“Well, one less obstacle on the intricate road to happiness,” the captain remarked.
I know, this beginning may seem puzzling to you, so let me put it “in context” for you. We are back in the hypothetical situation of the day after in a native community that did see the storm coming and was prepared. There, the matter at hand started like this:
The captain, applying his “divide, confront and you’re in trouble” method, had organized squads of stationary bicycles with dynamos each. Well, they are not really stationary bicycles, they are mechanical with an ingenious wooden structure that allows the rear wheel to roll in the air. Thus, the only resistance to its rolling is the one presented by the power generator, which is conducted by a jumble of wires, connected in parallel, which land in a battery.
The captain called the compañeras together and told them: “Let’s talk like the women we are. We know very well that the fucking men make fun of us, that we have no strength, that we are too fat or too skinny. So they have issued us a challenge. They say we can’t generate enough energy to recharge a 12-volt battery in one hour of pedaling. I, as their self-styled representative, welcomed the challenge and upped the ante: we can charge 2 batteries. They laughed, as the damn men that they are. So we have this problem of whether we’re going to let them mock us as the women we are. Or whether we’re going to vanquish them, humiliate them, beat them, shake them, throw them and dance the Cumbia del Sapito on top of their miserable corpses.”
Contrary to the captain’s expectations, the fiery speech did not produce the expected incendiary result. Some yawned, others continued to embroider. Of course, all of them without stopping pedaling.
When the women’s turn was over, the captain went to where the men were gossiping and said to them: “Brothers in the misfortune of being dominated by females. The damned women have thrown us a challenge with all their hairpins. They say that we can’t even last 3 minutes and that we won’t be able to recharge two 12-volt batteries by pedaling. I understand and share your bewilderment and indignation. In addition to forcing us to cook and wash clothes, the wicked women with hairpins want to question and humiliate our manhood. I believe, and you will agree with me, that we cannot but honor the patriarchal system that has shaped us with hard work and perseverance for centuries, and we have to respond to the challenge with gallantry and grace.”
Contrary to what one might think, the speech, packed with testosterone, did not manage to interrupt the chatter that dominated the male squad that pedaled with reluctance. However, they continued to embroider with skill and enthusiasm.
The captain was calculating that, with 4 batteries at full charge, he could power at least 2 speakers for a batch of cumbias, when they arrived… loas otroas.
The otroas, honoring their natural rebelliousness, are contrary. That is to say that, as they say, they go against the grain. That is why they do not identify themselves as males or females, thus defying the biological, anatomical, ideological, religious, political and logical laws that the heteropatriarchal system has managed to erect for centuries. Making a noise, they complained to the captain that they were excluded from the battle of the sexes, and, in passing, demanded an explanation of the term or nomination of “otroas”.
The captain gazed serenely (which is how the capi describes panic and terror when they take possession of his beautiful and well-formed body) at the contingent, lit his pipe with a trembling hand, and began, not without an initial stutter, to explain:
“Look, let me explain the origin of the word. Zapatismo is very other, as it is in itself. And, thanks to the first gods, those who created the world, it has not lost its capacity for astonishment. When, in the early days of our public appearance, we contemplated with surprise that the world was bigger than we imagined, and that it contained in its essence many worlds. We found that we were in tune with others who, like us, were despised, humiliated, persecuted, violated, imprisoned, disappeared and murdered because of who they were. In addition to women in general, we found ourselves in agreement with the differences. At that time, we also began to address gays and lesbians. But then it turned out that there were more differences: transgender, transsexual, transvestite, intersex, bisexual, queer, asexual, bi, poly, and so on. So those we wanted to address were more than we thought. The world was not only populated by these “minority” differences, they were also attacked by the system. And the problem is not the use of toilets, but the violence they suffer. As if the hegemonic zeal intended to homogenize the whole of humanity, turning difference into a crime and persecuting it in order to extinguish it. The point is that, as the Zapatista peoples that we are, we realized that there would always be differences and that everyone would name them as they pleased. As the differences are more than our limited knowledge, we decided to use the term “otroa” not to designate an identity, but to emphasize the differences (and our ignorance to name them). It is our way of saying “etcetera”, but not to exclude or minimize, but to be always open to the presence of new differences that, logically, may not be so new. In short: “otroas” names all the existing differences and those that will exist, or that already exist and are not named.”
When he finished his explanation, if you can call such spun incoherence, the captain realized that no one was listening. The others had taken the bicycles by storm and were pedaling with such an admirable rhythm and speed that they would be the envy of males and females alike. The captain, instead of being discouraged by his failure as a speaker, did the math and concluded that, with otroas, there would be energy for up to 2 or 3 more batches of cumbias, since it was to be expected that the otroas would live up to their difference and surpass both men and women.
When their turn was over, the captain curiously asked a group of other women if, besides loving and caring for each other, they also fought, argued and scolded each other when they interacted with each other. They answered yes, of course, of course, that was to be expected, but the captain was asked to specify what he was referring to.
The captain took up the axiom expressed by the late Supmarcos -may God rest his soul and may the Blessed Virgin shower him with blessings-, which states: “the origin of lovelessness is in those who have control of the television. Traumatic separations, divorces, endless hatreds and world wars have their origin in the possession of that infernal device. And, well, the way you squeeze the toothpaste tube.” The captain, who tended to be more laconic than the deceased, summed it up as follows: “The history of mankind, that is, unwritten history, is the history of the struggle for control of television.”
One sentenced with annoyance: “there are no more televisions,” to which the captain responded with the phrase with which this text begins.
-*-
At the next dance-encounter (always the day after), everyone, everyone and, of course, everyone, flooded the floor with movement, muddy with the recent rain. Meanwhile, the more discreet couples sought to move away into the darkness because dancing, like love and friendship, usually has a light of its own. The batteries lasted a long time, although not as long as the day before the storm, when the dances began at 2000, southeastern time, and ended when the sun finally pulled back the sheet of mist and the sound system played: “There is hot coffee and marquesote de pinole in the dining room ‘Uca, Uca, whoever finds it gets it for free. Free admission.”
In the field, a group of contreras continued dancing the “cumbia del común.” The parts of the whole illuminated the half-light. As if the stars, bored of their distant distance, were coming down to earth and nibbling at the day after.
From the Bike Power Squadron.
The Captain testing to see what happens if, instead of in parallel, he connects the wires in series… oh, oh… quick, a fire extinguisher!
November 2024.
Original text published at Enlace Zapatista on November 30th, 2024.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.