\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” text_text_color=”#020B11″ link_font=”||||on||||” link_text_color=”#020B11″ animation_style=”fade” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” width=”100%” max_width=”100%” custom_margin=”0px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][dsm_card_carousel centered_slides=”on” slide_to_show=”4″ equal_height=”on” dots=”off” slide_to_show_tablet=”4″ slide_to_show_phone=”1″ slide_to_show_last_edited=”on|phone” module_class=”c” _builder_version=”4.22.2″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”0px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||false|false” animation_style=”fade” global_colors_info=”{}”][dsm_card_carousel_child module_class=”img_zoom_onhover” image=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_1.jpg” image_background_height=”500px” image_background_position=”top” image_popup=”on” image_popup_src=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_1.jpg” button_url_new_window=”1″ _builder_version=”4.22.2″ _module_preset=”default” body_text_color=”#F8F9F2″ body_line_height=”1.4em” global_colors_info=”{}”]Two poems by V\u00e1zquez Montalb\u00e1n issued at the Revista de la Universidad de M\u00e9xico<\/em>, August 1979.
\n[\/dsm_card_carousel_child][dsm_card_carousel_child module_class=”img_zoom_onhover” image=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_2.jpg” image_background_height=”500px” image_background_position=”top” image_popup=”on” image_popup_src=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_2.jpg” button_url_new_window=”1″ _builder_version=”4.22.0″ _module_preset=”default” body_text_color=”#F8F9F2″ body_line_height=”1.4em” global_colors_info=”{}”]Announcement of the beginning of V\u00e1zquez Montalb\u00e1n’s collaboration. La Jornada<\/em>, 9 November 1997.
\n[\/dsm_card_carousel_child][dsm_card_carousel_child module_class=”img_zoom_onhover” image=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_3.jpg” image_background_height=”500px” image_background_position=”top” image_popup=”on” image_popup_src=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_3.jpg” button_url_new_window=”1″ _builder_version=”4.22.0″ _module_preset=”default” body_text_color=”#F8F9F2″ body_line_height=”1.4em” global_colors_info=”{}”]News about Vazquez Montalb\u00e1n’s death. La Jornada<\/em>, 19 October 2003.
\n[\/dsm_card_carousel_child][dsm_card_carousel_child module_class=”img_zoom_onhover” image=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_4.jpg” image_background_height=”500px” image_background_position=”top” image_popup=”on” image_popup_src=”https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_4.jpg” button_url_new_window=”1″ _builder_version=”4.22.0″ _module_preset=”default” body_text_color=”#F8F9F2″ body_line_height=”1.4em” global_colors_info=”{}”]Cultural pages dedicated to V\u00e1zquez Montalb\u00e1n on the occasion of his death. La Jornada<\/em>, 19 October 2003.
\n[\/dsm_card_carousel_child][\/dsm_card_carousel][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text admin_label=”seleccio_textos_title” module_class=”seleccio_textos_title” _builder_version=”4.22.1″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_color=”#020B11″ header_2_font_size=”4em” custom_margin=”||-21px||false|false” animation_style=”fade” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
Selection of texts<\/h2>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” background_color=”#020B11″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.21.0″ _module_preset=”default” animation_style=”fade” global_colors_info=”{}”]
\u00ab<\/span>Look what’s happening in Chiapas. [\u2026]<\/span> The killing of indigenous people by para-government butchers has justified the advance of the Army and an operation to harass the Zapatistas, that annoying revolutionary noise that got in the way of the \u201cend of history\u201d message perpetrated by former President Salinas and the United States. Look what’s happening in Chiapas because the ethical meaning of this end of the millennium is being played out there, as a symbolic referent, as an imaginary, if you will, of hope as a secular <\/span>virtue<\/span>.<\/span>\u00bb<\/span> (<\/span>Spanish transcription of<\/span>: <\/span>Manuel V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span>, \u00ab<\/span>Chiapas<\/span><\/a>\u00bb, <\/span>El Pa\u00eds<\/span><\/em>, 12 de <\/span>gener<\/span> del 1998)<\/span><\/p>\n Letter from the insurgent sub-commander<\/span> Marcos <\/span>to<\/span> V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span>, <\/span>D<\/span>e<\/span>c<\/span>e<\/span>mbe<\/span>r<\/span> 1997<\/span>. F<\/span>ont<\/span>: Biblioteca de Catalunya.