A story from Chiapas… now more than halfway through the year.
Once upon a time, not too far from the clouds and not too close to the asphalt, a little school began to rise in a Tzotzil community in the highlands of Chiapas. It wasn’t born from a state decree, but from the will of a handful of families who believed their children deserved to be safe in school— that they deserved more than a curriculum in a language not their own, more than classrooms detached from their lives. So they began to build. Not just walls, but a space rooted in their culture, their language, their dreams. Seven parents, most of whom never had the chance to study for themselves, are now learning to become the teachers their children, and other children, need. They count with seeds instead of textbooks, mold clay instead of buying plastic, speak Tzotzil before Spanish. They are not just building a school—they are reclaiming the right to learn in dignity, together.
Far to the south, closer to the sea and the salt air, a different kind of school takes place—one without blackboards or bells. There, on the coast, a circle of women meets regularly. As an alternative to a public health system that is overcrowded, inefficient, racist, and blind to the reality of the region, these women have decided to organize and train themselves. They are midwives, herbalists, daughters, sisters, caretakers. Their classrooms are with each other. They come to learn about bodies and rights, about herbs and autonomy, about how to take care of their own health and that of their communities. Some bring stories passed down through generations, others bring questions too long silenced. Together, they are building something that isn’t often seen but is deeply felt: a network of care born from dignity and resistance. While hospitals obstruct and mistreat people, these women open paths that heal.
Meanwhile, in the bustle of San Cristóbal, a community space called Sendas opens its doors. Inside, collective shops and a small café, a library and common areas — a space for worlds to mingle and dance, for exchange and education, discussion and co-creation. There are no formal schedules, and yet people show up. Neighbors, students, elders, artists, rebels. They gather for talks, readings, workshops, or just to listen. Someone brings a book; someone else brings bread. They talk about land, language, the weight of history, and the dreams that refuse to die. Sendas isn’t a center—it’s a path. A place where people’s journeys cross and leave sparks behind. In a world that rushes, Sendas slows down. It invites reflection, debate, and the quiet building of collective thought.
Now August is upon us, and the year has already brought more than one storm. Around us, the skies darken: bombs continue to fall in Gaza as the population is forced into starvation, innocents are being detained en masse by masked men on the streets of the U.S., families look for their missing children in Chiapas, Mexico, and borders tighten across the world. The storm is here, and yet, small rays of light keep piercing through. They come from below: from the Zapatistas who keep walking, from Palestinians who refuse to disappear, from migrants who carry whole worlds in a single backpack. From women who heal, from children who learn, from all those who still believe that something better can be built with our own hands.
This is a story of halfway marks and unfinished walls. But it’s also a story of beginnings, of persistence, of community. For all those who, day by day, are working to build a world where all worlds fit—this story belongs to you, too.
Where a new school opens its doors…
Somewhere from a corner of the mountains of the Mexican southeast a whisper across the treetops slips into the river, and flows towards concentrations of people in the cities where it alights again into the air to be uttered in markets and coffee shops and heard above the traffic. The whisper may even seem subconscious, but it is shared, that is, it is common. It rises from the mountains and the subterranean waters across the planet. It is spoken in the spaces of rebellious dignity. It is the breath of life. A wisdom whose voice is often drowned out in the mayhem of the man-made world, it is not lost to those who fight for it to be heard.
In all of our geographies, this is happening. This voice calls to all of us who defend life, who resist the repression of bad governments and the thirst for power and wealth. Because we know there are other ways of constructing our world. Our ideas and projects take on wildly diverse forms and foci. They have to do with hacking and health, bioengineering and education, abolition and decolonization — and so much more. They are about creation in the face of destruction. Life in defiance of the cult of death.
For the first half of August, the Zapatistas once again invite people in struggle from around the globe to share HOW they are building the world that comes after this one — a world where life, dignity, health and justice prevail for generations to come. For like the families of Corralito, or the women of the Coast of Chiapas, we dream, we organize and we overcome. We look forward to reporting back on the event!
