Tag Archives: Violence

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.


The Daily Post Challenge: “Connect the Dots”

15 Jan

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots.”

This post is part of the Daily Post Challenge I tend to participate in, and this time the challenge was about taking the closest book to you and developing a full post with the third sentence of page 82.


The book I found was The Last Report of the Miracles at Little No Horse from Louise Erdrich (a book I recommend a lot, by the way, and one of my favourites), and this was the sentence:

She would fire up a blaze to heat stones for a sweat and to purify herself

Somehow, a fitting quote during a time like this. Who wouldn’t want to relax and purify oneself after so many struggles and hatred and violence of these days…? Who wouldn’t want to set up a little blaze and take a time for oneself and pretend that there’s actual harmony and peace on the world…? I’ve never been in a spa myself, or any of those hot rooms for relaxation (Jacuzzi doesn’t count!), but I’ve been always fascinated by the mesmerizing power of nature to tranquilize our senses and return us the humanity we lost in, curiously, our human creations, like weapons, war, guns…in where fire becomes quite a deadly protagonist.

The book, which is about a woman taking the identity of a priest who travels to an Indian reservation to convert the local Ojibwe, kinda makes it its point. Kinda. Because the woman ends up learning lots of fascinating Indian philosophy and fitting it with the Catholic dogma she preaches in disguise. And this quote itself captivated me by that very reason: how nature tends to be our actual answer for everything and our actual solution for problems, in comparison to the handmade stuff—Church, machines, pills…—and the artificial things.

This sentence comprises so much with so few words, and would fit in any kind of context thanks to that, which is something I’ve liked a lot in Erdrich’s writing. But in this time, I liked it a lot because of the naturalistic interpretation I found on it when I read it out of its context and my actual longing of relaxation…of forgetting…of getting away from all the violence that’s lashing out the world and leaving irreparable wounds…

And fire… Fire! I’ve always loved fire. But not any kind of fire. A sacred fire. Not the one used to set blaze in the buildings or to burn down the houses of innocent families in the brink of war. No. An actual fire. An actual purifying fire. Fire these days has become a terrific element, most usually related to war and destruction, whereas it could mean purity and burning passion as well…

Ah, fire… What if we could turn again fire a sacred element that shouldn’t be used lightly, and that should be revered as a cleansing energy, instead of an ideal weapon to make your foes surrender…? Ah, those good days of the cavemen, in the Age of Wonder, when fire wasn’t a weapon, but the beginning of a new era. A tool for humanity.

I know the context of this sentence is MUCH more different than what I am talking about. But let’s face it: who wouldn’t want to pretend, at least for once, we’re not in a mad, mad world, rather in a most relaxing spa, dozing off, just to open your eyes and realize…

…everything was just an awful nightmare caused by fire…?

And this is my post for the Challenge. Hope you liked it!

Thanks a lot for reading!

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!

The New Word Order, or why you should worry about the shape of your toilet

11 Aug

I have a philosophy—an odd one, but I believe you might appreciate it wholly: I judge a place according to the state of its bathroom. Is it clean? The, let’s say, restaurant is a carefully taken place. Is it filthy? They sure have no manners or values in here! I don’t care about the decoration or the atmosphere of a restaurant: I won’t like it if its bathroom it’s not in clean shape. Why? Because it’s a sanitary place I have to trust my body to. And if it is not in good condition, it means that the restaurant sure gives a damn about me! Some tiny places in the roads and in little towns can be understandable with the low economy and all, but the big places…? Now, there’s no excuse, is it?


There’s a good reason why it tends to be called a “throne”…

I won’t blame you if you find this philosophy silly or ridiculous. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion. However, if I am sharing you this bit is because I couldn’t find a better analogy for the topic I want to discuss briefly today: the 21st century’s neologisms.

Let’s pretend we’re going to dine to a restaurant, shall we? We open the door, say hello to the waiter, he takes us to the table, we order our food… And oh boy, the restaurant sure is classy! Look at the tigers in the walls! Look at the dragons in the roof! Look at the restaurant itself: it’s spinning! What a modern place! Screw the food: this place sure got the vibe! The food surely’s made of plastic and GMOs, but God, the restaurant is filled with lots of technological and scientific gadgets that massages us, spoil us and even replaces our legs and arms when it’s time to eat! Like a baby, you’re given the food in a spoon directed by the computer! Oh God, such a wondrous place!

Restaurante Giratório Interno

You spin me right round, baby, right round…~!

But after the dinner, it’s time to evacuate everything, so we run to the bathroom to save ourselves from a huge embarrassing moment. And uh oh, the toilet is all filthy, stained and bathed with flies… What the hell? Why such inconsideration? Is this the real spirit of the restaurant? Is it too filthy despite the technological advances? Is it because the toilet was forgotten or something…?

Lame example, but this is where we begin.

