Hoplessness, helplessness and a sliver of light

My heart has been heavy this week. Even though I´ve been in Mexico for over two months, I feel like I´m just beginning to come to terms with the incredible violence, poverty and corruption present in this country. Since 2007, the Mexican government´s war on narcotrafficking and organized crime has left over 40,000 dead and 10,000 disappeared. Before coming to Mexico, I had a general sense of the situation here: U.S. news coverage of Mexican affairs often details the extreme violence, but watching Diane Sawyer on World News Tonight is not the same as listening to a woman recount the night when eight men in her family disappeared. It´s not the same as watching a woman who appeared to be about my age sob through the story of her horrific rape. 

Rick, a fellow MCCer and co-worker at INESIN, told me that Mexico´s government is the second most corrupt in the world. Presumed guilty is the norm and news sources are censored incredibly heavily by the government. Journalists who don´t present a government-approved version of life are persecuted. So is anyone else perceived as a “threat to the state.” And I don´t have to travel far to see this reality. Currently there are eleven indigenous men and women held in San Cristóbal´s prison whose right to due process has been denied since their time of incarceration (some over 10 years ago). Some have been tortured and denied access to qualified translators. All witnesses to their “crimes” deny that these prisoners are culpable. On September 29, these prisoners began a hunger strike and have stated that they will continue to refuse food indefinitely. The families of these prisoners are stationed outside of San Cristóbal´s main cathedral for the duration of the strike and I pass by their tent every time I walk downtown, a reminder of intense suffering and injustice in this nation.

The poor economic situation of this country contributes to the violence and human rights abuses. Finding work is next-to-impossible for many Mexicans. My host mom, Liliana, would love to start working, but she says that after age 35 there isn´t much hope. There are over 8,000 young people in Mexico who are ninis (ni trabajan, ni estudian).  These young Mexicans, who neither work nor study, are left with very few ways out. In this situation, entering the narcotrafficking trade, unfortunately, becomes increasingly appealing. Yesterday, I heard a story of a teacher who asked each of his elementary school students what they wanted to be when they grew up. Following a few students who said they wanted to be teachers or doctors, one boy piped up that he wanted to be a narcotrafficker. Though entering this world involves incredibly high risk, it also pays well and for many Mexicans, the risk is worth it. Others attempt to migrate. Some arrive in the U.S. and subsequently face a whole host of new challenges. Others don´t. Criminal networks take advantage of the vulnerable situation of immigrants through extortion and violence. Some die en route. Others run out of money on the way.       

This week, I´ve felt helpless and hopeless. Government structures are strong and controlling. The U.S. continues to fuel conflict here by providing weapons through the Mérida Initiative. The gap between the rich and poor in this nation is incredible. According to Forbes magazine the richest man in the world is a Mexican: Carlos Slim. At the same time, 60% of Mexicans live in poverty. How can one not feel helpless and hopeless when confronted with this information?

But I´m trying to believe that there is always a ray of light somewhere because without this belief it´s impossible to motivate yourself to do anything but wallow in misery. I´ve found hope in my coworkers who visit and pray with the incarcerated prisoners in San Cristóbal. I´ve found hope in the national Movimiento por la Paz con Justicia y Dignidad (Moviment for Peace with Justice and Dignity) which has organized two national caravans calling for an end to Mexico´s militarization, one of which I had the honor of participating in soon after my arrival in San Cristóbal. I´ve found hope in the life and poetry of El Salvadorian Archbishop Oscar Romero, a radical priest and human rights defender who was murdered in 1980. You can read his beautiful poem “Profetas de un futuro que no es nuestro” (A Future Not Our Own) in Spanish or in English. It´s message continues to inspire me when I feel helpless or hopeless in the face of great injustice.