[translator's note: Comandanta Ramona was a Tzotzil indigenous leader, fundamental in promoting women’s participation and leadership in the Zapatista movement. Together with Comandanta Susana, she was one of the main promoters of the Revolutionary Laws of Women, which were introduced publicly in January 1994, along with the general Zapatista Revolutionary Laws. She was well known for being a fierce fighter and participant in national dialogues, in spite of speaking little Spanish, and for her beautiful embroidered blouses of many coloured threads, which were woven together like the weaving together of our struggles nationally in the Other Campaign and internationally. Ramona died of cancer in January 2006, but remains an inspiration to women throughout México and the world. Ramona vive, vive, La lucha sigue, sigue. (Ramona lives on, The struggle continues!) ]
The Comandanta Ramona and the Zapatista Women
by Eugenia Gutiérrez
Four verbs dominated the discourse: to struggle, to suffer, to organize and to work. Because when we struggle, we necessarily suffer. But in order to suffer less, we need to organize ourselves. Only in this way is it possible to work for the liberation of the people. And we live for the liberation of the people.
More than one hundred and fifty female and morena voices explained patiently to thousands of ears that listened with happiness, admiration and respect. From December 29 to 31 of 2007, in the Caracol “Resistance towards a new dawn,”—more famous for its name of La Garrucha, Selva Tzeltal Zone, in rebel Zapatista territory—delegates from the five Caracoles presented their achievements in plenary sessions where, as many of them say, “the themes” of work were:
· How the Zapatista women lived before and how they live now.
· What they did, how they did it to organize themselves in order to achieve their rights.
· What are their responsibilities now.
· How they sustain themselves in the struggle.
· What changes have happened.
· How they struggle as Zapatistas girls and boys.
· Woman in general, and woman in the Other Campaign.
The different themes were broached by delegates who represented the following: comandantas (suplentas and members of the Indigenous Revolutionary Clandestine Committee, CCRI), insurgentas (three captains of the Mexican Forces of Militia), regional representatives or responsables, local representatives or responsables, members of the five Juntas de Buen Gobierno (JBG—Good Government Juntas), autonomous councils, agrarian commissioners, health promoters and trainers, autonomous commissioners and agents, directors and administrators of collective work, as well as grassroots support community member (BAZ) who introduced themselves in their capacity as: grandma, elderly women, married woman, young single woman, Zapatista mothers, girl compañeritas (little compañeras), elders, translators, note takers, and those in charge of the sound system. In total, there were 20 hours of plenary sessions (four hours for each Caracol) with breaks for questions and rest.
It would have been like any typically Zapatista gathering were it not for the fact that all of the men, including the media, were asked to leave the auditorium on the first day, since “only women” could be there. To “one compañero who is hiding behind a column,” the mistress of ceremonies asked him “to leave. Here it is only women.” And nothing terrible happened. Ten or twelve cameras that came to film all remained ready on their tripods, so calm. There was no lack of women to work them. Some doubted whether they could. Today they no longer doubted. And they could. They did.
On the auditorium’s stage was the control of the sound system and the space was female. Also the space was female on the benches where those who sat listened. There were women from civil society who were so little used to respect that they seemed uncomfortable to be so comfortably seated. Maybe they were the “self-marginalized,” a term used by a Zapatista woman the following day, but who knows. In any case, with the departure of the men, no tragedy occurred. The husbands, sons, boyfriends, lovers or brothers had to listen from afar, from outside, or distract themselves by attending to the vending stalls. Others did not even come, they stayed to take care of the small children. That’s why among those convoked, there was so much concentration, so many relaxed arms and so little pain in the shoulders. Everyone could breathe. There was an abundance of free hands to take notes or take photos. The Zapatista delegates came adorned with coloured ribbons on top of their balaclavas: blue for La Garrucha, white for La Realidad, red for Morelia, yellow for Oventik and green for Roberto Barrios.
With our usual respect, we sang the national anthem that never mentions us. Afterwards, the comandanta Susana spoke, she who opened the way together with Ramona and who, in fact, came “on her behalf” to inform us, first, that she will never leave her work, and, second, that “Ramona lives and that Ramona is not dead.” And she was not the only absent one who was nearby. We already have prisoners who accompany us all of the time. But here too we also felt that “the fallen” who died in the struggle are walking, the guerreras (female warriors) that fought for peace, “all of the women” that could not come. The compañera Yoana says that “we have to go and thank General Zapata,” since “because of him we could know our rights.” She speaks with so much assurance that one feels like turning around and looking for the General among the men who listen from the back.
