(Not a) Day (but Years) of the Dead
The New Yorker stated yesterday the following question: Could 43 missing students spark a Revolution? Well, 43 is no small number but to set things in context it's not the 43 we are raving about. It's the large number of killings, kidnappings, mass graves and growing number of disappearances throughout our country over the past few years. Events have been getting closer and closer to the people we love, it's no longer people that know x people that have been affected: your friend was shot, some athletes your best friend trains with, were missing a few days ago. Where at? Exactly at the place you were walking with some dogs just a month ago.
You might ask, how is it that we are living this process? What happens as this reality sinks into our mind set every day? There's no easy answer but I guess you take a shower, get dressed and think about it while you drive to work. Then you get some more pieces from that puzzle through the news but then you have to brush it away as you answer emails or arrange urgent meetings. Then you try to get back home but you can't because there's a mobilisation of thousands of people that are manifesting their rage towards a government unable to deal with a cancerous and impune system.
You feel terrible because you were not there. There's always a sense of urgency mixed with guilt about doing something more than keeping yourself informed, about writing or posting information. You wonder where could you start, what kind of artistic response should be approached under these circumstances, what shape your satiety of indignation will take and when. Beyond your thoughts, your own desire of expression, how can you actually make a difference?
Actions not words becomes your silent prayer every night as you read and wonder, how did we allow this to happen to ourselves? "Hannah Arendt used to say 'fury is in no way an automatic response towards misery and suffering as such; nobody gets furious towards a deadly disease or an earthquake, or even towards social conditions that seem impossible to modify. Only in the cases we believe we have good reasons to think that these conditions could change, but don't, fury emerges. We don't manifest a rage reaction unless our sense of justice is under attack'".
A few days ago, I read Sabina Bergman's article. What are we, the 90% of the population, doing next? Everything seems so banal. Should we celebrate the Day of the Dead this next November 2nd? Isn't that a little macabre? Must we light a candle for the allegedly alive students or weep with their parents all the personal injustices we have suffered? Has the army disguised as La Parca taken them forever hostage to complete darkness, to that place where no justice will be able to reach for them? The stench of putrid cempazuchitl and incense prevails in our altars or ofrendas. But are we joyous and defiant towards death still? Can we laugh at it on our literary skulls (calaveritas) or should we become a bit somber but dare to take some kind of action?
Excuse me but when did we become a country at siege?
You might ask, how is it that we are living this process? What happens as this reality sinks into our mind set every day? There's no easy answer but I guess you take a shower, get dressed and think about it while you drive to work. Then you get some more pieces from that puzzle through the news but then you have to brush it away as you answer emails or arrange urgent meetings. Then you try to get back home but you can't because there's a mobilisation of thousands of people that are manifesting their rage towards a government unable to deal with a cancerous and impune system.
You feel terrible because you were not there. There's always a sense of urgency mixed with guilt about doing something more than keeping yourself informed, about writing or posting information. You wonder where could you start, what kind of artistic response should be approached under these circumstances, what shape your satiety of indignation will take and when. Beyond your thoughts, your own desire of expression, how can you actually make a difference?
Actions not words becomes your silent prayer every night as you read and wonder, how did we allow this to happen to ourselves? "Hannah Arendt used to say 'fury is in no way an automatic response towards misery and suffering as such; nobody gets furious towards a deadly disease or an earthquake, or even towards social conditions that seem impossible to modify. Only in the cases we believe we have good reasons to think that these conditions could change, but don't, fury emerges. We don't manifest a rage reaction unless our sense of justice is under attack'".
A few days ago, I read Sabina Bergman's article. What are we, the 90% of the population, doing next? Everything seems so banal. Should we celebrate the Day of the Dead this next November 2nd? Isn't that a little macabre? Must we light a candle for the allegedly alive students or weep with their parents all the personal injustices we have suffered? Has the army disguised as La Parca taken them forever hostage to complete darkness, to that place where no justice will be able to reach for them? The stench of putrid cempazuchitl and incense prevails in our altars or ofrendas. But are we joyous and defiant towards death still? Can we laugh at it on our literary skulls (calaveritas) or should we become a bit somber but dare to take some kind of action?
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