My country is bleeding. Life is being spilled; justice and peace run through our fingers like grains of sand. I had not felt such sorrow in quite some time. I have no right. I can’t even fathom nor understand the degree of fear, violence and anger my land is going through right now. I an in another country, living the tragedy through the sanitized news bubble. I’ve been away since the year when Mexico experienced its first major change. I don’t remember what it is like to live every day afraid of going out on the street, or to threaten children with the police as if they were the Boogey Man, or having to look over your shoulder scared of what is lurking behind you.
Now I am a mother. And I understand less and less how another human being can steal someone else’s life. Killing for power. Killing under orders. Killing for the sake of killing. Having given life to two little ones, raising them, seeing them grow every day, knowing what it takes to give it all for the sake of someone else, I can only think that whoever tortures another human being definitely has no respect for life whatsoever. Nor for others, nor their own. I can’t understand how people in power can dish out orders and manipulate a whole country as if they were all pieces of a macabre chess game
I read the news, the thoughts, the collective anger. I see the images, the escalating numbers of those killed piling up higher and higher. Those disappeared. The threats. The Ayotzinapa martyrs. The innumerable mass graves found. Felina. Murdered reporters. The social media gag orders, enforced either by the government or the drug lords. Ire and fright that bleeds through the borders all the way here where I live.
Mexico is seething. Boiling over. It is a pressure cooker about to burst any moment now, and no one will be spared. Mexico is bleeding. And that blood spilled belongs to all of us; its ours.