October 2026.
You know, there’s a whole set of sayings or “manuals” that get passed down from generation to generation: For example: the classic “It’s not you, it’s me” during breakups; the “What am I going to do to you if I find it?” and the “Put on your sweater” from moms; the “Aliens took my homework, for heaven’s sake, teacher” from students of all grades.
There’s even an urban legend that these phrases are in a manual that’s secretly distributed among mothers, young people, and children. At some point, all urban dwellers gain access to these manuals and later suffer from what’s called “selective amnesia,” which basically consists of forgetting what doesn’t suit us and remembering only what works in our favor.
But in politics, there are manuals on what to do. There’s even a book—studied by both the left and the right—called *What to Do*. There are also manuals on public speaking, influencing people, image management, how to be popular on social media, and how to hold the presidency of a republic.
To put it simply, manuals are essentially the prehistoric version of tutorials.
Above, below, and within the manuals and tutorials lie the facts. Values and judgments that are unquestionable—they are there and have an impact on everyday life.
These facts are challenged in times of crisis by indefinable (or even indefensible or unmentionable) beings, and sometimes they are also defeated… but only in appearance.
For example, “facts” such as “men are superior to women”; or “heterosexuality is the norm, and anything different is abnormal, sick, despicable, and worthy of persecution”; or “indigenous peoples are culturally backward and eagerly await being rescued by civilization.” Such “facts” are unlikely to be voiced publicly these days. But they continue to have an impact on daily life, in government programs, in party platforms, in editorial policies, in reality shows like the morning press conferences, and on social media.
But in the realm of politics, there are two truths that, like all truths, are natural, normal, and eternal:
One is that injustices are fought from above and, consequently, justice is built from above.
Another is that it is possible to change things from within.
Since that is where the core lies—the Gordian knot of politics—the two approaches are combined: from within and from above, we are told. “We engage in politics to gain power and, from up there, solve all the problems.”
And so all kinds of cover stories are constructed. In the Library of Babel of the nonexistent political sciences, bestsellers are recycled or new ones appear that, in reality, are nothing more than rehashes of the old ones, and a new generation of initiates emerges—new specialists not in explaining reality, but in constructing cover story, each more ridiculous than the last.
This is how Keynes, Marx, Lenin, Trotsky, and Mao disappear and reappear.
It is clear, they tell themselves and tell us, that things can only be changed from above and from within. That is why this must be the goal of all revolutions, mobilizations, and political actions.
This is how political parties, action programs, real change, ideological dogmas, editorials, keynote speeches, and all-expenses-paid trips to whatever paradise is currently in vogue (China is all the rage right now) are built; this is how history is rewritten so that those close to power are the protagonists, rather than those who put their heart and soul into the struggle.
Here we must acknowledge that religion, unlike political doctrines, is the only one that recognizes and explicitly states that its dogmas are dogmas: dogmas of faith, they tell us. Religion is more honest than any ideological proposal.
Politics is not. It disguises its dogmas as scientific analysis—as serious studies, as a multitude of footnotes, as obvious popularity. That is why Artificial Intelligence turns out not to be so intelligent, because it has been created in the image and likeness of the Dominus, the lord, the boss.
Repeat these facts over and over, until you burp, is the motto. That’s why critical thinking is so unpopular when it’s just that—critical.
Because in all the monasteries of realist politics, questioning is heresy and blasphemy. And if there are no wooden crucifixes, it’s because social media serves that purpose—a role in which traditional media now envies social media’s function as prosecutors, judges, and executioners of those who don’t share their views.
I don’t know about now, but in the past it was customary to resort to the “magister dixit” argument. “Magister dixit ergo verum est” would be something like “so said the master, and therefore it is true.”
“Dominus est,” “it is the Lord,” they will clarify. And the “Dominus” has a face and a name: Musk, Trump, AMLO, Salinas de Gortari, Salinas Pliego, Bolsonaro, Putin, Zelensky, Netanyahu, Hamas, the current ayatollah of the prevailing fundamentalism.
Everyone agrees that the only possible world is one built in their own image and likeness. A homogeneous, hierarchical world dominated by a single way of thinking—the one true way of thinking of the Dominus, the Boss, the Big Shot.
It is also evident that this proposal permeates every right-wing position that has ever existed or will ever exist.
