History: Inside the Villa-Zapata Summit

Villa and Zapata had met in Xochimilco, then a village in the outskirts of Mexico City.

Some photographs transcend mere documentation; they become visual metaphors of shifts in history. Lincoln at Gettysburg, Lenin addressing the masses in Petrograd, the man in front of the tank in Tiananmen. These are not just images but emblems.

For Mexico, one image stands above all: the (only) meeting of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata in Mexico City, in 1914, in the National Palace, the seat of the Executive Power.

The photograph was taken by Agustín Casasola when, according to author Paco Ignacio Taibo II, "Zapata and Villa passed through a room where there were four chairs arranged near a wall. One in particular caught their attention, ornate and covered in gold, with the eagle of Maximilian's empire on the back."

After years of fighting, two of the most iconic figures of the Revolution had finally taken the capital. Historian Adolfo Gilly called it the first moment in Mexican history when a peasant, popular army occupied power. The image shows a diverse assembly: revolutionaries, soldiers, businessmen, armed indigenous fighters, and, revealingly, a female journalist: Dolores Jiménez y Muro.

None of them could have known what was transpiring, or the magnitude of the moment. For the first time, the working class and the peasantry had taken power.

But what would they do with it?

The Meeting in Xochimilco

One day before the iconic photograph, Villa and Zapata had met in Xochimilco, then a village in the outskirts of Mexico City. They shared a meal of turkey, tamales, and beans with epazote.

What did they talk about? What was the atmosphere like between them? Luckily for us, one of Villa’s secretaries wrote the conversation, which reveals reveals a deflating truth: their dialogue was remarkably superficial, their alliance more rhetorical than strategic.

Note: The original Spanish dialogue is rich in archaic and regional language. This translation has been adapted for clarity and readability in English.

Villa: I don't want a government post. I'm no bureaucrat. Let's find some people who know what they're doing. All we ask is they don't cause us trouble.

Zapata: That's why I've warned our friends to be careful. Otherwise the machete will fall on their heads. (Laughter.) But I'm confident we won't be fooled. We've kept a close eye on them, made sure they toed the line, and kept them in check.

Villa: We, the uneducated, fight the war, while the politicians profit. As long as they don't give us trouble...

Zapata: The hardest workers are the least likely to enjoy the sidewalks (the city's luxuries). All I see here are sidewalks (fancy streets.) Walking on them makes me dizzy; I feel like I'm going to collapse

Villa: This ranch (Mexico City) is too big for us; it's much better out there. As soon as this is settled, I´ll leave for the Northern campaign. I have a lot to do there. The fight there will be tough. I'm not one for flattery. You know… I’ve been thinking about you (Zapata) for a while now.

Zapata: Same here. Those who have gone north and met you, those who have approached you, they might have informed you that I have big hopes on you. Villa is, I said, the only sincere man, and the war will continue, because as far as I'm concerned, they (the men at the top) don't want to fix anything, and here I will stay untilI die, me and those who are with me.

False Modesty, Mutual Distrust

At first glance, their words seem humble and resigned. Neither man claims to want power. Yet beneath this modesty lies a performance. It´s like they are sizing each other up. Villa, pragmatic and astute, downplays his own influence while making it clear that he understands power and will not be manipulated by politicians.

Zapata, rigid and dogmatic, reinforces his image as incorruptible, issues veiled warnings, and presents himself as the people's guardian.

In the presence of history and a secretary writing their words, they indulge in bravado and voice suspicions. Their conversation reveals not a strategy for ruling but a fear of betrayal, of being manipulated—by politicians, by allies, perhaps even by each other. And it betrays a deeper anxiety: that the Revolution might outlive them before they could shape its future.

The Presidential Chair

The next day, they took the famous photograph in the National Palace, in the presidential chair that President Venustiano Carranza had left empty when he learned that the two armies were approaching. Another revealing scene unfolded—the dance of appearances continued.

Villa: "Please, my general, have a seat."

Zapata: "No, you first."

Villa: "But the honor is yours."

Zapata: "I’d rather not sit. When a good man sits there, when he gets up, he’s already bad."

Zapata’s refusal is almost superstitious, a reflection of his self-image as incorruptible. Villa, always the showman, played along, insisting with exaggerated courtesy. He appears to be enjoying Zapata's unease.

For Villa, the presidential seat is irrelevant—he had governed in the north, enjoyed the spoils, and exercised control. For Zapata, the chair, meaning absolute power, was the devil.

A Missed Opportunity

It was a fleeting moment, a meeting between two men who shared enemies but whose visions, while perhaps overlapping, were ultimately distinct. One rejected governance, preferring the authority he held as a military leader.

The other rejected it associating presidencies with the brutality and despotism he had witnessed. And because of their hesitancy, they left the future to the very politicians they despised. The window of opportunity closed, and in its absence, new figures emerged, eager to redefine the struggle on their own terms.