Friday, November 14, 2025

presente' - Marina Arteaga


front line defenders


PRESENT' - Luz Marina Arteaga  Heao


"Luz Marina, Your laughter and joy will live on in the paths you blazed for justice."

Luz Marina Arteaga Henao was a doctor, social leader, woman human rights defender and land claimant in the peasant and indigenous process of El Porvenir and Vereda Matarratón in Puerto Gaitán, Meta. Her life choice was the protection of nature, the defense of the rights of peasant and indigenous communities in different regions and the struggle against injustice.

In 1996, she was kidnapped and displaced by paramilitary groups in Urabá, Antioquia, and since then lived in Orocué, Casanare, where she led various initiatives to guarantee access to fundamental rights. Because of her leadership in the land claims process, she received death threats which were brought to the attention of the competent authorities without any protection measures being provided in accordance with her level of risk and her socio-economic situation. She was reported missing on 12 January 2022 and her lifeless body was found on the banks of the Meta River on 17 January of the same year.

09 - Zapatistas commons - ted talk - ontological drift - pt 02

 Absolutely — here’s a performance-ready TED Talk script that focuses specifically on ontological drift — how meaning of the Zapatista common shifts through languages and cultures — framed through a multicultural lens. It’s designed for a 3–4 minute delivery, with pacing, pauses, and emotional beats.


🎙️ TED Talk Script — “Ontological Drift: The Zapatista Commons Across Worlds”

(Spotlight. Minimal stage movement. Calm, deliberate voice.)


You:
Language is not just words.
Language is a way of being.

Today, I want to tell you about a story —
a story that begins in the mountains of Chiapas, Mexico,
with the Zapatistas.

They speak a language called Jach t’aan, Lacandon Maya.
In their language, the “common” — the community —
is not a noun, not a property.
It is u juntéelil winikob
the togetherness of people.

To exist is to exist together.
Resistance is not a tactic; it is k’uxajil — endurance, living through pain with dignity.
Rebellion is not a protest; it is ch’úupulil — emergence, rising like maize from the earth.
And understanding — ethics itself —
is na’atik — knowing with the heart.

(Pause. Step forward slightly.)

Now, imagine translating this world into Spanish.
“U juntéelil winikob” becomes el común.
Suddenly, the verb of being together becomes a noun.
Resistance becomes resistencias, rebellion becomes rebeldías.
The storm — la tormenta — is still there,
but now it’s mostly metaphorical.

The essence of relational being begins to shift.
It is no longer fully experienced; it is partially described.
This is ontological drift — the subtle, unavoidable transformation of meaning when we move ideas across languages and cultures.

(Lower tone, reflective.)

And then we move to English —
to speak to a global audience, to activists, to students, to anyone listening.
The Zapatista common becomes the communal life,
resistance and rebellion become political movements, strategies, causes.
The storm is a crisis, danger, or threat.
Fascism is external, clearly defined.

Here, the relational, regenerative, heart-centered ontology
is largely abstracted.
The story has shifted from lived being
to narrative, to ethics, to action.

(Pause. Let the words resonate.)

But here’s the lesson:
Every time we translate across cultures, we translate not just words,
but worldviews.
Meaning drifts.
Ontology drifts.
What is central in one language — the interdependence of all life —
can become secondary, symbolic, or even invisible in another.

Multiculturalism asks us to notice this drift.
It asks us to hold the tension between what is said
and what is lived.
To honor the depth of one worldview while engaging with another.

(Step forward. Build energy.)

So when we speak of the Zapatistas,
we are not just speaking of politics.
We are witnessing a living ontology:
a relational, heart-centered way of being,
persisting through fire and storm,
translated and transformed,
but still recognizable, still alive.

And maybe — just maybe —
we can learn to carry some of that togetherness, endurance, and emergence
into our own fragmented, multilingual worlds.

(Pause. Slow, deliberate finish.)

The storm is real.
But the commons —
in all its forms —
is what will allow us to endure it.

(Silence. Step back. Let it linger.)