41
" In her palace at Alexandria, Cleopatra begins her final night. The last of the pharaohs, who was not as beautiful as they say, who was a better queen than they say, who spoke several languages and understood economics and other male mysteries, who astonished Rome, who challenged Rome, who shared bed and power with Julius Caesar and Mark Anthony, now dresses in her most outlandish outfit and slowly sits down on her throne, while the Roman troops advance against her. Julius Caesar is dead, Mark Anthony is dead. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
42
" If poor, young, and nonwhite, the intruder from outside is deemed guilty at first sight, guilty of indigence, of chaos, of carrying the unconcealed weapon of his skin. If neither poor nor young nor dark, a nasty welcome is justified in any case, since he or she has come prepared to work twice as hard for half as much. Anxiety about losing one’s job is among the most fearsome of all the fears that govern us in these times of fear, and immigrants are always at hand to take responsibility for unemployment, shrinking wages, crime, and other calamities. In "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
45
" THE PREDESTINED In 1856, William Walker proclaims himself president of Nicaragua. The ceremony includes speeches, a military parade, a mass, and a banquet featuring fifty-three toasts of European wines. A week later, United States Ambassador John H. Wheeler officially recognizes the new president, and his speech compares him to Christopher Columbus. Walker imposes Louisiana’s constitution on Nicaragua, reestablishing slavery, abolished in all Central America thirty years previous. He does so for the good of the blacks, because “inferior races cannot compete with the white race, unless they are given a white master to channel their energies.” This Tennessee gentleman known as “the Predestined” receives orders directly from God. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
46
" In 1821, the American Colonization Society bought a piece of Africa. In Washington the new country was christened Liberia and its capital was called Monrovia, in honor of James Monroe, who at the time was president of the United States. Also in Washington, they designed the flag to be just like their own, except with a single star, and they elected the country’s government. Harvard drew up the constitution. The citizens of the newborn nation were freed slaves, or rather slaves expelled from the plantations of the southern United States. No sooner did they set foot in Africa than those who had been slaves became masters. The native population, “those jungle savages,” owed obedience to the newcomers, who had suddenly risen from the bottom to the top. Backed "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
50
" ORIGIN OF JAZZ It was 1906. People were coming and going as usual along Perdido Street in a poor neighborhood of New Orleans. A five-year-old child peeking out the window watched that boring sameness with open eyes and very open ears, as if he expected something to happen. It happened. Music exploded from the corner and filled the street. A man was blowing his cornet straight up to the sky and around him a crowd clapped in time and sang and danced. And Louis Armstrong, the boy in the window, swayed back and forth with such enthusiasm he nearly fell out. A few days later, the man with the cornet entered an insane asylum. They locked him up in the Negro section. That was the only time his name, Buddy Bolden, appeared in the newspapers. He died a quarter of a century later in the same asylum, and the papers did not notice. But his music, never written down or recorded, played on inside the people who had delighted in it at parties or at funerals. According to those in the know, that phantom was the founder of jazz. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
52
" The three inventions that made the Renaissance possible, the compass, gunpowder, and the printing press, came from China. The Babylonians scooped Pythagoras by fifteen hundred years. Long before anyone else, the Indians knew the world was round, and had calculated its age. And better than anyone else, the Mayans knew the stars, eyes of the night, and the mysteries of time.
Such details were not worthy of Europe's attention. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
54
" BRIEF HISTORY OF TRADE BETWEEN AFRICA AND EUROPE Hereditary slavery had been around since the times of Greece and Rome and was nothing new. But with the Renaissance, Europe introduced certain novelties: never before had slavery been determined by skin color, and never before had the sale of human flesh been the brightest light in the world of business. During the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, Africa sold slaves and bought rifles: it traded hands for arms. Then during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Africa delivered gold, diamonds, copper, ivory, rubber, and coffee in exchange for Bibles: it traded the riches of the earth for the promise of heaven. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
56
" DIVINE LIGHT,MURDEROUS LIGHT The flames crackle. On the pyre burn discarded mattresses, discarded easy chairs, discarded tires. A discarded god also burns: the fire blackens the body of Pol Pot. At the end of 1998, the man who killed with such abandon died at home, in his bed. No plague had ever so reduced the population of Cambodia. Invoking the sacred names of Marx, Lenin, and Mao, Pol Pot erected a colossal slaughterhouse. To save time and money, every charge came complete with sentence, and every jail had a door to a common grave. The entire country was a great burial mound and a temple to Pol Pot, who purified society to make it worthy of him. Revolutionary purity demanded liquidating the impure. The impure: those who thought, those who dissented, those who doubted, those who disobeyed. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone
57
" THEY ARE NOT NEWS In the south of India, at the Nallamada hospital, a failed suicide revives. Around his bed, smiles from the ones who brought him back to life. The survivor eyes them and says: “What are you expecting, a thank-you? I owed a hundred thousand rupees. Now I’m also going to owe for four days in the hospital. Some favor you imbeciles did me.” We hear a lot about suicide bombers. The media blather on about them every day. But we hear nothing about suicide farmers. According to official figures, India’s farmers have been killing themselves steadily, at a rate of a thousand a month since the end of the twentieth century. Many suicide farmers die from drinking the pesticides for which they cannot pay. The market drives them into debt, then unpayable debt drives them into the grave. They spend more and more, earn less and less. They buy at penthouse prices and sell at bargain-basement markdowns. They are held hostage by the foreign chemical industry, by imported seeds, by genetically modified crops. Once upon a time, India worked to eat. Now India works to be eaten. "
― Eduardo Galeano , Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone