Part
VI of The Mexican Transition
By Subcomandante
Marcos
The Narco News Bulletin
"The
Name of Our Country is América"
--
Simón Bolívar
A Play
in Two Acts
On the
Political Class that Does Not End
ZAPATISTA ARMY
OF NATIONAL LIBERATION, MEXICO. November 2000.
TO THE NATIONAL
AND INTERNATIONAL PRESS:
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Here, once again.
A letter for he who is already going (fortunately) and an invitation
for you to attend a press conference. We will do everything including
the impossible to not stick to the scheduled hour.
Vale. Good health
and no, you don't have to worry, because Martha Sahagún
will not be here.
From the Mountains
of the Mexican Southeast,
Subcomandante
Insurgente Marcos.
México, Noviembre del 2000.
(¡The
Last Hours of Zedillo!)
¡Yepa!
¡Yepa! ¡Yepa!
¡Andale! ¡Andale! ¡Andale!
¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!
A Play
in Two Acts by El Sup Marcos
(The following
translation of the postscript is dedicated by Narco News
to Judith Malina and Hannon Reznikoff of The Living Theater)
P.S. SCRIPT
(¡ha!) THAT SAYS WHAT IT SAYS.
Act
One
Players: The political class,
the host, the headline, the public.
Place: Mexico.
Date: Before the July 2nd 2000
elections.
(The curtain
rises. On the stage are a television and a radio hidden and at
full volume. The backdrop is the headline of a national newspaper.
The audio in the TV and radio are the same: commercial jingles.
The newspaper headlines change according to the script.)
The Political
Class: We
are in the media, thus, we exist. Now we must confront our greatness
with the most difficult test in the supreme art of governing:
the ratings. Call the image consultants! (clap your hands)
The Headline: THE FIP IS CREATED,
THE FEDERAL INSTITUTE OF POLLING. The bother of going to the
polls will be eliminated, says the subhed.
The Consultant
(entering
stage right): Here I am. (Speaking to the public.) Modern political science
doesn't just consist in discovering what product will have better
acceptance in the market, but, and this I have proven scientifically,
it consists in converting anything that exists into something
that subjects itself as much as possible to that product (He
takes from his briefcase a complete makeup kit). (He begins to
paint the face of the political class).
The headline: Cybernetic Vote Buying
is a Democratic Advance: Ernesto Zedillo.
The Political
Class (sneezing): Hatchoo! I think I'm allergic to this
dust. What is it?
The Consultant
(offering
a hankerchief): Bless you! It is the
last gasp of a style. It is democratizing dust.
The Political
Class (sighing
in resignation): Okay, it will all be
put to use.
The Headline: PRICES OF CANDIDATES
GO DOWN!
Host (entering stage left): Hurry up! Faster! The sponsors are upset!
We have to tape the program.
Consultant: The sponsors? I thought
that the unhappy ones were the spectators…
Host: No, no no. The rhythm
of politics is not marked with watches or calendars, but with
programming hours. Hurry up! We have little time between the
commercial breaks.
The Political
Class (looking
at itself in a mirror that the consultant is holding): Okay, how do I look?
The Consultant
(smiling
with satisfaction):
Magnificent! You are unrecognizable...
The Political
Class (speaking
for itself):
Brief commercials!
In the good old days there weren't any that were shorter than
those produced by the happy sound of the slogans like "It's
Seen! It's Felt! The PRI is Omipotent!"
(The consultant
steps to the side).
Host: Lights! Cameras! Action!
Host (speaking to the public): Welcome to our program, "The Able
Truth!" Today we have as our special guest, The Political
Class! (strong applause is heard, the public is immobilized,
the audience silent, but an audiotape avoids the heavy task of
clapping hands).
The Political
Class (to
the host): Is my tie straight?
Host: Tell us, Political Class,
excuse me... can I ask you something?
The Political
Class (suffering
a cavity that looks like a smile): Of course.
Host: Good, tell us, what
can be hoped from the coming electoral process?
(The political
class moves its lips but no sound emerges.)
Host: Very interesting! Almost
as interesting as these messages from our sponsors.
The Political
Class: Are
we off the air?
Host: Yes. It went perfectly.
Now we will wait for the consultant, who, after conducting his
market studies, will send us the audiotape with your response.
The Political
Class: Then,
can I leave now?
Host: Yes.
(The Political
Class leaves. Someone comes close and turns off the radio and
the TV. The headlines fade out. The curtain falls. The audience
yawns. An audiotape blasts a strong applause.)
Act
Two
Players: The Political Class,
Mrs. X, Youth Y and Mr. Z
Place: Mexico, July 2nd, 2000.
(The curtain
rises. The stage is a lonely street)
The Political
Class (speaking
for itself): We see faces, but we
don't know how they are voting.
Mrs. X: No.
Youth Y: No.
Mr. Z: No.
The Political
Class (speaking
to the public): We see faces, but we
don't know how they are voting.
The Public (breaking onto the stage,
scandalizing everyone): NO!
This work of
theater is a problem. Those who direct are forced to convince
the viewer that it is already over. The public not only abandons
the seats but begins to jump onto the stage. The director and
the actors scratch their heads. It's already not possible to
know where the stage will be and where the script will go. Soon,
without apparently having made an agreement, and with a hard
look on their faces, everyone in the public shouts: "Third Call! Third
Call! Third! Let's Begin!"
Does the Curtain
Fall?
What? You didn't
like it? The Sea liked it, at least she laughed. What? Dario
Fo, Carballido, Burrola, Savariego and Leñero are going
to scold me? They will do it. They scolded Einstein for his personal
hygiene (or was it for his math?)
El Sup, in the Ticket Booth
The
Mexican Transition: Immediate History
"Third Call!
Let's Begin!"