by the Landless Workers' Movement (MST)
The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits,
dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who are not, but could be.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world,
but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.
Viva Eduardo Galeano!
São Paulo, April 13, 2015