"Ayotzinapa. Desaparición Política" (ed. Bilingüe)

Ayotzinapa Forced Disappearances

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Texts for this volume were generated through a joined, collective effort, during the World Day of Action for the Disappeared of Ayotzinapa on the 22nd of October 2014. pensarecartoneras.wordpress.com pensarecartoneras@gmail.com Around the Rural Teachers’ Colleges Méhico October 22, 2014 Translation from Spanish to English & bilingual edition were made by the collaborative effort of AXOLOTE [a.xo.ˈlo.te] Group of Mexican Students and Friends at the University of Wisconsin-Madison Printing was made able thanks to the financial support from LACIS Latin American, Caribbean and Iberian Studies Program at University of Wisconsin-Madison Translation March, 2015 Madison, WI

FUE EL ESTADO (OTRA VEZ)

THE STATE DID IT (AGAIN)

UNA INVITACIÓN A LEER LUCHAR: La tensión entre la desaparición y el número.

La desaparición es un proceso infinito, el número afirma lo contrario La palabra desaparecido arrastra el peso de un siglo americano, de una tradición casi genocida de los de arriba hacia los de abajo: desapareció del mapa, se borró su presencia. ¿Qué había antes? Una presencia. Para el poder, una vida desperdiciable. Ese es el mecanismo de la dominación/política.

Lo que desaparece dice la verdad en México.

La verdad es que en México hay un regimen de impunidad política, de indiferencia ciudadana y de terror cotidiano que tiene que ver con la política partidista, el crimen organizado y las instituciones: una articulación que apunta hacia las vidas que son consideradas como desperdiciables y contra los movimientos críticos en lo social. La verdad es que la desaparición forzada es una costumbre del México contemporáneo contra mujeres, empobrecidxs, luchadorxs, migrantxs, y un sin fin de identidades en tránsito. El silencio que envuelve este problema político les hace desaparecer para la sociedad mexicana. ¿Hasta ahora?

4

AN INVITATION TO READ FIGHT: The tension between disappearance and numbers.

Disappearance is an infinite process, numbers disprove this.

The word disappeared carries within itself a whole American century, a genocidal tradition imposed from above on those who are below: they were forcibly disappeared from the map, their presence was erased. What was there before? A presence. But in the eyes of power, an expendable life. Such is the mechanism of politics/domination.

What disappears in Mexico speaks the truth.

The truth is that in Mexico there is a regime of political impunity, indifferent citizenry and daily terror that has much to do with partisan politics, organized crime and State institutions.

This articulation targets lives that are considered expendable and all critical social movements. The truth is that forced disappearance has become a custom of contemporary Mexico, a custom against women, the impoverished population, migrants, and countless other people with identities in transit. The silence surrounding this political problem is what makes them disappear from Mexican society.

Until now?

5

Son 119 las mujeres desaparecidas en Puebla 2,299 casos a nivel nacional entre 2012-2013, cifras 'oficiales'.

2mil 876 casos en el estado de México entre diciembre 2013 y febrero 2014; jóvenes secuestradas coinciden con un mismo perfil 70 mil migrantes centroamericanos han desaparecido -en diciembre de 2013- en su trayectoria por México rumbo a los Estados Unidos, según el conteo que ha documentado los últimos 30 años la Caravana de Madres Centroamericanas

La desaparición tiene memoria.

Tiene verdad.

Algo está pasando, pues. “(Cualac, Guerrero) nunca había protestado", refiere una habitante del lugar.

La verdad no se comunica, se contagia.

6

119 women have been forcibly disappeared in Puebla 2,299 cases at the national level in 2012-2013, according to “official” figures 2,876 cases in the state of Mexico between December 2013 and February 2014; the young girls who were kidnapped share similar profiles 70,000 Central American migrants have been disappeared—as of December 2013—in their trip through Mexico towards the United States, according to data collected by the Caravana de Madres Centroamericanas (Central American Mothers’ Caravan) Disappearance has memory.

Disappearance has truth.

Something is happening, man. “(Cualac, Guerrero) had never protested before”, says a local woman.

Truth is not communicated, it is spread

7

Este es un libro abierto, en marcha, precario en el que pasan cosas.

Un libro abierto, como la vida. ApropiĂŠmoslo.

Tomemos la palabra.

8

Picture: I think, therefore I am disappeared Accountable: The three branches of government

This is an open book, a marching book, a precarious one in which things happen.

A book that is open, like life is open. Let’s make it ours.

Let’s take the word.

9

Ayotzinapa, herida de fuego El 26 de septiembre del 2014 la sociedad mexicana aprendió a contar a sus muertos. Antes nunca se les contaba, tal vez porque morir asesinado se hizo cosa de todos los días, o quizá porque el miedo petrificaba los corazones. La sabiduría popular pregonaba que era mejor no saber. La certeza era una fuente de peligro. Los ancianos sentenciaban que había que dejar que los muertos enterraran a sus muertos. Se sospecha que hubo un millón de muertos durante la Revolución Mexicana (1910-20).

