Tag Archives: Mexico

Don’t forget, for your own good

14 Aug

The Two Thousands seem to be allergic to true tellers. No matter where you walk: you’ll find lots of good and almost fantastic stories on the media, but rarely the facts of life. It’s no mystery why, though: no one—be it Obama’s CNN, be it Putin’s RT, be it Iran’s Press TV—will ever tell a story without a political schedule, without an intention, and without an agenda. Be them well-intentioned or ill-intentioned, no story will be undressed of its political nature. Information, in the Two Thousands, has become the greatest weapon—the greatest untold fiction—for the power. George Orwell already predicted it in its novel 1984 and we’re now inside his prophetical picture.

The Two Thousands’ spirit loves the fiction. And yet, the truth… Well, that’s another kind of food.

As you might have noticed, there have been a sudden wave of leakers, reporters, etcetera, who have unveiled some uncomfortable cover of truth and shown the world a nasty fact that some big fat cheese might want under the dust. You might recognize some names. Assange. Snowden. Chelsea Manning… And there’s Rubén Espinosa.

Ruben Espinosa murder

Who’s Rubén Espinosa, you might ask? Well, one of the bravest reporters in Mexico. And yet, one of the most tragic ones…

Rubén Espinosa was known for his work as a Veracruz reporter. He focused mostly on Veracruz’s dirty secrets, which involved most of its politicians (even more the governor himself, Javier Duarte), and some nasty activities that ranged from suspicious murders and feminicides. You know, the actual work of a reporter, nothing like what the Televisa and Fox News stooges do as of today.

As you can expect, Espinosa became rather…unliked among Veracruz’s elite, especially with the governor Duarte. He was beaten, harassed, threatened…and yet he kept working, because he knew it was the correct thing to do. He knew his work wasn’t going to be a fluffy ride among daisy cars, but somebody had to do it, even though it would win him many enemies.

Like the governor.

Javier Duarte was known for his despise towards the reporters. One incident that, apparently, angered him was some photograph that Espinosa took for one prestigious Mexican magazine, Proceso:

Click on the image to reach an English site that details a bit more on Duarte. If you know who’s Franco, you might get the shills when you read Duarte’s a fan of his…

Why did Duarte get so angry because of this shot? Was it the hat, the hat that showered his authoritarian status? Was it his unfazed gaze, which showered an almost soulless look? Was it his grotesque belly, the one that made him a laughingstock among the people? Actually, would people seriously hurt a person just because he didn’t take a good photo of you…?

Well, yes. But that’s not the point of this, is it?

The photograph itself didn’t anger Duarte, but rather Espinosa’s whole work to discover the corruption and violence linked to his term. But this issue put Duarte in the center of the stage, and thus questions about Veracruz’s “Lawless State” began to float. He, naturally, didn’t like being known for this, and thus started to harass most of Veracruz reporters, Espinosa mostly, provoking in this last one’s a deep fear for his life that made him flee to Mexico City.

Espinosa had to rearrange his life to flee from some unwanted espionage and life with the lowest profile possible. And everything seemed alright…

…But what differenced Espinosa from guys like Assange, Snowden and Manning is that they’re still alive.

Funeral de Rubén Espinosa, fotoreportero asesinado en México. Foto: AFP/Getty

Espinosa was found tortured and dead, alongside four other women, some few days ago in Colonia Narvarte, just in their apartment.

Shamelessly, the local authorities have declared this as a “robbery” murder, as if robberies usually end up with two activists dead and four women massacred and tied on a bed. Even our favourite governor have declared to be “outraged” because of this incident, even though his government has been known for its lack of protection to reporters and for his rather polemical “advice” on the reporters who went to interview him about his murder…

…Seriously, would you feel calm after he quietly told you, a reporter, “Please, behave, I beg you. It’s for your own good”.

Your own good. Your…own…good…

I’ll let it sink in your mind…

But no, no. I won’t accuse anybody. I won’t. I recently learned that it’s not a good idea to give away names and accuse people that freely. It’s a sensationalist tactic and not a good idea, in the end. Besides, Espinosa was killed not by a man, but by something greater, bigger, a grotesque monster that has been killing poor Mexico for many years.


Corruption. Globalization. Dehumanization. A whole campaign to anesthetize you and make you more docile to a greater monster that controls this huge reptile puppet that’s controlling Mexico.

That was what killed Espinosa. That monster, with a human as a weapon.

People have their mouths taped as a group of artist, students, journalist and activist stage a protest demanding justice for Ruben Espinosa in Mexico City on 8 August 2015.

About the women…

One thing that has also angered most Mexican women is the lack of coverage towards the murdered women, as they suffered something worse than Espinosa.

They were raped.

Aside of torture, signs of sexual damage were found in their bodies, making them an almost—almost—separate crime, and yet a most common one in Mexico. Feminicide.

Espinosa was killed because of political issues. One of the female victims, Nadia Vera, surely as well. But the other women…? Not much of them is known, and some weren’t that close to Espinosa, so why were they tortured this way…? This is a different kind of crime. This is pure misogyny.

Pure, Mexican-style misogyny.

The only justice I can bring to these women is to name them and to present them to the public, so you, O Readers, do not forget their crimes. Rubén Espinosa’s the most sounded name so far because he was the main target, but these ladies deserve to be remembered. They were punished for something beyond their actions.

They were punished because they were women.

          Nadia Vera

32 year old Nadia Vera was a prominent Chiapas activist. She was a close friend of Espinosa’s and a known name inside the #YoSoy132 youth movement. She graduated from the Veracruz University, so her activities were focused on there too. She was also harassed by Duarte, and she even declared in a video that, should something happen to her, the only name they needed was Javier Duarte. But it seems that it wasn’t enough… Nothing’s ever enough in the country.

          Yesenia Quiroz Alfaro

18 year old Yesenia was a make-up student. She lived in the same department as Nadia and Rubén, and came straight from Baja California. Her name wasn’t told exactly by the authorities, but rather by the social media, which only proves how pathetic it is that you can trust more on the goddamn Facebook rather than on your own government.