In this way this event is inaugurated, this event that has different names simultaneously: Third Gathering of the Zapatista Peoples with the Peoples of the World: “The Comandanta Ramona and the Zapatista Women,” or, First Gathering of the Zapatista Women with the Women of the World, or for the most demanding, a combination of the two: “Third Gathering of the Peoples… and the First Gathering of the Women…” at the same time. Each one can choose for herself.
On the cardboard signs throughout the Caracol one could read the following phrases: “In this Gathering men cannot participate as: note taker, translator, presenter, spokesperson, nor represent in the plenary on the days of December 29, 30 and 31 of 2007. On January 1st, 2008, it goes back to the usual. Men can only work in: cooking, cleaning and sweeping the Caracol and the toilets, taking care of the children and carrying firewood.” But one of these phrases cannot be true. We will see which one and why.
Before
The days of slavery.
Dozens of rebel indigenous women explained how they suffered before the armed uprising of 1994. But among the tales of the horror lived with the bosses and among the stories of their slavery, of their sub-human life, of their humiliation and their suffering, those that affected us profoundly are those of the abuelita (grandma) Avinia (from La Garrucha) and the elder compañeras Eva, Gloria, Veronica and Angelina (from La Realidad). Many of them spoke in their native tongue and used translators. In this way, we became aware of “How much suffering! How much!” they had to go through with the physical punishment that made them “pass out from the pain.” The enemy would tie their husbands up to trees for two days, naked. The women were made to sit down on a sharp rock until their knees bled. None of them learned to read or write because the finqueros (ranchers) considered them to be animals.
They said that if it had not been for the founders of the EZLN that arrived in the mountains of Chiapas more than twenty years ago, “we would all be mozos,” the same as “our fathers and mothers.” The stories of slavery are the same: human beings were made to carry baggage when “there were no horses.” And it is because the children of the bosses had to eat well in Comitán: boxes of corn that had their heart and tips cut off, leaving “only the flesh.” Abuelita Avinia is surprised that a man can be so insatiable. She tells us, full of indignation, that the useless boss was not capable of going to the river to bathe, instead one had to carry water in order to not inconvenience him….
These women…affirmed that they were born in families that, for generations, “did not eat sweets,” because the boss did not permit it. “Not even the froth off of the honey would he let [the children] lick,” “they could not even take a little piece of sugar cane.” Although, of course, the cacique’s cattle could have their treats, like licking salt calmly because it was “very well ground” thanks to the work of the indigenous hands. Among those present, few of us had heard such a detailed and direct description of the right of pernada [first night], of how the young women were raped with the same naturalness with which the sun rises and sets. This no longer occurs in the communities in resistance of the EZLN, where the bosses were eliminated. But we know that this occurs in many fincas of our country and that is why it still continues to hurt. In each telling, what stood out is the cacique’s obsession with hurting, exploiting, humiliating others, enjoying leisure while dozens of families’ lives are spent serving him. In addition, “what one boss does, all bosses do.” It does not matter if the finca is Del Rosario, Las Delicias, Porvenir or La Codicia.
The comandanta Rosalinda told us that the public security would assassinate and rape the women who would organize themselves to protest, until the information arrived that they could organize themselves clandestinely and milicianas and insurgents were formed. That’s why, it’s the same whether the boss is the one who “dirties” their daughters, if his name is don Enrique Castellanos, which “the elderly men put in some nets and hung him” because they were fed up of seeing their daughters raped, or if his name is don Javier Albores, who “had a family with his servants”. All of them were evicted from their paradise on January 1st, 1994.
The history of the clandestinity.
Many years ago a group of men and women arrived in the mountains of Chiapas. They went as teachers, as doctors. One of the men presented himself one day in the community of Araceli, “Base de Apoyo” (grassroots support), and it was “his task to explain the clandestinity.” They did not know the person that arrived, but Araceli says that he talked to them about their products and their prices and then asked them “how long they would stand living like this.” He left, then returned with the permission of the communities. He spoke with more people. He gave them a pamphlet. He asked them if they were willing to struggle. He told them to be very cautious. Then he advised them to set up watches/surveillance. He explained “how we struggle, together with who we struggle and against whom we struggle,” and he taught them what the word compañeros means. Then he told them of an army that would struggle for the people: Zapatista Army of National Liberation, and that the preparation was not only political but also military….