The 21st century is being bombarded by neologisms that reflect the society’s current state. Concepts like selfie, bullying and Friendzone are becoming recurrent in the social networks and for a reason: they’re marking an aspect of the people’s spirit of this century, in a good or a terrible manner. I chose these three for several reasons, but I would like to emphasize on Friendzone for several reasons. However, it will be the topic of the next post, surely. For now, I will briefly explain the three as whole:

Selfie: It’s a new way to call self-taken photographs for…well, no reason that I understand. In fact, this activity’s not exclusive of this century: it was done in the 1900s. Artists and photographs would occasionally take photos of themselves for several reasons, surely all of them for artistic or intimate reasons, so what’s the big deal about it? Well, easy: it’s become so—so—common nowdays that it will soon become a verb, like sneezing. And that would be no problem…if it weren’t a sign that people are becoming a bit more narcissistic.

Puddle, puddle in the brook, who’s the fairest on Facebook~?

Some studies have found that this practice, if done in an excessive manner, is a sign of damaged self-esteem or an unhealthy way of calling for attention. These problems, again, have been present from the very past, but you gotta wonder why suddenly this term and situation got a name in these years. And, in my most humble opinion that could be wrong, I link it to the fact that society has become less…social and more self-interested and apathetic.

Now that technology’s “saving” us from the need of walking outside, greeting tête-a-tête with other people and socializing as, you know, in the past, there has been less reasons to walk outside and live in flesh and blood the reality. Oh no, now you can live it from the comfort and safety from your laptop, and which can even measure your “acceptability” with “likes” and “shares”, something uncommon in real life. Technology, as helpful it is (it has helped us create campaigns for justice and truth, and of course, share information and destroy the lies given us by the uncontrolled media), as problematic it can be if not handled correctly. And I think the term “selfie” is a symptom that society’s not handling well the social side of the technology, if not a symptom that we’re disconnecting from each other now that we’ve weaved a new reality through our computers.

Bullying: This will be a bonus for anybody who knows Spanish, as this comes from a language-based opinion. I don’t know how long English language has had this term, but it is recent in the Spanish lexicon, at least as far as I’ve known. When I was a child, I never heard of this term. Abuse and pestering was common (and I suffered it), but Spanish language never had a term for this because it wasn’t really part of our life. It wasn’t rare, or common. But it sure wasn’t as explosive as today.

In the recent years, bullying became a known and even common term in my country because the abuse cases grew in number (and in cruelty…), and soon it borrowed the English “bullying”. And it became a school term.

I find this a bit creepy. I would cite you, O Reader, examples of the recent cruelty of Mexican children in several schools, but no, I’ll save you from the nightmares. However, I find it disturbing that the abuses in school have become so common that it soon became a label and a term. A term known by everybody. A term, in my opinion, that shouldn’t exist. Why? Because violence is not acceptable. It shouldn’t exist in schools. There should be no name for these acts. None at all.

user posted image

If you were about to kill your twin, surely it would be a “twinicide”, but what happens when a Spanish peasant appears on your aim as well…? Would it be called “hispanitwinicide”?

However, this adaption of the word “bullying” just means to me something: society’s losing culture and values. Be it the media, be it the lame parenting, be it the lame shallow values of today… Dunno, but something’s transforming the kids into little killing and—yes, with a most painful heart to say it—raping machines. The culture’s becoming downgraded and rotten. Parents no longer educate their children to love and accept, but to “punch back if he bullies you”. Society’s getting an awful stench, like our hypothetical restaurant’s smelly toilet.

Friendzone: I want to dedicate this term a whole topic of its own because I sure got a long rant about it, but I will leave you guys a preview of why I have a problem with it: it has sensationalized relationships. Or better said, it has turned it into toys and stereotypes. Relationships, according to what I always understood, were something far more complex and enduring, and it seems that nowdays even love is based on a set of rules and systems that I don’t even understand, and I tend to feel more comfortable when I do things that are ruled and organized!

Friendzone means that you’ve been good to a certain person after a long time and then is “delegated” into a friend and not into something far more serious, like a boyfriend or lover. This tends to be played for laughs because, well, one expects a better treatment after you treat well somebody else… And that’s my problem: why? Why do you gotta be treated better or even sexually paid because you were “nice”? If you expected something, then you weren’t even a friend: you were an interested person.

I would tell you an anecdote I lived with a beggar on a park that could count as an example… But no. I’ll save it for the next article, that, hopefully, will be written soon. But I will resume by saying that Friendzone’s a sign that human relationships have become something far too different, if not immature, than before.

There are more concepts we could talk about. But I wanted to look at these three and give my opinion. But again, O Reader, you have the final word. I’m certain I might be wrong in some facts, and so I apologize if any mistake was done. However, get in mind that I tend to complain because I wish for a better world for you, me and the future generations. And my helplessness tends to remind me that the sole thing I can do for the moment is to write, hoping somebody might receive some help with these articles.

Thanks for reading!

Most of the images redirect back to their original links if clicked on them.

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