         Mile Virginia Martín

31 year old Virginia was a model. She came straight from Bogotá to look for chances to become a model in Mexico City, while living in the same Narvarte building. She was planning to leave, though, and return home with her family. She was the sole foreigner of the group.

         Alejandra Negrete

40 year old Alejandra was mother of two girls. It was her second day as a cleaner when she disappeared and was found murdered in the Narvarte building. Authorities have said she was the only one who wasn’t sexually assaulted, but that didn’t diminish the family’s anger when they read in the media that she was considered a simple “housekeeper” or “fifth victim”. But we will gladly remember that she is no less important than the others.

I beg to you, O Reader, to never forget their names. To never forget Javier Duarte either. And never forget that this is Mexico. The American media is ready to blast the smallest thing in Venezuela, Iran and Russia, but because this is Mexico—a most important strategic point inside America—, I am afraid that the only pressure that will come to this corrupt government will come from very few: the ones that will never swallow this putrid government’s lies.

Please, O Reader. Maybe the Two Thousands is allergic to truth… But the best work of all is timeless, unattached to any epoch, One Thousand, Two Thousands, Three Thousands…because it is vaccinated by the very truth itself. Make this timeless. Make this not a Mexican case, but also a global case, because this could have happened anywhere. This will happen sometime too if a deranged being ever reaches the seats of your government.

Please, don’t forget and help Mexicans spread the word. To put some pressure into this bland mass of putrefaction.

Please, pretty please…

But I must shush now. I’ve said what needed to be said and what expects an answer as well.

I must keep quiet now. For my own good.

An activist holds up a picture of Ruben Espinosa at the Angel of Independence monument in Mexico City, Mexico August 2, 2015.Thanks a bunch for reading.

All images redirect to their original locations and more informative articles about this tragedy. Please, inform a bit more and help us.


The Lost Heart of a Lamb

23 May

Silhouette, group of happy children playing on meadow, sunset, s

O Father, can you see me cry outside?
I’ve fallen deep inside a hole,
too close to a wooden door
that will never let me inside
a Paradise never known
by mortals in this life.

O Mother, can’t you hear me call for help?
I’ve fallen to my grave
and I’ve injured too much my nails
to crawl back to the grass
in where I would touch my face
and believe in my heart…

O World, can’t you listen the wolves behind?
They’ve eaten my heart,
and now I’ve become part of their pelt
and now I’ve become part of their pest
that withers the flowers by my side
and whom the trees dread
when I walk around their land…

O God, can’t you see what they’ve done to me?
I’ve lost my face inside a well.
The water would show my face back then,
but now I see a monster of shining teeth.
Yet no one seems to see,
as their eyes are no longer water to drink
nor the mirror inside a well.
They’ve become cold stones without a price,
chiseled by the sharp images in their life
and who no longer want to see
what they don’t want to see.

O myself, can’t you see your face anymore?
I no longer see people.
I no longer see life.
I have now the face of the wolf.
I have lost the eyes of the lamb.
I find myself no longer in territory of God,
but rather in a grizzly battlefield
in where I can ripe flowers once more
by tearing them apart
from the chests of the animals,
who happen to be actual lambs
who can see the life I see no more.

I am no longer a lamb of God,
but rather a lost animal.
And the only colours and flowers
I can seed and ripe
are the cardiac seeds
that I must tear apart
from the loving chest of the lambs.

Maybe… Maybe only that way…
I will recover my lost heart.



This poem was inspired on Christopher Raymundo Márquez’s murder at the hands of a deranged group of teenagers, allegedly playing the “kidnapping” game, whereas it was actually a cold blooded planned murder from the very beginning.
As one Mexican academic (golly, forgot his name…) said, we’re raising nowdays a generation of psychopaths, not only in Mexico, but around the world, by letting them enjoy fiestas bravas, violent video games like Call of Duty, watch junk TV shows without supervision…
People, we’re failing as adults, as educators, as humans as well. We’re failing, and it is showing on our children’s mindsets. We need to be more conscious and closer to our children’s inner world; who knows what will happen if this repeats again? In some years from now on, psychopathy might even become so normal it will gradually destroy the world…

In some years, the Two Thousands might as well be recognizable because of its lack of virtual humanity.

Please, people, if you’re a parent, take a moment to read Christopher’s case—all of the cases about children murderers—and think just for a moment if you’re teaching to your kid something beyond the “basics” of the individualistic bourgeois values. Something that might make them more than “successful” and “literate” people: see if you’re teaching them to be human.

Thanks for reading!

The Devil at the Top

9 Apr

I swore to myself I would never go there. I told myself I would never, ever go there. After all the things that happened… After all these years of pain… After all of these things…

43 estudiantes desaparecidos

I remember how they would walk down the hilltop and threaten our local shops, markets, pubs… They would walk around with their pistols in hand, rifles in their back, rabid dogs in tow, their pride high above the sky… They would walk around, aimlessly, just showing off the power we all lacked and never dreamt we could ever have. It was never a rare thing to see them walk inside one of our many abarrotes stores, demanding either gently or aggressively for the “fee” they had to pay to their masters—unwilling masters—who simply one day became the landlords of our little town, thanks to their long, if not almost phallic, guns and power they held with themselves.

Who would have ever thought we, non-sinners at most, would wind up becoming the vassals of some kind of king, in a modern era that disapproves monarchy and detests all that which is not democratic? Who would have thought our very own government, so boastful of their power and Western democracy ruling, would leave us alone to the kings of guns, the princes of hell, the demons of the land…?