What is not evident is how the left has embraced this proposal and envisions its triumph—TRIUMPH in all caps—the storming of the Winter Palace, first place in the polls, unanimous applause, the candidacy, the paid editorial, the popularity rating. That is, success in politics lies in the annihilation of the other, of what is different.
For the left, the goal is to seize power and change everything from within and from the top down. And it is this reality that leads them by the nose to follow and embrace proposals from geographies, timelines, and approaches that are foreign and contrary—even contradictory. Closer to home than elsewhere are, for example, the U.S. Republican Party and the Chinese Communist Party. For the left, the “multipolar” world is just that: a simple or complex balance between rival homogeneities.
But there’s something for every taste and every avant-garde movement. There will certainly be those who see Milei as a prophet of our time, Putin with Lenin’s bald head, Netanyahu as a moral preacher, Trump as a visionary of the new world order; Temu as an example of classy commerce, and the 4T as a real transformation.
But, anyway, I know I’m preaching to the choir, and you might say that these are also examples (though I invite you to question them with critical thinking), but this is relevant—or not, depending on your perspective—because they aren’t the only examples shared by the different shades of the political spectrum.
They also have in common that they treat disappearances, murders, and violence based on gender, timing, skin color, race, and language—as well as wars, injustices, and crimes in general—as ANOMALIES of the system, whatever that system may be.
They all offer to resolve these anomalies and may even discover that these crimes are the norm within a system. Yet they continue to treat them as if they were anomalies—flaws to be corrected. And they promise to remedy that.
But, friends and enemies, the…
Human rights violations.
Enforced Disappearances.
Racism.
Exploitation.
Patriarchy.
Repression.
Gender-based violence.
Discrimination and intolerance.
Dispossession.
… are inherent to the system. They are not a rupture or an unwanted intrusion into the normalcy of the system’s matrix. No, they are its essential part, its foundation.
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However, every so often, something emerges that challenges that evidence, that exposes the powerful, that confronts reality.
Just as the collectives, groups, and organizations are doing now in their search for truth and justice for the missing.
“Las Buscadoras”—that is what we, the Zapatista peoples, call them.
-*-
In disasters, when it seems the nightmare has paused, people often search for life beneath the rubble and ruins. Or rather, they search for signs of life.
As they clear away stones, shattered walls, beams, and rafters, if they believe they’ve found a sign of life, the searchers often raise their fists to ask for silence. The raised fist spreads among onlookers and those waiting their turn to search.
There are no words, but the fist demands silence. It says: “I think I heard something; be quiet so we can listen carefully—perhaps there’s life beneath those stones.” And everyone falls silent. Listening depends on that silence; continuing depends on listening; and a life depends on continuing.
Thus, a solitary, anachronistic, perhaps absurd act becomes a community.
The solitude of the person raising their fist while searching for life amid the rubble of war becomes a community. There are no differences of class, color, race, calendar, manner, or geography.
Silence has become a community that hopes for life when no one else believes in it.
In the current world war—one whose goal is to purge humanity of everything that is different, everything despised for being different, everything discarded for being useless—las Buscadoras are raising their fists. They demand silence and respect for their work, because all they do is search for life.
And that act—the search for life—seemingly futile, solitary, foolish, and unnoticed—does not seek a position, a paycheck, recognition, a trophy, or a front-page headline. No, with shovels, picks, sticks, and their fingernails, they search for those who are missing, those who are absent.
And our response to that effort—the most heroic, humane, and profound of our time—is our embrace.
Because—I don’t know about you—but we, the Zapatista communities, embrace in silence those we admire, respect, and love.
Any honest, humane person should feel the need to embrace the buscadoras.
And not only because their very existence is proof that there are still those who do not give up, do not sell out, and do not back down.
We should do so because, perhaps, beneath that rubble left by misfortune, in the dark, desperately gasping for air and choking on dust, waiting for someone to search for and find us— we are you.
Thank you for listening, buscadoras. Please accept our warm regards until we can give them to you in person.
-*-
P.S.—Ixmukané and the Chauffeurological Community.
Did the very first gods—those who gave birth to the worlds—have a hierarchy? Was there one who was greater, better, or came first? We don’t know. And when we say “Ixmukané is the very first,” we’re not referring to her power, her wisdom, or her age, but to the place she holds in our stories. Ixmukané is the mother, the earth, the ancestor, the first of all that we are. I don’t even remember exactly when she first appeared in the stories that Old Antonio—with tobacco and a campfire by his side—told me, not to teach me how to be, but to teach me to understand the other.