Maribel explained further. She told us that in order to meet together with those who come from outside “we would go as if to fish,” but in reality they would go to receive talks in the mountains, in the caves, below the trees, “very much in silence and slowly,” at night, preparing “for the work of the struggle.” Maribel recounts how there were film debates: “they would take us to see movies about fighters from other countries.” Then would follow the questions and the debate and this would “move our hearts.” And “sometimes we had to dig a hole in order to hide the noise of the little motor that generated energy.”
Some signals would be seen in the clothing: red, white, brown or black t-shirt would mean that there was a meeting, and the colour would indicate the place. Sometimes one would give a strong grip of the hands and that was the signal. The first insurgentas taught these women many things: “we learned to keep watch,” as well as the use of weapons and doing “it all.” That’s why, the older Zapatista say today, “we were capable of resisting.” These women fed the founders of the EZLN more than twenty years ago. The elderly compañera Veronica told us that the tostada (toasted tortilla) and pinole (roasted and ground sweetened corn) was prepared “not in the day” but at night, because they were clandestine before. But no more. Now they are prepared in the day. The elderly compañera Angelina told us that “they sustained” the founders and that “they loved them very much, they fed them,” but there were no paths. They had to move at night, in picadas, from one camp to another. In those times, Maribel explained, they prepared and took pinole, tostadas, cookies, bread, cassava root, bananas, yams, sugar, salt, squash. “What we ate is what they ate as well.” They organized “to sew uniforms.” Then came the uprising, in which many of them as women participated, “and with that blood we woke up.”
The conditions of women.
The Zapatista women told of not only how the bosses would hurt them. Before the days with the EZLN and even after the uprising, it was their own fathers, their husbands, their brothers and even their sons who would underestimate and undervalue them. Only men would have fun; only they would rest. If someone happened to be born a girl, her father would devalue her. If some woman would happen to participate in the meetings, the men would make fun of her. All say that the work that Ramona and Susana did was titanic. They instigated the Zapatistas to elaborate the Revolutionary Law in the years when it was cause for laughter to see a woman in the struggle. This Law has been enhanced from 10 to 30 articles, but the Zapatistas tell us that they are still not public. As such, in this auditorium where we heard for the last time Ramona’s voice, this day was occupied only by women. In some holes in the wall or in the doorway located behind the stage one could see cameras that enter unmanned. From outside, they were held by strong forearms and with marked veins, by those who so fascinate us. They were the men who continue without being incorporated in the plenary sessions, but who did not stop trying to take photos of this space that today was not theirs. In a little bit they would be allowed access as media, as long as “they respect us or they must leave.” On the third day, all would be able to enter.
In any case, the work continued and the Zapatista compañeras warned us: “we will be sincere in telling you.” Sometimes there have been problems: “there are women who with all this abandoned their work.” They are strong conflicts in the houses because “our husbands would not let us go out. They think we will look for a boyfriend. As if it was not their right as well…. In any case, it is sad.” “There are a lack of men that understand” the importance of the struggle of women. Gabriela, one of the three captains that together with Elenita and Hortensia represent all of the women that are “in positions in the mountain in the Mexican Southeast,” she said that before “if we were born as a girl, our job was to be a woman.” We could not play basketball with the boys, or even study. In fact, she tells us that a midwife charged less for delivering a girl because she did not have the same value as a boy.
It happened over and over that these women assured us that before they were organized to struggle they thought that they were not worth anything. Actually, when they became aware that they were worth something they had to prove it to themselves first. The men already had experience, they already walked at night, and the women hadn’t: they felt a lot of shame in giving their opinion, in speaking, in traveling, in deciding. Whether it was in the fincas or in their own homes, they had to wake up at two or three in the morning to go for the firewood, prepare the coffee or make the tortillas early. Then they had to take care of the children by themselves, carrying them to the river in the clothing that was to be washed. Then they had to return carrying everything with them, the clean clothes and the dirty children. And water to drink. And the firewood. As well, the men would get drunk and would beat their bodies and injure their souls. They say that their exhaustion was enormous, their sadness indescribable and their day very long. That their sleep was very short and they had to wake up at two or three in the morning again to go for firewood once again.