I can’t ever forget the screams of the women, the pleas of the old men, the little girls… My goodness, the little girls… Most of their last words would be “I’ll be back in a minute”, and yet we would always find them dead, raped, bleeding in some ravine, not so far away from home… But trust me, those were the fortunate victims, as they at least traveled to a better place, towards God Himself, unlike the ones who came back alive, weeping, sobbing, apologizing for the sin they were carrying in their tiny bellies… The dead girls at least endured the suffering and were paid with Heaven, whereas the living ones were just starting with the end of their youth, the most wonderful era for a human being…

We couldn’t ever ask for help to the cops, as they were the dark knights of these men. They were the ones conducting the dirty job that the bigger cheeses didn’t want to do themselves. If they wanted a name out of the list, they would cross it from the to-do list. If they wanted a car, they would either bribe for it or just kill for it; the latter was the most common, though. If they felt insecure of their own manliness or prowess, they would easily walk towards the first moron they found, beat the shit out of him, abuse him and leave him on the street for so many days. If they thirsted for a woman… Ah, my God… I still remember how one of the girls gave birth to a boy who looked so much alike one of the cops that destroyed the strawberry stand of Doña Dolores, just around the corner of my street… I can’t forget that ugly nose, that disgusting chin, those piercing eyes…

My goodness…


How did we ever come to this? How did we ever return to the Middle Ages, if we were supposed to be in the modern era?

And most importantly, how is it that I, the one who fears them most, who loathes them most, who wishes them nothing but a most painful death with the greatest of my contempt…is now walking towards their castle, their almighty palace…? What happened that made me endure this trip to the hilltop, just to have a meeting with the head of this gang of ruthless monsters…?

The last thing I remember is that I had a son—a hardworking son—who one day, just this suddenly, he disappeared when he went to ask for justice to the capital. He told me he would be back, bleeding surely, but that he would be back in one day or two, alongside some of his friends and perhaps with his dignity intact…

But that’s the thing: he never came back.

And no matter how much we asked to the authorities—how much we pleaded to the supposed government that was also supposed to be taking care of us—: we would always wait for 3 hours, in some smelly waiting room, just to hear later that the president’s too busy to attend us for the moment, to come back later. And when we depart from the building, we catch a glimpse from the local TV store and we see the handsome face of our president smile and wave proudly at a crowd of Londoners who are welcoming him and Her Majesty at the Buckingham Palace, with family, servants and even hairdressers in tow…

I just remember my son, my helplessness, those Londoners faces… But I still can’t believe that all of those things were the ones that drove me to the top of this hill and made me look at those two grunts with something else than contempt. It was a plea.

And this is how I came to understand that I came here, to the ninth circle of Hell, just to ask for the Devil for help, as it seems that our supposed God abandoned us in this long search of my son, my dignity, my country…

Our lives.

This little piece was influenced by the recent news of the parents of the 43 missing students asking for help to the local criminal headmen so he can give a hand in the localization of their sons, as, it turns out, the government and local officers are resulting to be quite…incompetent, to put it lightly and bluntly.

I am not a parent, but I do understand the desperation of these people. It’s really unnerving to be so close and yet so far away from your own child…

All my readers, who are parents as well, what are your opinions on this event?

Thanks a bunch for reading!

All images redirect to their original site in where they were found.

Have you heard of Carmen Aristegui?

14 Mar

Whoa! Two posts of the same category on a row! I’m on a roll, baby!

Errhem… Anyways, I don’t tend to do this, especially with such neglected category that is my HYHO posts archive, but this time it is a dire thing I must do, as I must inform the people around the world—preferably the ones who can understand English, that is—one big injustice that’s happening as of lately in Mexico.

Surely, some of you might have heard that Mexico’s not precisely the land of reporters and media. And you might have heard correctly. Mexico is more of a reporters’ cemetery than a paradise. The journalists in service of The State abound on radio and on TV, and they do receive more media coverage than the honest ones, which sadly tend to end in pits or hanging on our local bridges, luckily with their head still intact. Honest reporters in Mexico are scarce and most of them are now dead.

Most. But not all.


Who is Carmen Aristegui, you might ask. Well, she happens to be one of the very few Mexican voices who dare to raise her own to speak against the unfairness that’s slowly killing us in Mexico. She’s a well renowned reporter, with several accolades and the recognition not only by the sane side of the media, but of the Mexican people as well. In fact, when she appeared on the relatively unknown MVS Noticias, boom! Its ratings flew off the charts.

This is Aristegui’s power, and more than power, trust that we Mexicans have on her. It’s no mystery for some that she’s one of my role models and personal heroines.

You might say that I’m exaggerating, that she can’t be the all-around perfect reporter. Possibly; nobody’s perfect, that’s a fact, but so far she hasn’t made a mistake in her reports and hasn’t offended anybody unlike others. And also, if it weren’t because of her, we wouldn’t have discovered the PRI’s brothel management inside their very own party headquarters and the white house scandal, property of the First Lady herself. Thanks to her—and her team, of course, which includes Irving Huerta and Daniel Lizárraga, coordinators in the white house scandal investigation, because they’re the ones doing the dangerous stuff in the coverages, so they also do need an important mention,—we finally got the PRI cornered and with some questions to answer to the public. It was Aristegui the one who kept fighting despite the censorship that the previous big cheese in term, Felipe Calderón, imposed on her, and the one who’s still fighting to shed some light of truth on the Mexicans’ minds.

She’s been fighting for many years against the media censorship and the corruption. And she will keep fighting…despite the new censorship.


See, thing is that Aristegui was fired yesterday once she announced her partnership with MexicoLeaks, which is, like its inspirational parent, a Mexican WikiLeaks. It is a media partnership, organized by several reporting pages and groups that want to bring out public documents while protecting the identities of the denouncers. Technically, they won’t publish something that hasn’t been verified first, just like WikiLeaks, but it’s mostly for Mexican affairs, unlike the creation of Julian Assange.

Aristegui announced her affiliation, alongside that of her team, to this new portal and her involvement to the running of this project. She included MVS Noticias name too…but for not some shady reason, MVS didn’t want to be in the project. Why? Surely presidential pressure.