As far as I can recall—and always according to Old Antonio—the earliest gods were not organized hierarchically; pyramids had not yet been invented, for in reality they were devised by the rulers of the day, who, under the guise of honoring the gods, were actually honoring themselves.
Anyway, the point is that, according to Ixmukané, the very first gods were indeed organized—but not by who was more or less important, but rather by who was responsible for what. Of course, some matters—the ones they considered most important—were decided collectively, and, naturally, that led to a bit of a mix-up. When, for example, the birds were created, it’s clear that it was a collective effort, which is why there are so many of them, with such a variety of colors and songs. Of course, the same can be said of plants and other animals.
And of human beings.
Well, one might think that they decided on their creations together, and then one of the goddesses would take charge of—so to speak—giving them shape, color, and form.
But since the earliest gods were, well, the earliest, they had no source from which to learn what was right, what was wrong, what was better, and what was worse. So let’s just say things turned out however they came to mind, in their thoughts, that is.
Anyway, maybe I’ll tell you about that—if the time and place are right—some other time. Right now, what concerns us is what Ixmukané created. According to the agreement reached by the general assembly of the gods, everything had to be created—so to speak—in balance, with its pros and cons. In other words, their good side and their bad side. Thus, no creature is completely good or entirely evil. It fell to Ixmukané to create men and women. As for the others, that was Ixmukané’s own idea because there was no agreement on it. And not because the other gods were against it, but because they couldn’t imagine that anyone could exist who is neither one nor the other.
When the first beings made of corn were created, they told Ixmukané that she must also create evil for them—that is, the contrary, the contradictory. And the thing is, Ixmukané’s trick was to endow men, women, and other beings made of corn with all the virtues that would later be known as “human virtues.”
The assembly of the gods collectively decided that this wasn’t quite right—that there should only be one side. “Because,” the gods said, “suppose a god emerges who is tedious, serious, bitter, and wicked, and only infuses the negative into whatever he creates. One who isn’t like us—who are joyful, fun-loving, dancers, and jokers,” said the first gods. And to reinforce their argument, they broke into a dance that would later be known as “the cumbia of the common.”
“I understand,” said Ixmukané, “we are not creating a single, finished world, but rather the foundation for many worlds in motion. And so we must also include the bad things. So that beings may decide for themselves, knowing the differences.”
“And so that it may be understood that, no matter how bad things may be, no matter how imposing and indestructible something may seem, no matter how normal and indisputable it may appear, there is always the possibility of something else—another world, another way of being, another way of relating.”
But Ixmukané was a wise goddess… and a shrewd one. So she gave those who would populate the worlds something that would allow them, perhaps, to control the bad and exalt the good. That is how Ixmukané planted within men, women, and others… community.
For example:
There is an artistic community.
There’s a Goku community, along with Saint Seiya, Sailor Moon, the Powerpuff Girls, and something called Mazinger Z.
There’s a scientific community.
There’s an Otroa community.
There’s an indigenous community.
There’s a chauffeurological community .
And communities exist because people have something in common—whether it’s their interests, their work, their knowledge, their history, their language, their way of life, their geography, their calendar, or their destiny.
Pain, grief, and suffering also create community.
And the powerful have their own community: the community of profit, the community of war, of destruction, of death.
And every community develops its own way of being, its own organizational structure.
For example, as the chauffeurological community that we are, we’ll give plenty of advance notice of the day and time we’ll be leaving for Mexico City from here at CIDECI.
And we’re going to do this so that our fellow chauffeurologists know we’ll be out there and can take precautions, because there’ll be quite a few buses, and they’re always going to take up space and make a racket on the road.
And what if the brotherhood of chauffeurology gets riled up and orders the community of “lie spreaders” to stop spreading lies and start telling the truth instead?
So, the chauffeurological community will know that we’re going to take care of something we’ve been putting off, and that what we’re taking care of is a hug, and that this hug is for our searching mothers—and SubMoy already said that we’re their daughters and sons—and, of course, it remains to be seen if they’ll accept being our mothers and fathers, because not all of us are pretty girls or handsome guys, which is why we’re going in a big group, because when we’re all together like that, you can’t tell who’s handsome, who’s ugly, who’s pretty, who’s fat, skinny, tall, short, big-nosed, flat-nosed, with straight eyes, crooked eyes, or dog legs.
