I don't know why they say that Mexico has changed, that now nothing is the same, that a new democratic era has begun for the country. I don't know about there, but here everything is the same. The PRI perjures itself and swears (after the disgraceful fraud) that it won fairly. Ranchers and businessmen join in, saying that they "respect the will of the people" - in other words they are saying that they only respect their own will. The Catholic Church is an accomplice (to the fraud). The indigenous peasants know that the PRI didn't win fairly. They aren't going to endure another PRI governor. They know that a traitor to his own blood can't be allowed to govern.
Little by little the Chiapaneco world is beginning to divide. The wind from above assumes its old forms of arrogance and haughtiness. The police and the Federal Army close ranks around money and corruption. The wind from below once again travels the ravines and valleys; it is beginning to blow strongly. There will be a storm...
We are in the same situation that existed in December of 1993; the country is living in a euphoria of high economic indicators, political stability, promises of better times for ordinary citizens, and promises of continued stability for powerful citizens. In Chiapas there is a PRI government that is said to have "popular support." The country is calm. Everyone is calm...and then the first hour of January First...Enough already! No? OK. I wish you health and hope you have a little understanding for what's coming.
>From the mountains of Southeastern Mexico.
Insurgent Subcomandante Marcos
P.S. - Ana Maria tells me that "the water is rising in the mountain streams." I look worriedly at the greyness that is stretched across the horizon. She adds, "If it doesn't stop raining, those streams are going to run as they never have before." She goes off to check the guards. "As they never have before," I mutter. I light my pipe. The elder Antonio approaches me and asks for a light for his cigarette. I shelter the lighter's flame with my hands. I can just see, in that brief light, that Antonio is crying. Ana Maria returns. She comes to attention and reports. Then she asks, "The troops are ready. What are we going to do?" I look once again at the greyness that is spreading across the sky and dominating the night. I answer her with a sigh, "We wait. We wait..."
P.S - One of the mysteries of Ezeelen is uncovered. A lively and violent wind, sweet and bitter, blows a paper to the feet of an indigenous peasant. On the paper one can read: "Declaration of Principles of the EZLN"
"A certain dose of tenderness is necessary in order to walk when there is so much against you in order to awaken when you're so exhausted. A certain dose of tenderness is necessary in order to see, in this darkness, a small ray of light in order to make order from shame and obligations. A certain dose of tenderness is necessary in order to get rid of all of the sons of bitches that exist. But sometimes a certain dose of tenderness is not enough and it's necessary to add...a certain dose of bullets."