MVS Noticias not only denounced Aristegui for “affiliating” them to the project without their permission, but they also did fire her—her and her whole team—for, according to this, “abusing their trust”. Which, I am afraid, it’s Morse for “We were told by the big cheeses to end up with this madness”. In fact, and according to one rumor, Angélica Rivera, the Lady Cheese herself, even called Aristegui to tell her to stop this “child’s game”. How much truth it is, I am not sure. But we all Mexicans do know that her expulsion of MVS Noticias is not because of “trust” issues. Why? Well, the channel was with her the whole time; with the brothel scandal, with the white house scandal… Why the “trust” issue now? Obviously, this has “Government” written all over its face.

And indeed, this why most Mexicans are now pissed off.


Right after the news spread, people started rallying in front of the channel studios and started protesting in Aristegui’s defense. There’s now a popular hashtag going on—#EnDefensaDeAristegui—and people have showed their support for her everywhere, especially on the Internet, in where many people have started attacking MVS Noticias for this unusual move against her, and unfollowed several of its sites in protest to Aristegui’s dejection.

I am sharing the online petition to make her stay at MVS Noticias, as it now wants to reach 150,000 signatures to make it sound how much love Aristegui has received from the Mexicans.

If you’d like, I invite you to sign in favour of this honest and powerful woman not only for justice, but as a sign that maybe clarity’s finally bathing the people’s minds as of this Two Thousand century…

Who knows? Maybe the TV Media has some trustable microscopic places after all.


Thanks for reading!

Have you heard of José Manuel Mireles?

15 Feb

Well, it’s been a long time ever since I wrote an entry for my blog after all the school nightmare, but it’s been literally ages ever since I published another article of my “Have you heard of…?” series… Sounds like out of a Star Wars shtick, but that’s how the life rolls, baby.

Anyways, I expect that most of you were expecting something gushy or philosophical for this St. Valentine’s Day, or even one of those snarky semi sour rants that have become quite common too as of the wake of pessimism in this new century. Well, even though I have those of spare, I decided to go back to this once-common section of my blog and make something a bit more special for this St. Guy-who-got-beheaded-by-the-Roman-Empire’s Day.
Let’s talk about José Manuel Mireles, shall we?

Jose Manuel Mireles, jefe de las autodefensas de MIchoacan
Most of you might remember a previous post of mine in where I spoke of the Mexican Autodefensa movements that occurred mostly on the state of Michoacán. I even shared a link of a video about Dr. Mireles’ manipulaed commentaries in that very article, but I never delved into his persona and participation on the Auto Defensa movements. And I feel as if I sinned, as he was quite a leading figure of the whole events.

But now, in this St. Marry-soldiers-in-the-dark-a-lot’s Day, I decided to express love by raising awareness on this man. So yeah, I will celebrate this day by giving more media love to a man who was the big thing last year, and that today’s barely touched upon for many reasons.

But let’s talk about him first.

Jose Manuel Mireles, jefe de las autodefensas de MIchoacan
José Manuel Mireles is a michoacano doctor who just happened to get tired of the constant abuses done by the local narco terrorists in Michoacán, who happen to have an interesting name in here: Los caballeros templarios. Translated, The Knights Templars.

That’s right, folks. We’re talking about actual “Templars”. Yes. Kinda like the Assassin’s Creed templars. Go figure. Move along, kids. Too much Internet for today.

Not minding the lack of subtleness of their heinous crimes, these guys spread the terror on Michoacán, until finally the local guys got tired of their madness and decided to do something about it, as I explained it in my last article. José Manuel Mireles leaded one of the several groups, that did gain some terrain after a good while of battle, thus proving the actual corruption and incompetence inside the local police squads, and when the government saw that he was doing quite well his job, well, they gave him what the Mexican government’s good at giving to innocent civilians who’re actually doing their job…

A good time of prison!


I told myself I wouldn’t turn this entry into an Assassin’s Creed running gag thing, but it’s unavoidable…! Seriously! Templars! What the hell!

And so, Dr. Mireles has been on jail ever since last year and nothing new of his has been touched as of February 2015. However, I remembered him during one of my many random Internet treks, and I decided to write about him, just to give some actual love in this St. I-am-most-possibly-a-myth’s Day, and not fall into those two obnoxious categories that happen on this day: that one of the corny and hopelessly in love romantic-o-maniac, or that one of the sour and snarky single person I am.


Somebody…stop me…all the Assassin’s Creed references…are killing me…

I tend to be this last one, but I decided to make something productive in this day and thus spread the word of Dr. Mireles’ heroic deeds and actual initiative to solve his hometown’s problems. It is a Mexican quality that’s becoming rare nowdays; or better said, that’s being suppressed mostly because of the danger that our local government represents.

Usually, as in all the HYHO entries of this merry blog, I add a link that takes to a website that gathers signatures to help this certain activist or initiative. But because I was late to the party, and because it is obvious that the Mexican government will not just listen, I decided to simply limit myself to spreading the word and add this certain link that contains Mr. Mireles’ cell address, just in case if you want to send him a letter to cheer him up a bit.

Mind you, it is in Spanish. However, the address is recognizable, so don’t worry about not knowing that to do.

I hope I can write him too, as did the blogger in the link; I might not tell something significant or transcendental, but I sure would love to give this man some kind of brohug, so he can rest assured that most Mexicans, even though in hiding, are trying to do something for this country he sure loves a lot.

And so it is.
Happy St. Excuse-to-buy-chocolate’s Day!

Thanks for reading!

… …

… … …


…Alright, one last one for today. Happy St. Valentine’s Day, folks!

All the images redirect to their source pages.

Pop Culture

28 Nov

This is a rather experimental post, trying to be far more narrative-poetic than my usual opinion posts so I could add more spice to this blog. It’s just a feeling I had recently, so it’s not a big thing. Still, hope you like it! Because I think that, if you can know the feeling of a situation, you’ll understand more its context—even more than what the actual history books tell you! So yeah… It’s quite an experimental post, hehehe.


Click on this photo so you can read more about the 43 missing students from Ayotzinapa in Wikipedia.

