Por Comandanta Ramona


It’s foggy when the sun first hits the horizon. Like smoke rising from the milpa it bears itself over the Chiapan highlands. I sit motionless on a crowded second class bus from Palenque.  Eyes peeled out the window in disbelief. There’s a road blockade, I’m in Zapatista country and I could burst with excitement. Continue reading “Por Comandanta Ramona”

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