not always the same; we exist in different conditions and with different circumstances for fighting, but that is not to say that our battles cannot exist co-dependently of each other. There is an old Mayan story about Ik’al and Votan, the ancient gods of black and white, night and day, yet they inhabit one body. In the beginning, the one body with two identities worked against each other when they tried to walk some where. After much deliberation, they decided to take turns walking, one at day and the other at night, holding up the other one on the back of the other. There is a saying in Zapatismo, “somos iguales porque somos diferentes” or “we are equals because we are different.” It is our own fights, each slightly different from the others, which allow us to fight together, holding the other upon our back, in solidarity against a system of oppression.
As far as the Zapatista revolution, I can’t say what the future holds. I do not know enough about history, the present, or the future – about politics, economics, or psychology to make a decent prediction. What I can tell you about is my experience in Chiapas for four months – what challenges I met, struggled through, and overcame. I can tell you what it means to me as I return to the states to face the challenge of sharing what I have learned.
I came to San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas February 1st, 2006. I had read my share of books, histories, zines, internet websites, and writings of Subcomandante Marcos. Yet, they had not prepared me for what I was about to walk into. I imagined myself walking into a revolution where I would be able to find myself a few masked warriors, and they would teach me the truth of the revolution. Instead, I found in San Cristóbal hundreds of gringos just like me, looking for the same revolution, and not finding it. The problem was that it is not something that you could take pictures of or buy the mascots (of course you could buy these things in San Cristóbal, but that isn’t the revolution we’re all looking for, that’s capitalism working to sell the revolution against itself).
I saw a glimpse of the revolution while I was in Oventic. Yes, some of the people were wearing masks and the murals made the perfect picture, but that is not all that it was. I found a community of people of all ages who were well fed, well dressed, moderately accommodated with enough to satisfy their needs to live, and most of all they had dignity. I found that sleeping on wood boards and no running water was not a sign of lack, but a sign of hope. There is so much pride in Oventic, not because of the excess or the luxury of Oventic, but because of all it means: the resistance of capitalism, of oppression, and of death of a people (that the rest of the world saw as inevitable). People flock to Oventic to see, to learn, and to be proud.
The revolution is found within the people, who are talking, arguing, and resisting. Whether the revolution is under the name of the Zapatistas, the socialists, or the capitalists, it does not matter, as long as people are involved in the struggle to change a system that they see as oppression. Just so long as the revolution means that people are thinking and fighting to keep alive. One could travel to Chiapas to study the Zapatistas or go to Oventic to understand the anatomy of the Junta de Buen Gobierno. That’s why I came here to, but I ironically was not interested in any of those things. As I began to question what was going on around me, I found a rebellion within myself against an oppressive system of thought. And to me, that is what Oventic was about.
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