And I think they’re definitely going to accept us, because all they have to do is figure out how many gifts they’re going to get on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. And they’ll be happy with the gifts we’re already bringing them and that we’re already preparing.
So, if they do accept us, they won’t just get insults—they’ll also get gifts, and who knows, maybe the gift will arrive in one piece, meaning it won’t break along the way, and there’s no need to worry because we’re bringing glue, tape, a needle, and thread to mend it—and just like our hearts, just like our hugs, it’ll arrive in one piece, because every Zapatista who hugs them will be joined by thousands hugging him, her, or them.
In other words, it’s going to be such a tight embrace that the buscadoras will say they’re so tightly embraced they can’t believe it.
And there will be so many hugs that they’ll be enough to fill the void left by their absences, because Truth and Justice will arrive—and if they don’t, well, we’ll have to bring them, even if it means shoving and cursing—curses that are not mint-flavored– because that’s what mothers, fathers, relatives, and friends who are searching for them are here for.
And suddenly the chauffeurologist community understands and pays attention, and not only do they stop swearing, but they honk their horns or blow their trumpets—or whatever they’re called—and we yell at the driver to watch out because here comes a Torton with a scowl on his face, but wait, no, it’s not a scowl, and the driver behind the wheel is waving because there are causes, motives, or reasons that should foster a human community —no matter the corner or the time of year, where one is, or one’s way of life or one’s partial or full affiliation—such as the cause of seeking and finding truth and justice.
And so it will be with the artistic community; the scientific community; the student community; the teaching community; the community of “others”; the community of employees, workers, farmers, Indigenous peoples, street vendors, and cashiers (not ATMs); the children’s community; the youth community; the adult community; the elderly community; and so on.
Because there are causes that aren’t limited to a specific community, and we have irresponsibly left the search for truth and justice solely on the shoulders of those groups, collectives, and organizations—and that isn’t right, because seeking justice and seeking truth is a cause of the human community.
And any honest and reasonably intelligent person understands that. Although, of course, that rules out the political class in its entirety—whether they’re on the right, the left, liberal or conservative, extremists or moderates—because they’re neither honest nor reasonably intelligent.
-*-
Why have we reached a point where a question like “Where are they?” carries so many implications, so many recipients, so many senders, so many ramifications, so many answers—all as absent as the very presences we are demanding?
And, though Ixmukané did not say this, we, the Zapatista peoples, say it: there are many times when hope is born from pain. And the collectives, groups, and organizations of those seeking truth and justice for their missing loved ones have discovered something very important and have helped us regain our faith in humanity.
So, to put it simply, we are going to meet with the women searching for their missing loved ones for something fundamental—and yet, for that very reason, something that has been forgotten: we are going to say “thank you” to them.
In thought, heart, and action: thank you.
Because no one is free from the threat of forced disappearance, of murder with impunity, of unjust imprisonment, of violence that is as commonplace as traffic jams, toothaches, floods, earthquakes, and storm surges.
Because that is the greatest achievement of the system and its civilization: it has managed to turn misfortune into an everyday occurrence.
We, as Zapatista communities, know what that is.
And we, the Zapatista peoples, know that it is possible to break into that cruel and dehumanizing everyday reality, to shatter it, and to find that nothing has ended—but rather that we have barely achieved a beginning; and in that beginning, in that day after, lies the dilemma: whether we repeat old ways and beliefs… or try to build something else.
“The day after,” we Zapatista peoples say, is not an apocalyptic end, but rather the challenge of starting over—either by repeating the same thing or by creating something new.
The day after is an opportunity. We must prepare ourselves not only to survive the catastrophe, but also to build another world—one that is more humane, not perfect, but more complete.
And that other world will be possible, among other things, because of the buscadoras.
For as Ixmukané, the very first of the mothers who search, said: if there is something lost and missing, there is also someone who searches and finds it. And that’s what it’s all about, friends and enemies, searching, always searching… to find and to find one another.
Because if that’s not what the Sixth and the Declaration for Life are all about, then it’s all for nothing, friends.
Thank you, community of buscadoras.
The Captain
October 2026.