Translated by Amanda Moody
These words are a posthumous tribute. A cry of rage. A slap of frustration. A recognition of those journalists who are in exile, hidden, missing, killed, beaten, frightened. Those who - like Javier Valdez [killed on Monday, May 15, in Culiacán, Sinaloa]- have gone through life “bringing stories to light” despite the censorship and looming gun barrels. Those who end up like him, shot down by twelve bullets, lying in the street next to his bloody hat. The true heroes, fueled by rebelliousness, keeping alive the broken dream of making Mexico a better country. In short, those who are journalists. Despite the fear, despite the gags - both metaphorical and real - despite the smell of blood that pursues them wherever they go. Today is a compliment, a raised fist, a song to them despite the heavy heart.
Those who must be permanently vigilant in their homes, the newspapers where they work, the cities and the country where they live. And yet, as Javier wrote in Narcoperiodismo [Jounalism of Drug Trafficking]: in the midst of crime and complaint, the press sit at the keyboard and are told and tell themselves: “go on, bastard, don’t give up, let’s tell them what we know”. The photographer who runs, stumbles, falls, and still carries the camera, hugs it, knowing that the police are close. As are the thugs, the hit men, the dogs, the hyenas of the mayor or the governor. The reporter riddled with bullets for publishing what he shouldn’t. The reporter murdered for being a nuisance, a hindrance, or for prying. The corruption of Javier Duarte [former governor of Veracruz recently arrested on corruption charges] or the scandal of OHL [Spanish construction company believed to have paid bribes for government highway contracts] or the corruption of Odebrecht [Brazilian construction company has acknowledged paying bribes] or the bad management of the treasury or the alliance between the druig traffickers and the heads of government. Stories of horror, stories of impunity. Stories of our Mexico, battered. Badly hurt. Broken.
Ever more journalists are silenced. Ever more often the fierce punch becomes more common for those who seek the truth. And it is not only the narcos who have angrily chewed up the representatives of the fourth power. It is not only a Zetas leader who gives the order for execution, for extermination, the abduction and murder so that someone stops writing, inquiring, investigating. The politicians also play their part. The police. Organized crime colludes with government officials, members of the Armed Forces and media owners. The political powers kill in Veracruz, in Jalisco, in Tamaulipas, in Guerrero, in Sinaloa, in swamps full of crocodiles.
Meanwhile, Peña Nieto and those who still accompany him are unmoved in the face of what’s going on. Through his tardiness and ineptitude, he’s demonstrating the tragedy for which we have all been jointly responsible by allowing Mexico to return to being a bloody country. A country of corpses in the streets, children killed during soldiers’ persuit of thugs, the smell of burned meat, dead hair. Mexico, a cemetery.
This time will be remembered by our young people - in Javier's words - as a time of war. Our children’s DNA will be “tattooed with bullets and pistols and blood”, with the weapons we carry to kill tomorrow. Here they are, the murderers of the future: those who supported and support Calderón’s warmongering, Peña Nieto’s mimicry of the failed security strategy, the Internal Security Act [being written in Congress to legitimize the use of the armed forces in the drug war], the impunity pact enjoyed by killers during their term of office... No more!
Then there is a claim against our society that does not support its journalists as it should. A passive society that doesn’t become indignant and doesn’t mobilize and doesn’t demand what would be necessary in order to protect those who work to create a little awareness, a twist of sensitivity in the eyes and in the soul. An anesthetized society that does not honor those who are reporting from the abyss and keeping alive a thread of voice, alert in front of the keyboard. So a late tribute goes to the hands which are trembling but alive, pointing out the forced silence. To the journalists who, through their work, remind us of the dictum of Javier Valdez:
“To stop writing would be to die.”He has stopped writing but - in his name - his work must carry on. The work of writing the truth, laying bare the official speech, reporting a rally, photographing the purchase of votes. Javier and Miroslava [Miroslava Breach, killed in March in Chihuahua] and Rubén [Rubén Espinoza, killed in Mexico City in August 2015] and Gregorio [Gegorio Jiménez, killed in Veracruz in Feb. 2014] and many other names. Here is the promise that the voice in the darkness will not be silenced; here is the commitment to cling to what you have all left behind you. A sliver of hope. Yes.
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*Denise Dresser is a Mexican political analyst, writer, and university professor. After completing undergraduate work at The College of Mexico, she earned her Ph.D. in Politics at Princeton University. She is currently a faculty member in the Department of Political Science at the Autonomous Technological Institute of Mexico (ITAM), where she teaches courses such as Comparative Politics, Political Economy and Contemporary Mexican Politics. She has taught at Georgetown University and the University of California. In December 2015, she was decorated as a Knight of the Legion of Honor by the French government. Twitter: @DeniseDresserG