Archive | November 23, 2009

From underground, Diego Ríos’ third communiqué

A translation of Diego Ríos’ first communiqué can be found on page 22 of 325 #7. Our translation of his second communiqué is here.

From Hommodolars Contrainformación:

November 21, 2009

The following communiqué was sent to our e-mail address, and it comes from comrade Diego Ríos, who is making his presence known in order to mark the International Week of Agitation and Pressure in Solidarity with Comrades Captured by the Chilean State (not an anarchist summit, like those idiots are saying over there).

I do not know prison; I have never been in one, and I just cannot imagine the smell of the air there, or the unbearable walks through its corridors, or much less the loneliness of its cells. Today—on the open road, in secret, leaving no trace—I can enjoy the wind, the night, the rain (which is always a good reason to hide my face), the company of a stray dog, the knowledge that I am far away from the swine who are paid to hunt me. Today I run far from the city, but it is not only the generous oxygen from the trees that swells my chest, it is also the pride of knowing that I have more brothers and sisters than I can possibly be aware of. But knowing that they are there does not matter; their actions speak to me, they are their actions.

My footsteps no longer have the certainty of a fixed destination, but they are still heading toward the destruction of power, so they have become quicker and more unpredictable; I am carrying all my hatred and contempt for its laws, its authority, its society, and I have no room for guilt or fear of punishment. I have also thrown away the naive idea that freedom is the place that exists outside the prison walls. For me, freedom is neither place nor permission; it is action, it is the antiauthoritarian meaning that fills each act, it is the nervousness that precedes attack, it is the uncontrollable regard for a comrade, it is feeling alive because you know that your life no longer belongs to capital, but confronts it.

The destination to which the road I now travel leads me no longer matters; there I will find free and wild individuals with whom to attempt revolt, with whom to sharpen solidarity, with whom to support the unbreakable will to blow up the existing order, to destroy every jail and every cell. I do not need to enter a prison in order to feel the anguish of seclusion in my own skin, so I hope that each one of these words arrives loaded with all the force and affection with which they are written, to each one of the comrades captured by the state and by capital, anywhere in the world. Also know that many of us continue to fight the monster that holds your bodies, that we are defending you from oblivion, that no walls will be able to isolate you from all the warmth that we are sending your way—no matter how high or how thick, we will find something to burn.

I and many other comrades living the insurrectional life know that each act/action brings consequences—favorable or unfavorable, successes or mistakes—and we assume responsibility because we take pride in being as consistent as possible. For that reason, I accept and learn from my errors, and I look to share and multiply my experiences of attack, no matter that they look to terrorize us with their prisons and with the FBI after us; we will not be silenced, we will remain concerned and engaged so that our captured brothers and sisters can be with us, so that their struggle can spread and be known, so that we can keep sharing all our affection with them. We do not forget, and we live to urgently wield solidarity against this society of submission and apathy.

Each word of this communiqué looks to destroy the silence that attempts to isolate our captured brothers and sisters; behind the words are lives that insist on doing the same, with something more than words. For each prisoner—for Axel, Cristian, Matías, Pablo, Flora, Marco, Gabriel—for all those who do not submit and who remain ready to go to war: In every life and in every action, you are also alive and present; you, whose lives exceeded the limits of this world, all of you who died confronting power, we do not forget you, including Matías and Jaime, whose murderers did not even have the slightest courage to shoot face-to-face. I also especially want to remember Johnny Cariqueo and Mauri the punk, with whom I was fortunate to know the happiness of exchanging a few words and gestures, and today I have the pleasure of making sure that their lives continue to confront power. Thank you for teaching us that, against power, the only lost battle is the one not fought.

– Diego Ríos

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