The absence of memory
Eduardo Galeano
Chicago is full of factories. There are factories in the center of the city, around the world’s highest building. Chicago is full of factories, Chicago is full of workers.
When I get to the neighborhood district, I ask my friends to show me the place where they were hanged, in 1886, those workers that the whole world greets every first of may.
– it must be over here. – they tell me. But no one knows.
No Statue has been erected in memory of the Chicago martyrs in the city of Chicago.
No Statue, no monolith, No Bronze Plate, no nothing.
The first of may is the only truly universal day of all humanity, the only day where all the stories and all the geographies, all the languages and religions and cultures of the world coincide; but in the United States, the first of may It’s an ordinary day.
That day people work normally, and no one, or almost noone, remembers that the rights of the working class have not sprouted from the ear of a goat, or the hand of God or the master.
After the useless exploration of Heymarket, my friends took me to see the best bookstore in the city. And there, out of sheer curiosity, by sheer chance, I discovered an old sign that’s like waiting for me, in between many other film and rock music posters.
The Poster reproduces an African Proverb: until the lions have their own historians, the hunting stories will continue to glorifying the hunter.
Happy workers’ day. Happy first of may for all
A history of the events referred to by Galeano can be found here
