In the second half, Marcos becomes a storyteller. Don’t get me wrong, he was one before, but the tone turns more conversational for a while and we hear a metaphorical laughter through stories like his tales of sleepless solitude. It’s an interesting change, and I liked getting to hear more personal details about Marcos. Did it also shatter my heart? Completely.
In the letter to Eduardo Galeano, Marcos writes about his time on Children’s Day, and how the children chose to spend their time in the midst of all of the conflict. It makes you empathize with Marcos in a completely new way (as if I didn’t already). Maybe I’m just not immune to propaganda, but it’s truly deeply touching.
In portions 47 and 48, he is vulnerable, his personal information and experience with death spread out on a table. For me, this book becomes something that only further cements, in a scripted way, Marcos’ legacy as an essential character in the rebellion.
I think that the storytelling is such an interesting turn for him to make, mostly because they are written as they were most likely told to children, and so much humanity and personality is read through it.
It genuinely hurts my heart. Does this become no longer a conversation of Indigenous voice, but instead of Marcos’ personal life? For me, I’m finding it hard to bring my head out of the specificity of his stories and life back to our general class discussion. This is, weirdly, the first book that has done so. Interesting, because Marcos, in his anaphora and his references to the Popol Vuh, is trying to always bring the reader back to the main idea. He talks of his own life, and he turns to his audience and he says we don’t have to choose this. The government is lying when they say we have to live in this pain.
I think that the format of this book—that is, that it isn’t completely chronological—contributes to this mountain of heartbreak that I’m feeling. He talks of his hike up a steep hill, stars rejuvenating him. This is in 1999, but later comes the story of the interrogation of Subcomandante Marcos, though it is from 1995, it hurts all the more to know that “since having been born, he has conspired against the shadows that darken the Mexican sky” (p. 233). In complete truth, it’s a brilliantly written and arranged piece, and I’m really appreciating that we got to read it.
I totally agree with your thoughts on the storytelling approach taken by Marcos! I have seen it in other people’s blog post including my own and I think we ca all agree that it adds layers of complexity and richness to the narrative, inviting us to engage with the text on a deeply personal level.
Also, the book’s portrayal in a non-linear fashion I think helps bring on the emotional weight, juxtaposing moments of inspiration and hope with instances of pain and struggle (e.g your urge and honestly mine to sue this man). This arrangement serves to underscore the cyclical nature of history and the enduring resilience of those who resist oppression. I love your appreciation of the intricacies of the text! I would say it it speaks to the depth of its impact and the importance of narratives in shaping our understanding of social and political realities.
You talk about finding it difficult to move from Marcos’ increasingly more personal stories to the more general discussions we have in class, and I felt some of that too. Surely, some of it comes from Marcos developing his own voice throughout the second part of the book. I felt a sort of connection to this person who nobody even knows. Perhaps it is the revelation that behind the mask is just another vulnerable human trying their best to hold it together. Maybe its those stories about children’s day, where we see he isn’t a man with all the answers. That being said, Marcos is no moron, and his use of children in his stories is a propagandsitic tool as old as time itself, and one we see today. Accuse the enemy of not caring about children, and if you don’t side with the cause, then you’re a monster too for not caring about the children. Any time I see this sort of rhetorical move in a work, I find myself asking why? has the movement lost some steam, are people tired of hearing the same news over-and-over again? Although speaking largely metaphorically in this part of the work, we see Marcos become Marcos, a more developed and intricate personality.