Which image moves you?
That of a child lost in a crowd of adults? That of a girl who does not yet know that she is just a hunting target?
That of a disappeared woman, trapped in the limbo of endless violence, waiting only for her loved ones to look for her because the authorities are only concerned with statistics (the official ones, because the real ones cannot be manipulated)?
That of a mother, with all the pain tattooed on her face, looking for her missing child?
That of the corpses of infants in the rubble of Gaza?
That of the migrant man, woman, other (no matter the gender but the skin color), who discovers that terror does not recognize borders or nationalities, and who has to add to their remittances the sending of fear and despair?
That of the trans person, proud in their sparkling wardrobe, with a puzzled face as they see the red and blue lights of the police approaching?
That of the family of the worker, the employee, the driver, the delivery woman, the bricklayer, the teacher, who cannot have the insurance because the employer’s lawyer “proved” that the accident that cost her life “was not during working hours”?
That of the originary people (Tata Juan Chávez taught us that this is the name given to the one who the one above calls “Indian”, and that there are originary peoples, nations, tribes and neighborhoods) who look puzzled at the one who has the same color of skin but not of heart (now he is an official -which means that he has the color of money)-, who says something to him and hands him papers. And these people do not understand that they are being told that they will be evicted because they are invaders on the land that their fathers and mothers, their grandmothers and grandfathers, their great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers worked, and so on for centuries, but not to worry because with that mine, that solar farm, that tourist complex, that highway, that tourist train, that shopping center, progress and civilization will come and they will finally be able to return to being the peons for a new landowner?
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Which image outrages you?
That of Trump masturbating while watching the news of more and more children murdered in Palestine, and imagines a “big and beautiful” tourist complex built over the corpses?
That of Netanyahu declaring on international television that Iran is attacking civilians with its bombs and should be condemned by the international community?
That of the public prosecutor who looks morbidly at the young girl outraged while he judges, sentences and condemns her “because with those clothes, my girl, you asked for it”?
That of the “transformative” official who, to show that she is committed to just causes, in response to the demand to search for missing women, “gives away” picks and shovels (“hey, but they are charging for them”; “Bah, at that price they are like free”)?
That of the gringo ICE policeman who viciously beats a migrant who tells him, his face bleeding, that he has been in the U.S. since before that agent was born?
The one of the non-binary person, with the broken body covered in urine and blood, while the one with the camera sends his boss the photo and the message “here is the photo of the little faggot they broke”?
The one of the lawyer who argues: “laws are studied in orderto know how to break them… legally, of course”?
That of the preeminent progressive legislator who, in vain pride, manages to condemn the person who posted a tweet (or whatever) saying what everyone knows to be true, but, at the same time, fears, in her imposed humility, that her gringo visa will be cancelled?
That of officials who do not work unless they “oil the machine”, or what is the same thing: “with money dancing the dog”?
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And why do you need these images – if they move and outrage you, of course – to recognize yourself as a human being?
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On the world pyramid, the geography of modernity and progress, its map, then, is a gigantic photo mural.
Above: the retouched images of the different brands of Big Capital. A few of them.
Below: millions of images of the disappeared, the dead and the forgotten. Devastated jungles with machines and stupidity. Rivers and lagoons contaminated with the deadly feces of the mining companies. Native peoples that once were living and today are an “all-inclusive” hotel complex. The marginal colonies. The smoky skies of industrial cities with pieces and gears of flesh and bone. Wars where the usual disposable people die. A clandestine cemetery as the Homeland.
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But perhaps that is not all. Maybe, there, in that corner, below and to the left, there is someone who resists and, resisting, rebels and reveals. Maybe
… “They are the voices, the arms and the decisive feet,
and the perfect faces, and the eyes of fire,
and the tactics of those who hate you today,
to love you tomorrow when the dawn is breaking,
and not a stream of insults, and not a river of fatigue,”
and not a false door to flee on your knees.”
Declaration of Hate. Efrain Huerta (1914-1982).
From the Mountains of the Mexican Southeast
The Captain
July 2025
Original text published in Enlace Zapatista on July 20th, 2025.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.