Today, these women have a very different exhaustion. They have spent months doing intellectual, political and organizational work, amidst a savage institutional and paramilitary offensive. In fact, while we are in the plenary sessions, the military flies above us. But the women, while nervous, are confident. Their compañeros support them with the logistics. Many are in the kitchens, killing chickens and cooking. Now that “the priistas, the orcaos and the oppddiques (members of different repressive rival organizations) want to take our land from us” as if nothing had changed, the young married woman Mireya made clear that everything has changed, that she got married after 1994, that nobody forced her to do so, that she has two children freely and that her husband respects her.
Now
How they organize to struggle.
But the majority of Zapatista women informed us that there is still a long way to go in order to achieve respect “and occupy in some space the place that we deserve.” Elise, the older compañera, said that “we already know our right.” Many of those who have come to this singular gathering are the bases de apoyo (grassroots support) of the EZLN. They acknowledge the work of Ramona, salute Subcomandante Marcos “wherever he is” and “the insurgent troops” and thank the organization “that gave us our place and respect.”
One of them uses the microphone herself, with much elegance and seriousness: “The word goes to la compañera Dalia, that’s me.” There is also one who presents her detailed Curriculum Vitae, as Everilda, suplenta to the CCRI who invited us to this gathering this past July. She says that she started her political participation when she was ten years old. During 2 years and 7 months she was base de apoyo. Then she was named local responsable, a position that she carried out for 1 year. Later she was named regional responsable. “This work is now larger” and she has been in it for 7 years, 1 month and 26 days, which “taught her to struggle strongly.” She was then named suplenta to the CCRI, a position that she currently occupies.
One asks, what does a Zapatista comandanta do? This position “is not changed every 3 or 6 years” like the politicians. Everilda explains: “we are not leaders,” but rather “we represent the women in order to orient the compañeras.” The work sounds heavy: “they correct us and we correct the errors” of the people. Each one of the delegates here present has a function that they carry out within the organization….
Those who work in the Juntas de Buen Gobierno explain to us what their responsibilities are. They say that in August 2003, when the JBGs were born, all of the members were men. Then some compañeras integrated themselves. One of them says that “as if the Zapatista peoples had not been aware” that there was women’s participation in their struggle. In 2004 assemblies were carried out in all of the villages and it was agreed that women would enter for three years. So, there were more women. But it was in 2005 when they started to participate more in the Juntas. What was their work? To receive “national and international people.” To act as a bridge with them. To see the different problems that the bases de apoyo present, or even those who are not part of the EZLN. To distribute economic resources equitably. The juntas have the control of the projects or donations, but they can only present proposals to the people, “who are the maximum authority.” They do not have rest, nor schedules, nor work days. They attend to whoever needs something, 24 hours a day. Some of the women of the JBGs are learning to use a computer. They tell us that “they feel it is very difficult,” that they do not know how to read or write, that that’s why they do not speak Spanish, that they cannot walk alone because there are men that want to rape them without caring that they are married, that many times their husbands, their fathers and their brothers do not allow them to go to work because they think they will do “bad things.” But they know what’s to come: “one day we will take our rights and our rightful place as women.”
In the Rebel Zapatista Autonomous Municipalities (MAREZ) there are also women. Some compañeras explain that “before it was not the custom that women participate.” It is because of this that there are a limited number of women in the MAREZ. They say that it is not because they are not allowed to participate, but because they do not have the nerve to talk because they are not used to doing so. The men are. The women have never had the opportunity to be in this position, “much less, to give solution to a problem,” but they trust that bit-by-bit they will learn. Many criticize them because how is it possible that a woman goes out alone and does all this? But the women do not pay attention to this. They say “because of this, we are here in front of you.” Although they do not know how to read or write, they exhort all present to not “be afraid to speak” because it is not true that women have nothing to say, it is the rich that want us to be silent and exploited. But they know that “it is already time to do something for ourselves and for our people.”…
The Zapatista families.