I’ve stepped in this school so many times. What I felt so hollow and dry now was flooded with paper, hanging softly from the windows and the bars. I saw many faces. I saw many names. I saw many insults against the Mexican president. Yet, I walked amongst these hurricanes of dead trees and I felt the melancholy of the printed eyes pierce my flesh, in route to my class…

“Where are they?”. “The government did it!”. “Quit, Peña Nieto!”. “They snatched them away living, and living we want them back…!”.

I felt so tiny. Tiny. Ant-sized. I remembered the day they made the pronunciation against the president some days ago and how lively the students were creating the flyers and decorating the theater area to create a gigantic “43”, each candle symbolizing a missing student, so anybody from the sky—the UFOs, the airplanes, God, perhaps…?—could see and understand the sorrow that the Mexican students are dwelling with right now. Only maybe the people will understand why it rains: even the sky is crying right now for all the tragedies that’s happening in the sky below, that’s supposed to be a heaven for humans.

I felt so, so tiny… So lost… I knew I was walking towards a class, yet the flying papers, the gray faces, the exclamation marks… Everything, mixed with the recent memories of the president’s wife’s house scandal and the government’s cheek and hypocritical declarations that they’re also mourning the disappearance of the missing students… Such mix turned my stomach into a cauldron, brewing anger and an interesting feeling of smallness. I, who had the boiling breakfast bubbling in my gut, could do nothing to end up this madness… I felt so tiny in front of the small pieces of paper waving in front of me. I felt so damn angry…and at the same time so powerless… How can the madness end, if surely the only way out of this nightmare, was with more sleepless nights of anger and hysteria? How…?

I had to focus a lot on the music class to forget the size of my power. The peace I felt was artificial—unnatural, as the calm that comes from anesthesia—but it was enough. The papers didn’t bother me this much and I was able to think positively for the rest of the day, with the assurance that this will be over, surely…

But this was a short-lived feeling of relaxation, for when I turned on the laptop, the name Ferguson—FERGUSON, in caps—popped into the screen. And only this time I knew the world was burning, slowly and painfully. Only this time I saw that the world is truly flying away, burning, losing itself into the universe, prepared to crash itself into a bigger wall of nightmares. I read the news. I read the anger. I read the poison that was boiling so much more people from the north. And even though the fabulous world of the Internet offered me a video to understand the judicial side of the Ferguson incident, I declined. I didn’t want to know the hypocritical side, for I knew the social side, which is, frankly, far more important and powerful than the former.

Only then I felt so much smaller, as I used to blame the United States for all of our problems, and then I realized that we’re all just victims from the same monster. Only then I saw that we’re not small, but rather little water drops, as those hidden inside of popcorn, slowly heating ourselves in order to explode and, finally, occupy the space we deserved from the beginning and without the lies from the Big Ones. Only then I realized that a new culture came, and it was the pop culture, not to be confused with the “popular culture” term, but rather with the new mindset that the world’s getting now that we’re finally meeting the real cause of our problems. A culture that has said “Enough!” and it’s ready to burst and destroy all the injustices of which we’re all victims with just one loud “Pop!” explosion…

I just now wonder how much heat we need so we can finally go “POP!”, now that they’ve discovered that they stole 30 more students from Colula

When will the pop come…


Thanks a bunch for reading!

A Free Yakirí

5 Mar

Whoa, it sure smells some corpses in here. No doubt I haven’t been on here after many months due to my school and my jobs everywhere… Anyways, this will be a fast post, just to inform about certain intriguing posts I’ve found in the internet, which speak about Yakirí Rubio’s freedom coming soon. Supposedly, that day would be today, but according to this, the whole process is slow and, so far, there are no more news around.


If you don’t know what I’m talking about, feel free to visit my post about her case and browse about this situation and my opinion about it. Anyways, so far I’ve read, Yakirí Rubí will pay a bail—and compensation to her attacker’s family—to walk out from prison. You can guess how awkward I feel about this “pay your attacker’s family” situation, and how the Mexican justice system has fallen so low to not make justice for women. You could even say that the lesson here lays on the idea that you must become a criminal to walk out triumphantly and even get some pay after death. We’ll never know what really happened (even though it has been discovered the girl was attacked as she claimed, indeed), but this isn’t the sole case in Mexico in where the people’s rights are violated by our very own justice system. And won’t be the last one at this pace. Mexico’s decaying at a fast rate on human rights and justice matters, and that’s taking us to a limbo in where oxygen will be null for survival.


But oh well. I guess her, being free through some way, it’s somehow a good note. Such a shame, though, that we, Mexicans, are all alone in this world. We cannot even depend on ourselves these days. And thus, this is how far a nation, with so much potential to give, has fallen due to corruption of the soul.


Thanks a bunch for reading me!



Nobody expects the Mexican Auto Defensas!

18 Jan

I planned to write all of this in Día de la Revolución in México, but the recent events have forced me to write a bit earlier and point out the irony and my sarcastic remark on this beautiful morning filled with sweat and blood. What are these incidents I talk about, you say? Well, more than incidents, there’s a name that you might want to remember.

The Auto Defensas from Michoacán.

Los grupos de autodefensa en Michoacán se formaron en la primera mitad de 2013 para hacer frente al crimen organizado (Cuartoscuro/Archivo).

“Auto Defensas” are Spanish for “Self Defense (Men)”, so go figure what it means. Mexicans have an idea of what I mean. For all those who don’t what’s going on, here’s the summary: the Michoacán civilians, tired of the abuses committed by drug dealers in town, and tired of being ignored by the local government, finally said enough and stood up to defend themselves with weapons against the local bullies. So far I’ve heard and read about, these folks tolerated abuses, threats, etcetera; even the soldiers were intimidated by this group of criminals, yet everything finally hit the boiling point when they started abusing the women. This made them doubt no longer and raise their guns against the problems.