<\/span><\/p>\n Interview of<\/span> V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span> to<\/span> Marcos. <\/span>La <\/span>Jornada<\/span><\/em>, 16 <\/span>February<\/span> 2006.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div> \u00ab<\/span>What impression does Marcos make on me? He seems to me to be a classmate almost twenty years younger than me and twenty years younger than the residual left from which I am trying to extricate myself as if it were a viscous <\/span>swamp.<\/span>\u00bb<\/span> (Manuel V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span>, <\/span>Marcos: El <\/span>se\u00f1or<\/span> de <\/span>los<\/span> espejos<\/span><\/em>, 1999).<\/span><\/p>\n \u00ab<\/span>In March 2001, V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span> returned to Mexico as one of the many foreign intellectuals who welcomed the arrival in the country’s capital of the March of Indigenous Dignity, carried out by the EZLN. In addition to other events, the writer participated in the Intercultural Meeting, held on 12 March, at the Olympic Village in Mexico City, where he pronounced the following words at the end of his speech: “The Zapatista movement also showed what mirrors are for and what masks are for. The mirrors, to abandon the tricked mirrors, which power had placed to deceive or self-deceive, and reveal the naked reality of social situations as they really were. The masks curiously were <\/span>in order to<\/span> be seen. Until this movement put masks on the indigenous people they were not seen, they were the invisible exploited. When they put on masks, they were seen and, moreover, it helped to reveal that power itself, economic, <\/span>political<\/span> and cultural power, wore its own masks. Faced with all these issues, valuing that we are in the presence of a movement that has given rise to the culture of resistance of the 21st century, I already have an answer to the question asked by the aid workers, to the boys and girls who have come to see up close what Zapatismo means. I have the answer: we foreigners have come to Mexico to <\/span>learn<\/span>.<\/span>\u00bb<\/span> (<\/span>in<\/span> Ram\u00f3n Lopes, <\/span>El <\/span>espejo<\/span> y la <\/span>m\u00e1scara<\/span>. <\/span>Textos<\/span> anexos<\/span> al documental M\u00e9xico Ida y Vuelta<\/span><\/em>, Madrid, <\/span>Ediciones<\/span> Caracol<\/span>, 2004, p. 136).<\/span><\/p>\n \u00ab<\/span>The March of Indigenous Dignity, which departed from San Crist\u00f3bal de las Casas in February 2001, was also attended by Daniel V\u00e1zquez Sall\u00e9s, son of V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span>, as a journalist. In his book <\/span>Recuerdos<\/span> sin <\/span>retorno<\/span> (2013), he recounted some of those moments shared with his father: “I remember the morning of our meeting in a station in Mexico City. I will never erase that smile of yours, followed by a laconic but sufficient phrase: \u201cI see you are well.\u201d I had travelled three thousand kilometres as an unranked member of the “<\/span>zapatour<\/span>,” the mobilisation led by twenty-three commanders of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) and the “<\/span>subcomandante<\/span>” Marcos. And despite the effort not without dangers, in which I include the threats of the paramilitaries, various bites and a very painful revenge of Montezuma, I did not get to surrender to the arms of the Sub, possibly because of the inability to generate in my body the endorphins of idealism. If I ever believed in anything, I no longer <\/span>remember, and I never managed to see Marcos as an ideological beacon. […] When on Sunday we finished the caravan in the town of Zocalo turned into chaos with nonsensical touches, I went to the hotel where you were staying. When I arrived, you were eating with Saramago, Pilar, <\/span>Serrat<\/span>, Candela, Sabina. You invited me to sit at the table, but I was exhausted and fell asleep. At night and on account of our inability to fall asleep, you because of jet lag, me because of the comfort of the bed, we began to talk about the <\/span>trip<\/span> and I remember that I told you with sadness about my experience during the caravan with the Italian communists who had joined the Tutti Bianchi movement. […] The weight that, little by little, modern civil society is gaining germinated again after many years lost in limbo during those four weeks in which we toured Mexico following in the footsteps of <\/span>Subcomandante<\/span>Marcos. Whether we were revolutionary tourists, or revolutionaries, or tourists, or travellers, or assholes, or na\u00efve, or superficial players of a children’s role-play well, that is of relative <\/span>importance.