On Friday, there was a mass shooting in Chiapas, Mexico, and seven Tzotzil people were murdered. But there was zero coverage in the English media, because it happened in Mexico and not the US, and because they were original people, not wealthy tourists.
The seven people had fled their homes due to violence in the region and were hiding in a corner shop when armed members of an organised crime group entered the shop and shot them. A three year old was among those killed, and three others were injured.
The conflict in that part of Chiapas revolves around land disputes, access to natural resources (that is, profiting from the land at the expense of the original inhabitants), and violent repression of Zapatistas.
So to counter the silence around the murdering of Tsotsil / Tzotzil people, I’ve translated (from Spanish translations) some poems by Tsotsil poet, Ruperta Bautista Vásquez.
Bautista is a grassroots teacher, anthropologist, translator, and Mayan Tsotsil actor.
Balance
Silenced, they observe
The grams of contempt
Designed by murderers
Seeking a funeral
Fleeting men massacre the days
Abandon their weapons on the ground
And for moments, feel regret
Engineers of ideas die
Under the demolition of their constructions
While the cries of orphans
Bury their misery
The destroyers guard their works
In the suffering of loggers
Barefoot, they carry on their back
The presence of nothing
Ko’oltasel
Umul ye sti’ik, a’ no’ox sk’elojik
yalal ti p’ajele
meltsanbil yu’un jmilvanjetik
ta sa’el mukenal.
Slajesik batel balamil, osil k’ak’al ti jmilvanejtike,
stenik komel yabtejebik li’ ta sba balamil
ta jlikel no’ox ts’akal xa sna’ik nixtok.
Lajik p’ijil jnop kuxlejaletik
net’atik yu’un yabtelik.
Ti sme’nal ok’el me’onetike yakal
xtup’ batel sme’nal svokolik.
Xcha’bioj yabtelik ti jlajesvanejetike
ta yip svokol jsa’ si’etik,
xanavik ta stojol akanik
skuchoj batel ti svokolike.
Heirs of the rain
Grandparents protectors of dreams
Speak with the seeds of memories
That were erased by the storm of civilised ideas
Spirits of hurricane men
Stored on the horizon, return
Rain women and men fertilise the land of their descendants
Thousand-year calendar storing itself away
In the knowledge of elders
The thoughts of the young sparkle,
Watering the heart of the banished history
Ts’umbal o’
Molme’eltik jtusanej lekilal
xchapbik sk’oplal sts’umbalik
ch’ayesbilik te yonton jkaxlantik.
Cha’ sutik talel li jchi’eleltik yich’ojbik xch’ulel yajval o’
sk’ejosbaik batel ono’ox te yutsil malob k’ak’ale .
Ants viniketik ch’ulel o’e stsatsubtas yibilik sts’umbalik.
Poko’ yotolal k’ak’aletik k’ejel komel
te sp’ijil totil me’iletik.
Sbel sjol yo’ton ach’ jch’ieletik
chak’ik te ilel li vokolil ch’ayesbil te o’tonale.
Feature photo by Orsetta Bellani.
resistance words 