La Sagrada Paz—Chiapas 1994 August 17, 2021
It is worth noting that the old cannons which circle the gigantic government edifice all face the building.
Like other colonial cities, San Cristóbal’s central plaza is bordered on one side by its Catholic Cathedral and on the adjacent side by its principal government building. Today the building serves as a museum but has been walled off for repairs since the 2017 quake, and it remains closed indefinitely. Thirty years ago, however, this off-white Romanesque palace was the seat of Mexican power in Ciudad Real. So when the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) decided to declare war on the sovereign State of Mexico, on the First of January, 1994, it was important that the guerrillas, or guerrilleros, take this building first. It was a symbol.
When the giant globe fell on Time Square, the North American Free Trade Agreement went into effect. Most Americans could not have cared less. Meanwhile, on the southern frontera of Mexico, six-hundred masked rebels from the indigenous Zapatista Army marked the treaty-date by entering the SC municipal building and barricading the place with office furniture. During the takeover, they demolished as many land records as they could find, spray-painted graffiti throughout, liberated the pharmacies of their medicines, and awaited further orders from their ideological leader, a black-masked stranger who called himself Subcomandante Marcos.
Tzotzil, Tzeltal, Tojolab’al, and Ch’ol—these four groups, each with their own languages—constituted the indigenous force that occupied, if only briefly, San Cristóbal de las Casas on New Year’s Day, a mission that included the release of more than 200 prisoners from jails. Civil and police authorities were taken by surprise and did not resist. The startled Mestizo residents of San Cristóbal would have to wait for the army to arrive, which it did only a few hours later. By then, however, the EZLN rebels had withdrawn from the city and disappeared into the hills.
Later in the day, an official declaration of war was released to the press by Marcos, whose poetic hutzpah stunned the Mexican government and captivated Mexicans everywhere. It was simultaneously translated for the world. The statement was addressed to the “People of Mexico” and to the “Peoples and Governments of the World,” and its preamble set the tone:
“Brothers and sisters, the flower of the word will not die. The face of the one who names it today may die, but the word that came from the bottom of history and the earth will no longer be able to be torn away by the pride of power.”
Whereas San Cristóbal avoided an armed confrontation on January 1st, other smaller cities, like Altamirano and Ocosingo, were not so fortunate. Heated street battles between rebels and police ensued over the next week, killing untold hundreds. But the EZLN was simply no match for the Mexican Army, and within days the guerrilleros were forced to make a final retreat into the frontier lowlands of the Lacandon Jungle. On the 12th, a cease fire was arranged.
It would seem that Mexico had succeeded in quelling the insurrection. PRI had won with its excessive firepower and could effectively continue what it began with the 1968 “Dirty War” against its own citizens.
And yet, this is not what happened. The Zapatistas eventually won, as their demands for sovereignty and self-determination were met through negotiated settlement in 1996. How did little David defeat Goliath? What did he have in his sling?
The world was watching. Reporters from the Americas and Europe were on the ground in Chiapas, as were political activists and diplomatic referees. EZLN’s claim was that a member nation of the UN was committing genocide on a native people, and by the 1990’s such a plight resonated internationally. The French played a particularly involved role in defending the Zapatistas, to the indignation of Mexicans who thought they stopped taking orders from France in 1867. Regardless, this outside pressure, combined with surging internal dissent, meant that PRI would have to cut a deal. Thus, a rebellion became legend.
“From our root, we are the men and women of the corn, EZLN,” reads the T-shirt art for sale at La Sagrada Paz en Guadalupe Real, in the heart of the tourist zone, between a trendy Chocolatería and a wine bar. The Sacred Peace Shop specializes in the EZLN brand so coveted by visitors—mugs, posters, handbags, berets, ski-masks—adorned with the slogans of the Zapatistas:
—Sin Mujer No Hay Revolución—
—Nuestra lucha es por la Vida—
—Desde nuestra raíz, somos los hombres y mujeres del maíz, EZLN—
And, blazed across T-shirts and the imaginations of his many admirers, there are the incendiary word-flowers of the faceless provocateur himself, Subcomandante Marcos:
“Al Pueblo de Mexico:
A los pueblos y gobiernos del mundo:
Hermanos:
No morirá la Flor de la Palabra. Podrá morir el rostro de quien la nombra hoy, pero la palabra que vino desde el fondo de la historia y de la tierra ya no podrá ser arrancada por la soberbia del poder.”