Los Fabulosos Cadillacs, Matador

I was worried about going to the National Strike for the 43 Missing Students from Ayotzinapa at the Zócalo, before I left I checked Twitter and saw some pictures that were disturbing, dissidents (or anarchists) dressed as "students" on a military truck or some other ones hurt while trying to get to the airport to close it off.

Today I heard Denisse Maerker on the radio, she was criticising that some people were paranoid during the march while looking for snipers on top of the buildings. Really? Maybe she lives in the same place that our president lives. In a place where he thinks he can speak about what Mexicans want when clearly, he's not able to have the traditional military parade that celebrates the Mexican Revolution at the Zócalo?

Enough about that.

I wanted to talk about my experience of the march.

I made some black flowers made of paper to hand them out, and in case I felt comfortable, I brought an Ukuku mask I bought from Peru. The Ukukus are supposed to "represent[ing] mythical demigods [...], descendants of a woman and a jukumari or Andean Bear. They are said to be wild beings much stronger and tougher than ordinary people. These supernatural entities live between the darkness and the light (on the edge between two worlds) and the only ones capable of facing and defeating the "condenados" (Spanish for 'damned'), evil and lost souls that roam over the glaciers at night". [source]

I usually don't lead my life under such symbolic circumstances, to be completely honest I though about it after I started explaining my mask to the people that were asking me through the march. The mask though, did remind me of Pussy Riot and the idea of unconsciously being part of a performance. It's incredible the power of wearing one, all of a sudden, I was being stopped and photographed. I gave out flowers to tired kids carried on the shoulders of brave dads, women with exposed breasts, old women (who just as Mardi Gras), took their chairs out to the street to participate, old men with little "luchadores" or mexican wrestlers stuck on a hat, women with white turbans and Ohm chants...

The hard part was learning about the mothers of the Ayotzinapa missing students. I overheard someone telling how, people were constantly walking towards them to be hugged. Tears flowed, they became the mothers of impunity.

Ranchers with big "machetes" trotted by. It seemed like a strange kind of déjà vu, after all it was the 104th Anniversary of the Mexican Revolution. What was the constant throughout the evening? Aside from the people counting: 1, 2, 3, 4...42, 42, 43... Justice! and They took them alive, we want them alive! Enrique Peña Nieto (EPN) you're an asshole! EPN out PRI (the Institutional and Revolutionary Party out! Peña privatise your wife! Fuera Peña! (Peña out!)

Military was also depicted, especially after listening to the parents of the missing Ayotzinapa students as they narrated how they were told how their kids went running towards the military to ask them for help and the way they were betrayed and delivered back to the "Guerreros Unidos".

Everyone had a loss, a complaint, an injustice: from femicides, outraged feminists, other missing or hurt students of UNAM (National University), to recent impunities of the "Poli" (Technical National School) chanting. They were all chanting: Goya goyaaaa Universidaaaad!

Stickers and all kinds of written protests were made, posters, signs, printed tarps and photocopied handouts of information were given by some people. Everyone expressed themselves in some kind of way. Nobody was silent. All groups were included in the march.

The best example I saw, was a very inventive and poignant signage pasted with transparent tape. The names of the street were changed to Impunity, Nomalists (students), Repression, etc. 

As we grew closer to the Zócalo, the tension started growing. Specially after learning some grave incidents by the "Anarchists" were conducted in 5 de Mayo Street.

We all had an eye on the roofs at the same time we danced with a "batucada" (drummers). We all went wild when Los Fabulosos Cadillacs rhythm started hinting Matador Matadoooor (Killer Killer!) song.

We finally reached the Zócalo around 9pm. To reach the center of the plaza was impossible. People were mostly going around it and we had all missed the speakers and the burning of the EPN piñata. We bought some candy, some lit a cigarette, made small talk and decided to leave. It was getting late and none of us wanted to be left behind around the so called anarchist groups or even worse, the "granaderos" or police force.

Friends and family back home, started texting us: "Where are you guys?" "Around so and so street, why?" "Get out of there as fast as you can, news are reporting the anarchists are trying to pull their stunt on the National Palace's door and the police is also removing people forcefully out of the plaza.."

We never saw anything. But today I stared reading through the social media and news online some of the events that happened right after we left. Who won yesterday? Or what did we win, some of the people I have met today asked me? Whenever that question is raised, my memory fetches a poster I saw recently: "If you are outraged by the traffic our marches are generating and want to shout, count till 43 and remember it's the number of students missing from anyone's family". In response to that I think we won the right every nation has, which is the right to protest, the right to fight for a more dignified country. Even if the light gets crushed, right after.