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| Revolution Poster - civil war - English |
Regeneration Number 4, September 24, 1910
revolutionaries are not going after a dream: we pursue the truth. The people no longer take up arms to impose a god or a religion, the gods are rotting in the sacred books, religions is dissolved in the shadows of indifference. The Koran, the Vedas, the Bible, no longer shines: in its leaves yellow sad dying gods like the sun in the winter twilight.
We
to life, heaven Yesterday was the target of the people: now is the land. There are no hands who draw the spears of the crusaders. The scimitar of Allah lies in museum cabinets. The hordes of the god of Israel are atheist. The dust of the breath fades dogmas of years.
peoples and do not rebel because they prefer to worship a god over another. The great social upheavals that had their genesis in religion, have been petrified in history. The French Revolution won the right to think, but not conquered the right to live, and make this right is available to men aware of all countries and all races.
Everyone has the right to live, say the thinkers, and this doctrine, human has touched the hearts of the soil like a beneficent dew. Live, man, does not mean vegetation. To live means to be free and happy. So we have all the right to freedom and to happiness.
social inequality theory died in the dead of metaphysical rebellion of thought. Must die in practice. To this end efforts routed all free men of the earth. That is why revolutionaries we will not pursue a chimera. Do not fight for abstractions but by materiality. We want land for everyone, for all bread. Since necessarily have to be bloodshed, that the gains obtained benefit all and not a particular social caste.
why we hear the crowd, which is why our voice reaches the masses and shakes and wakes up and, poor as we are able to raise a village.
We are the rabble, rabble peto not faded of the Pharaohs and suffering, or the rabble of the Caesars abject and servile, or the common people who clap your hands to the passage of Porfirio Díaz. We are the rebellious populace to the yoke, we are the rabble of Spartacus, the mob that proclaims Münzer equality, Camille Desmoulins mob that crushes the Bastille, the mob that burns Granaditas Hidalgo, we are the mob that holds the Reforma Juárez.
We are the rabble who awakens amid the revelry of the sick and cast to the four winds like thunder is formidable sentence: we are all entitled to be free and happy! And the people who no longer expected to fall to a Sinai the word of God recorded in tables, we listen. Beneath the coarse fabrics will ignite the hearts of the faithful. In pens where the dogs black and rot that make the happiness of those above, comes a ray of hope. In the grooves meditates the pawn. In the belly the mining land repeats the phrase to his fellow chain. Everywhere you hear the panting breath of those about to rebel. In the darkness a thousand hands caress the weapon nerve and a thousand breasts centuries considered impatient days until you hear the men shout: rebellion!.
Fear breasts flee: just keep it vile. Fear is a heavy burden to shed the brave men who are ashamed of being beasts of burden. Packages forced to stoop, and the brave want to walk upright. If you have to bear some weight, which is a decent weight of the Titans, that is the weight of the world or a world of responsibilities.
Submission! is the cry of the vile, rebellion! is the cry of men. Lucifer, a rebel, is, more worthy than the henchman Gabriel, submissive. Blessed are the hearts where the protest takes root. Indiscipline and rebellion! beautiful flowers that have not been properly cultivated.
The timid pale with fear and men "serious" are shocked to hear our words, the timid and men "serious" morning, applaud. The statues stand today the men of genius, were pursued yesterday, loaded or threw chains at the stake. The Galileo who tortured and demanded retraction, today glorify him, those who burned Giordano Bruno alive today admire him, the hands that pulled the rope that hanged John Brown, the selfless champion of blacks, were the same who later broke the chains of slavery and the Civil War, those who yesterday condemned, excommunicated Hidalgo, today revere him, his hands trembling hemlock leading to the lips of Socrates, writing today that Titan tearful apologies thought.
Every man - said Carlos Malato-is both the reactionary and the revolutionary another man from another well. To the reactionaries - men "serious," Today, we-revolutionaries para los revolucionarios de mañana nuestros actos habrán sido de hombres "serios." Las ideas de la humanidad varían siempre en el sentido del progreso, y es absurdo pretender que sean inmutables como las figuras de las plantas y los animales impresas en las capas geológicas.
Pero si los timoratos y los hombres "serlos" palidecen de miedo y se escandalizan con nuestra doctrina, la gleba se alienta. Los rostros que la miseria y el dolor han hecho feos, se transfiguran; por las mejillas tostadas ya no corren lágrimas; se humanizan las caras, todavía mejor, se divinizan, animadas por el fuego sagrado de la rebelión. ¿Qué escultor ha esculpido jamás un héroe feo? ¿Qué painter has left on the canvas the deformed figure of a hero? There is a mysterious light that surrounds the heroes and makes them dazzling. Hidalgo, Juarez, Morelos, Zaragoza dazzle like the sun. The Greeks placed their heroes among the demigods.
Let toward life that is encouraged by the soil, why the giant has awakened and is therefore not the brave retreat. Since its built on the rocks Olympus ce Chapultepec, a zarzuela Jupiter puts a price on the heads of the fighting, his old hands have signed statements of cannibals, his gray hair bristling dishonored, as the hairs of a wolf attack of rage. Disgrace of old, this old evil clings to life with the desperation of a drowning. Has killed thousands of men and is grappling with death to keep theirs.
No matter, the revolutionaries going forward. The gap does not stop us: the water is beautiful tumbling.
if we die, we die like the sun bouncing light.
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