Sometime, Dalí said this about Mexico: “I won’t return to a country far more surrealistic than my own paintings”. And I finally understand, at 100% what did he mean by that: we’re a mindscrewing country here. Y’see, instead of receiving some back up from the soldiers themselves or the police, these two groups went to actually disarm the Auto Defensas, allegedly due to their danger! I won’t dive into an analysis that discusses how our government is run by shadowy figures, because it is a complex topic and because, well, I don’t want to get into trouble with certain figures; at the same time, it has always been known in here that our politicians are A-Corrupt and many charts have shown it. What I want to clear with Dalí’s quote is…well, this was expected to happen. Seriously.

I remember when I saw Dalí’s ship coming to visit Mexico…just after last Thursday’s shooting. Yeah, good times, good times…

The police institution was born to serve and protect the people, financed by the government and with the sole objective of preserving the social harmony. Basically, and feeling a bit inspired by the Mayan philosophy I’ve been studying for a good while, the police is a materialization of the soul of the human instinct of preservation. So, naturally, if this doesn’t work… Well, how would you trust your security to a bunch of characters that give a damn about you? Naturally, the soul will find another way to materialize and give society the security it needs considering the last one didn’t work. And the Auto Defensas appeared in this ambient of struggle and need of order.

As expected, though, the presence of these angry men, gradually stealing the land of the drug dealers, implies this: the government is deeply flawed. Besides, this apparition just means one thing: a potential civil war in Michoacán. And what does it mean if we agglutinate all of this together? The birth of a group of rebels, potential rivals of the government’s power. And were you to be, O my Readers, a corrupt government who doesn’t want to lose its power, what would you do…?

Everything, of course!

Abridged version of the Auto Defensas. Everything’s better with comics and puppies.

They’re trying to disarm them, they’re sending soldiers to “quiet them down” (and with that, I mean shooting them), the media’s already covering negative notes about them, filled with edited videos, lies… Anything. For example, there are messages from the moral leader of the Auto Defensas, José Manuel Mireles, in which he denies the idea of letting themselves become disarmed by the government, but, as it is to be expected, they’re now trying to discredit and criminalize them. They don’t have enough with snatching away their weapons: they want to throw dirt at them. Mind you, these TV networks will never mention how the Auto Defensas are returning the stolen land to their rightful owners, and that there are witnesses that claim that they’re actual nice guys trying to protect themselves (and which also mention from where they get their money: from the landowners whose land was stolen by the criminals and who wants what’s theirs back).

These events in Mexico are just the results of an exam which reveal to the public in what side the media is right now. It’s not even the fact that they have solid arguments that argues about the negative impact of the Auto Defensas; dammit, it’s not even the fact that they’re saying “These guys are eeeeevil, don’t listen to what they’re saying, guys”. The point in here is that the media is actually editing a video and outright lying to fool the whole nation. The sole fact that they twists the truth gives away the warning that the media’s not to listen to this time.

Let’s put an example, with the marijuana legalization. Pete’s a guy who’s against the marijuana, as he believes it is a dangerous herb and chemotherapy is the sole way to go with cancer; independently of his education and actual knowledge of the facts about marijuana, he thinks this way because he’s sincerely convinced of it. He doesn’t want to lie: he just repeats the speech he has learned and which convinced him; he tries to convince the other people as he believes it is the best way to go. His motivation is, then, the well-being of people, even though one might not appreciate it because of his harsh attitude.

I bet nobody expected the marijuana in this post, hm?

But then, we have Charlie. He knows what’s the real deal about marijuana; he’s fully aware of what it can do, and the danger it represents to the pharmaceutical industry. So he outright lies and twists the information to guide the public’s opinion for his own well-being. He’s not even trying to protect the pharmaceutical co-workers: he just wants the money, at the expense of the health of billions of people. His motivation is, then, his own satisfaction.

Now, if you were to ask me, I would choose Pete, as he, at least, is frankly unaware of what’s going on, yet he can be educated and, with his well-intentioned orientation, can be of help to society. On the other hand, Charlie do knows about this. And gives a damn.

The media, in here, is the Charlie of the situation.

(This is a video in Spanish covering the Televisa editing and faslification of the actual commentaries done by Dr. Mireles; I couldn’t find an English coverage of the incident, sadly; but take this video as an existing example).

They’re not even giving their own opinion. They’re not even giving away the real potential negative impact of the Auto Defensas. No, no, they’re not giving an opinion. They’re twisting a fact and presenting it as a truth. They’re not even misinformed or innocent cherubs: they’re aware of what’s going on. And are throwing at them the dirt. Why? To control the public opinion.

I can just say this: how is it possible that these people, all the Mexican elite, did not actually expect this to happen? How…seriously…how do they dare to think that all of us, the Mexicans, are bootlickers? We’re intimidated and stiff the majority, yes, but there are people whose limit is shorter than ours. And they shall go to the limit to defend themselves once they can’t take it any longer. That’s why I am not surprised of the apparition of the EZLN in the south (how could nobody expect it, if the peasants are constantly tortured over there! And let’s not even talk about the women’s situation…), and I am even less surprised with the appearance of these self-proclaimed Auto Defensas, which are claiming for a revolution and are slowly conquering more and more towns in the state of Michoacán.

I think you can compare a bit this situation with the recent gun policy discussion in the United States, especially after the recent shootings in several schools and cinemas over there. I, let me tell you, once thought, in my blissful younger years, that the world would be a better place if they banned the weapons in the United States so the massive school shootings could be avoided, as I always thought they were the source of violence… Then I realized that the weapons did not decided to walk out from home and told themselves “Oh golly, I will go murder some kids next street”. No, no, that’s the people. The crazy, uneducated, deranged people… Weapons aren’t murderers, but their users. And thus, I realized this: if the people were educated, these massacres would have been avoided. A population that didn’t deliver itself to insanity, to a rotten culture, that didn’t know the actual value of self-defense, educated enough to despise violence… Now, that would avoid massacres. I won’t preach about my opinion towards the gun policies in the United States, yet I will repeat what I always say about the world: the problem of this planet is not humanity, but the lack of humanity and humanism. Its absence is the massacre’s provoker.