If there had been a prize for oration the girl compañeras María Linda and Marina would have gotten it. Neither of them had a prepared speech. They spoke from the raw. María Linda said that she was there “in order to “deliver in her knowledge clearly” her “way of life,” to tell us that her parents orient her, that they gave her what they did not have: the right to study, “the right to go out for a walk.” She also alerted us: “These rights that I have will be the greatest weapons that I have to defend my life.”
The girl compañera Marina turned eight two days ago and she was equally convincing. She already knows that she has the right to do what she likes: to dance, to have fun. She says, “We, the Zapatista women, are not accepting handouts” from the bad government and that she feels “very proud to be Zapatista.” She reminds us that “there is no reason to be discouraged” and concludes: “these are all of my words, my dear public.” On the other hand, the girl compañera María, from the Zotz Choj zone, insists in reminding us of our “right to have fun,” one of the most vindicated in this gathering, and she informs us that “we are not going to ask permission of anyone when we want to put in practice” our rights.
What education have these girls received to be able to, in contrast with their grandmothers and their mothers, transform into pure pleasure the act of speaking in public, when before it was shame? A large part of the credit is due to their mothers and their fathers for educating these girls and boys in freedom who now, free as never were their grandmothers nor their grandmothers, “go where their destiny and luck takes them.” …Zapatista mothers are in charge of forming their daughters and their sons in such a manner that they respect their elders, know the history of the struggle, know why they have parties, and understand what resistance is.
Here they tell us what voluntary paternity and maternity is. We thought that it was having the number of children that we wanted, but these women teach us that it is not only quantity but quality because children need to have “their nails cuts, to be bathed well,” to be given a balanced and nutritional diet, to be taught that it is their right to rest and have fun but it is their obligation to liberate their people. For Vanesa, “the moment has come to rise up and raise our voice” as women because “just like we sleep with our men,” we also struggle. The Zapatista mother Everilda warns that now no one can silence the women, that they will continue to speak “in all of the parts of the world” to make it a place “where all of us fit and have bread in our hand.”
Brenda, from the El Trabajo Autonomous Municipality, has plans for the women of the Other Campaign: “we do not want anyone to be left without struggling for their rights.”
When the plenary sessions with the reports of advances in the five caracoles are over, the Zapatista women open up a space so that those from outside can speak But before, five comandantas read five letters that were written by women in Mexico and other countries. The compañera Everilda, suplenat to the CCRI for La Realidad, read the words of political prisoners, Mariana Selvas and Edith Rosales. The comandanta Elizabeth comes from Oventik and reads a letters from the female prisoners of El Amate, in Cintalapa, Chiapas. The comandanta Rosalinda, from La Garrucha, reads the greetings from Gloria Arenas Agís, prisoner in Chiconautla. The comandanta Esmeralda, from the caracol Morelia, reads a text written by prisoners in Valladolid, Spanish State, while the comandanta Concepción, from Roberto Barrios, reads us a message the Sáinz sisters in Turkey. ….
Then the microphone is opened up to the national and international civil society. Some speak. Others don’t, but all listen. Here too there are great women that come from outside. There is Martha from Chihuahua who has for decades struggled for the disappeared and who does not accept any type of privilege or comfort when she travels. There is also Trini from Atenco, a woman who has her family imprisoned and persecuted and who uses the microphone with so much force that two speakers blow!…These and many other women came to hear those who opted to follow in Ramona´s footsteps, like the young single woman Adriana, who called “to all of the single women of Mexico and the world” to show how “single women” can struggle…
The Zapatista women assure us that if the government thinks that the EZLN no longer exists, they are wrong. Here all of them call upon us to organize ourselves and to struggle united for our rights and for the liberation of our families and our people as homage to the women who have opened the way. As Comandanta Susana tells us, “they are dead but not dead. They are here.” And it must be true because we feel the energy! Everyone’s hands hurt from clapping so much at the closing, from accompanying the Zapatista anthem with the music of our palms.
While the thousands of people who visited the caracol emptied out, the cardboard signs remained hanging, saying that after January 1, 2008, all “returns to normal.” But this cannot be true because after this gathering of Zapatista women with women of the world, here and in many parts, nothing will “return to normal.”
January 6, 2008.
Second anniversary of the death of the Comandanta Ramona.
(Translation: Erika del Carmen Fuchs)