<\/span>\u00bb<\/span><\/p>\n \u00ab<\/span>Don<\/span> V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span> was not our <\/span>friend,<\/span> he was our companion. “Fellow traveller,” he said in one of his writings. \u201cCompanion, that\u2019s all.\u201d we said then and we say now. I don’t know if that’s <\/span>more or less for<\/span> him or for you. For us it’s everything. I think V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span> had a deep respect for the reader. I think he questioned what to write, why and against what, and that he passed on those questions to reading: what is read, why and against what. And I think that, as a writer, he didn’t expropriate the answers from his readers. Contradicting the title of one of his books, he made no pamphlets. On the contrary, he made the word a window, and again and again, in his writings, he took pains to keep it clean and transparent. Apart from neoliberals, the Word usually attracts respect among those who confront them, that is, those who speak and write them, and those who read and listen to them. If someone were to ask me for an example that synthesized humanity’s resistance to neoliberal war, I would say the Word. And I would add that one of its most stubborn, and fortunate, trenches is the book. Although, of course, it is a very different trench because it looks extraordinarily like a bridge. Because whoever writes a book and whoever reads it only crosses a bridge. And crossing bridges is a trope of any anthropology manual that is respected, it is one of the characteristics of the human being. I say goodbye, but I would not like to do so without first declaring that, if someone asked me for a definition of Manuel V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span> I would say that he was, and is, a <\/span>bridge<\/span>.<\/span>\u00bb<\/span> (Fragment from Marcos\u2019s<\/a> letter sent to the tribute to V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span> that took place on 28 November 2004 at the Guadalajara International Book Fair.<\/span>).<\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_5.jpg\")
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\u00ab<\/span>Back <\/span>to reality<\/span> I emerge from my cabin to check that it has rained enough to raise faint vapours from the <\/span>warmed up<\/span> earth and suddenly the vapours dissolve so that a Zapatista captain with his balaclava and two horses that rely on a calm hand and a twilight walk come forward from the most immediate distance. I soon find out that one of the horses is for <\/span>Guiomar<\/span> Rovira, another for me – I have never ridden a horse and the captain notices it – as the horse that looks at me askance, to give me then the status of Indiana Jones, roads uphill, slopes downhill, through the stream, chased for a long stretch by a dog better fed and therefore more daring, who has smelled the sausages. I pull the reins when I\u2019m not supposed to or let go when I <\/span>shouldn’t<\/span> and the captain corrects my ignorance while <\/span>Guiomar<\/span> films and I <\/span>don’t have time to tell him not to. All my time is spent calculating how long it will take for this absurd way of tempting the law of gravity to end, without remembering that I am among people who have defied the law of gravity, as Marcos will comment in a text that is more poetic than theoretical. Suddenly in a clearing of the forest, there\u2019s Marcos with his balaclava and a woman with hers, Mariana, his partner; don\u2019t take photographs or describe her, please. Mariana will watch my shambolic procedure of getting off the horse with the wrong leg, which will mean Marcos has to play the role of groom to the extreme of almost stopping my fall and the masked woman will continue smiling behind her mask upon the delivery of sausages, <\/span>turrones<\/span> and the book with the masked sarcasm and the same sense of humour with which Marcos assumed that he is <\/span>Dr.<\/span> Livingstone and I Stanley<\/span>.<\/span>\u00bb<\/span> (Manuel V\u00e1zquez <\/span>Montalb\u00e1n<\/span>, <\/span>Marcos:<\/span> El <\/span>se\u00f1or<\/span> de <\/span>los<\/span> espejos<\/span><\/em>, 1999).<\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/vazquezmontalban.bnc.cat\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/08\/7-Mexic-i-America-llatina_8.jpg\")
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\u00ab<\/span>