The Auto Defensas wouldn’t have appeared if the Mexican population was educated, lacking crisis, in good financial shape… Basically, in a good humanitarian state and lacking the needs. But we’re not even close to that state. We’re in a context ruled by murderers, criminals, illiterate people who enjoy themselves with stupid TV shows given by the huge media networks. How did we really not expect the Auto Defensas?

Surely, some of you will remember that, at the beginning of this post, I mentioned the Mexican Revolution. Well, yeah, because the irony lies in there: every year, we celebrate a festivity dedicated to the rebels who fought for their lands at the beginning of the XIX century… Now that the story’s repeating itself, the media’s condemning these guys! It is no longer a mystery that the revolution has become a synonym of “autumn Mexicanized festivity”, no longer a more serious and delicate concept.

Honda Rebel 250 c.c. - Arboledas

Indeed, it now only makes sense as a brand of motorbikes.

Days ago, in a page I tend to read, they published a boy’s message, one of the Auto Defensas’ son, which relates the terrible reality and abuses they have endured at the hands of these drug dealers for a long time, and the reason they finally decided to stand up for themselves; what really hit me mostly was the way he begged to the administrator this: “Please, don’t ask ‘what’s your opinion on this’!”, because this was no matter of an opinion: it was a plea, seeking help. And, certainly, it is hard to treat this matter so lightly, especially because… Well, what opinion can you hold in this situation? Is the Auto Defensas’ position the correct one? Or is it wrong…? If so, why is it wrong? What makes this situation different to that one of the Mexican Revolution, or the Independence War of the United States, even though their contexts were a bit more different…? What can we say of this situation, clear as water and illuminating who’s who in here?

I’ve been told by lots of people this phrase: “The real change comes from oneself”…but now I believe that they don’t even think how this change works. They just think it’s just a matter of waking up one day and saying “Ah, I won’t become a corrupt person today, now I will go to work and I will be a good person, and that will change the world!”…and that’s all. And, as a teacher of mine said, when somebody makes these remarks, one should ask them this: then what? Seriously: what? Alright, let’s say I am a brand new person as you say, but what now? What do I do? Do I let the soldiers touch and abuse me, as they’ve abused the indigenous women in Chiapas? Let me confess you this is not one of my favourite phrases in the whole world.

Things are heating up in Michoacán as I write this. I don’t live in the south of the country, but I do know things over there are worse from where I am. And all’s due to this dehumanized and manipulated century.

Thanks a bunch for reading!

*All images are not of my property; they all redirect to where I found them in the internet*


Welcome, 2014

4 Jan

Whoa! Look at this! New Year already…? Who would’ve thought… Well, in this quick post, I would like to wish you all, my readers, a nice farewell of the 2013 and a flawless beginning of the 2014. Can’t say Mexico had one precisely (with the privatization of our oil and the raise of the taxes in the frontier cities and whatnot…), especially because it has gone from bad to worse. They’ve sold a national landmark to the president’s uncle, they’ve arrested a girl after she survived an attack (by the way, if you’re still interested in sending a support message to Yakirí, the campaign to keep sending her messages will keep itself open for a little longer; here’s the e-mail address you can send your works to: cartasparayaki@gmail.com), they’re giving junk food to hungry poor children in the rural areas, a governor is wasting the money of his state—the poorest state of the whole damn country—in his own image… Well, the 2013 sure was disheartening. Sad. Depressing. And what’s in store for us in this 2014… One’s not even on the mood to look through the window due to the fear of the sun colliding against us. It’s discouraging for my frontier, for my country, for my planet, with wars like Syria, conflicts in Sudan, bombings in Russia… My brothers are murdering each other, and I am still wondering why. I seriously ask myself how it is possible we ended up in this situation… Why are there persons who complicate their own life, if they should be grateful they have a roof, a bed, and food? What else do you want? What do you get with more land, more money…? What do you want?


But overall, and despite all of the above, I would like to mention that the 2013 did see some shades of light with events as Edward Snowden’s leaks about the espionage programs. He, himself, has said that it is barely the 1% of what he has in hands, and the best is yet to come, and this humble server of yours got the little speck of faith that these revelations will pressure so badly the governments that they will, at last, be forced to accept the consequences of their crimes and heal the wounds they inflicted upon the world.

At the same time, here, in the frontier, there’s a little wave of civil disobedience who will not pay the new tax raise, whose sole purpose is just to enrich the corrupt politicians. This is, for me, quite encouraging, at the minimum. It means that not everybody has fallen victim of idleness and the “the damn I care” attitude.

And, of course: we didn’t fall into a World War Three thanks to Putin’s intervention and advice for Syria to give their chemical weapons! And Iran and the USA have started peaceful talks! How couldn’t we kneel and thank our surroundings that we saved our sorry butts in the last second! They will still, of course, still find a way to transform the planet into a huge chess board, but I am sure we will save ourselves if we walk in the tip of our toes.

In this post, I just want to resume my opinion of the 2013: it was harsh, yet we’re still strong. This year, personally, was filled with personal tragedies and events that tore me apart for a second, yet I remain optimistic for the 2014. Despite the awful news we received in the 2013, these positive points I wrote, personally, encourage me a bit. Why? Because they’re sign that we can trip, but seize at the last moment to a branch nearby and save our backs from the impact. 2013 was the year that saw the birth of a little ray of light breaking through the cracks, almost as foreseen by the Mayans themselves.

What about you, Reader? What does this year expect us? How would you resume the 2013…?

I pray that this year will bring something better for all of us.

Thanks a bunch for reading me!

 Happy New Year 2014


Have you heard of Yakirí Rubí?

24 Dec

Fast post incoming!

It is no mystery that life can be a bitch sometimes. Actually, it being a bitch is an inherent feature and essential for human life. It’s hard to acknowledge it, I know, but it contains some dose of truth. It can show how resistant you are and shows the real faces of your surroundings. In the hardest situation, it is where you can meet the real face of people, be it with a great human quality, or a low quality of humanity.

I will tell you a tale, O Readers, and I beg to you to role play as the protagonist. Pretend you’re walking on the street, minding your own business, until suddenly a pair of rapists pop out from a van, kidnap you and sexually assault you. Naturally, you defend yourselves and don’t let them touch you. You beat them up, scratch them, and kick them, until the situation itself becomes so grim that it becomes clear that somebody won’t come out alive from here. The rapist got a knife on his hand and it’s raping you at the same time. The law of the jungle demands a life of one of you so the opponent can live and see a new sunrise. Wouldn’t you defend against this? I bet you would.

As expected, you defend yourself, use the knife against the aggressor and, in the act, kills him. You flee from the hotel to where they took you to—in where they, apparently, were familiar faces—and run to the closest policeman to denounce the crime. Minutes later, the brother of the fallen man appears and denounces you for killing his brother. You believe that, because everything was in self-defense and they had the guts to attack you first, they will jail the brother, right?

Oh, of course not, this is Mexico! It will be you the one paying for it. Why? Because life is a bitch.

Manifestación frente a las oficinas de la PGJDF,  a favor de la joven Yakiri quien de víctima pasó a victimaria, pues mató al sujeto que la quiso violar. FOTO: LUIS CARBAYO /CUARTOSCURO.COM

I just resumed the case of Yakirí Rubí, which is causing uproar in the social networks and it’s becoming a debate topic in many humanitarian groups which questions this: is it really a homicide case, and graver than her rape case, or is it actually a clear sign of a machismo case in Mexico?

I think you all know the answer. With the irregularities in the process against her, of course we know what’s going on. We, the Mexicans, are condemned to know the answer until there’s a real mental change in here.

I’ve been hearing of this case for a good while, and until now I decided to post it in response to a campaign to send letters to Yakirí as support. I sent her a poem, which I will post as well to reflect my indignation as a woman towards this sexist case, which is, sadly, an expected case in this country. To add salt to the injury, the media and culture rarely pay attention to the women’s violence situation. They make it think they’re in favour of them with their melodramas with female protagonists suffering in the hands of men, but it is actually a culture that foments this sexist lifestyle with their images of beaten women, with showing them as sex objects and selling an unrealistic image of the women life.

Liberen a mujer que defendió su vida durante una violación   #JUSTICIAPARAYAKI

If you would like to help Yakirí, please click on this image to redirect to a Change.org page to sign a petition, pleading justice for her.

Hits can be less severe than the depraved social acts towards the feminine sex…

Now, onto the poem:

The one in the well

Should the soil forget me,

don’t take away from me the wind.

Yet, should I feel the sky

run far away from me,

don’t steal the beautiful lights,

given to me by the shining stars.


If I forgot how to walk in peace,

don’t abandon me just like this.

Should you see my heart

beat as hard as ivory,

don’t forsake me in solitude,

and remind me the crimson

blood which should be

running fast inside of me.


Look how the fawn drinks.

Look at him follow his mother.

It’s not the perfumes or the roses

those elixirs that open

the love towards her fur

or the fact that he comes from her flesh.

Look at him, in love.

Look at him, lovingly.

Look at him, charmed at her trot

and her non blood drinking habits.

Such a good forest son,

following his good forest mother.


Should they throw me to a well,

not due to thirst of sweet water,

not needing to feel pleasure,

grow for me a long rose

and save me from this pit,

in where the salty waters

freeze my rosy veins.


With the stem, save me sweetingly.

Just don’t throw me thorns.

Call my name, don’t be afraid,

yet don’t cut from me my life

with the thorns of the stem

which should bring me to the day,

waiting behind the cherry tree,

up above the mounts,

my most glorious return.

If you’re surrounded

by thousands of fragrant roses,

is it not to give life?

The pit in here is awful.

Don’t open me more wounds.

I know how to scream, don’t torture me

as I am a child too,

your sister and cousin as well,

from the brown beloved eagle.


Cry. Cry. Cry. Drink.

Salt doesn’t taste like your wheat.

You want to drown me with salt,

from the very salt I’ve fallen to.

They wanted to give me salt,

which I never asked for or wanted,

Drink from the well with me.

No fawn ever drinks in here,

as this is pit is actually a gate

of an inferred hell.

No fawn should be down here,

neither grandchild or proper seed.

They threw me in scared,

they confounded with salt the wheat.


You, my brother, my pal,

don’t forsake me any longer.

My lips are dry,

they wouldn’t tolerate the drops

of water or blood that I’ve drunk,

according to the gossipy gulls.


I’m stepping over cold stone,

surrounded by muddy water.

My mouth doesn’t accept this liquid,

but the one leaking

from my tired eyes,

allergic to the thorns.


You speak with this spleen.

This shame, so null.

A fawn looks for a father.

And yet only finds himself with mules.


You don’t drink from this reflection,

offered to you by the swift current.

That’s why you don’t drink this sweet

water. You just eat thorns.

A salty storm

longed to throw me to the emptiness.

A storm I tamed,

I did not let it tame my verve.

I saw a spiral on my way to the well,

and now for a life rose I ask for

to walk outside and become a child

and sister of the fawn.

Just because you smelled my fragrance

from my torn dress,

confounding faraway salt

with the wheat and olive,

you think of me as an any stone,

lacking thousands of whispers.


Should the soil forget me,

don’t take away from me the wind.

Yet, should I feel the sky

run far away from me,

don’t steal the beautiful lights,

given to me by the shining stars.

Let me scream for help.

Let me fiercely roar.

Should you move the soil…

Should you steal the air…

Should you not give me my reflection

in the mountain rivers…

You, heed to me, it is not my rose bloom

an edible one to chew.

It is no perfume to men.

It is no essence of the beasts.

The well has frozen my hands,

yet not my powerful head.

I shall break the storms,

I shall return to the heavens,

with such might I shall do,

that I won’t lose their sight again.


Thanks a bunch for reading!