Se cree que la Guerra Cristera (1926-29) produjo más de 75 mil muertos. Se supone que 300 ciudadanos fueron asesinados en la matanza de Tlatelolco (1968). Se cifra en 3000 el número de muertos y desaparecidos durante la Guerra Sucia (1964-1982).

Se calcula que durante la narcoguerra (2006-actualidad) 145,000 civiles han sido asesinados o desaparecidos. Sin embargo, se tiene la plena certeza de que el 26 de septiembre de 2014 seis personas fueron asesinadas en Iguala, Guerrero (una de ellas desollada) y 43 estudiantes de la Escuela Normal Rural de Ayotzinapa fueron detenidos-desaparecidos por la policía municipal, en presunta colaboración con el cartel conocido como Guerreros Unidos, y con la aquiescencia del 57º Batallón de Infantería del Ejército Mexicano.

A decir verdad, algunos académicos, periodistas y defensores de derechos humanos ya habían empezado a contar a los muertos desde antes. Muertos descabezados, desmembrados, colgados, encajuelados, encobijados, enfosados, disueltos en ácido o simplemente abatidos a tiros. Quienes daban seguimiento al tema de las víctimas pensaban que la tragedia de Iguala pasaría tan inadvertida como los 340 cuerpos hallados en fosas clandestinas en el estado de Durango en 2012, o minimizada como otras tantas atrocidades en las que el Estado ha sido responsable por acción, aquiescencia u omisión. No obstante, Iguala tuvo una resonancia doméstica e internacional sin precedentes en la historia mexicana. ¿Por qué en un país que chorrea sangre los 43 se convirtieron en el símbolo de la barbarie de la guerra contra las drogas? El horror empezó no 10

con la masacre y la abducción masiva, sino con la cascada de versiones de los hechos que ofrecieron las autoridades, que terminaron por desquiciar a la opinión pública. La incompetencia de las autoridades mexicanas, sin embargo, no basta para explicar las razones por las que millones de personas se sintieron interpeladas por el caso Ayotzinapa. Las víctimas eran de origen campesino, habitantes del estado más pobre y violento de la república mexicana, pero sobre todo, jóvenes y estudiantes. El promedio ronda los 20 años. Fueron victimados por ser activistas, pese a que no quebrantaran la ley, y eso reavivó la herida nunca sanada de la matanza estudiantil de 1968. Una vez más jóvenes idealistas e inermes fueron despiadadamente atacados por la fuerza pública que debía protegerlos. Tlatelolco e Iguala son crímenes de Estado equiparables.

El movimiento social por Ayotzinapa clama unánimemente “fue el Estado” porque la memoria histórica evidencia que sólo el Estado dispone de la maquinaria de terror para procesar estas atrocidades. Sí, el Estado mata, tortura, secuestra, desaparece y nunca pide perdón. Es ese mismo Estado que así como se llevó a los 43 y a otros miles más, también le ha desaparecido a los mexicanos la alegría, la esperanza, la vida digna y el derecho a un futuro promisorio. Este libro muestra el clamor de una sociedad desgarrada y furiosa. Los 43 se han convertido en el símbolo de la inocencia asesinada. Los mexicanos ya no confían en su gobierno ni en sus instituciones, y salen a las calles gritando: “nos han quitado tanto que nos quitaron el miedo”. Su ira y el inmenso dolor de la herida de fuego que se abrió en Ayotzinapa no nos pueden ser indiferentes.

11

Ayotzinapa, a burning wound On September 26, 2014, Mexican society learned to count its dead. Before that day deaths were never counted, perhaps because being murdered was an everyday occurrence, or perhaps because fear petrified people’s hearts. Conventional wisdom claimed it was better not to know; certainty was a source of danger. The elders believed it was necessary to let the dead bury their own dead. It is presumed that a million people perished during the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). There were more than 75,000 casualties during the Cristero War (1926-1929). It is supposed that there were 300 deaths at the massacre of Tlatelolco (1968), and roughly 3,000 deaths and disappearances during the Dirty War (1964-1982). Estimates indicate that since the drug war’s inception (2006-present) 145,000 civilians have been killed or disappeared. However, we know for sure that on September 26, 2014, six people were killed in Iguala, Guerrero—one of them skinned—and 43 students of the Normal Rural School of Ayotzinapa were detained/disappeared by the municipal police in a concerted effort with the Guerrero Unidos cartel, and with the acquiescence of the 57th Infantry Battalion of the Mexican army.

Academics, journalists, and human rights defenders had already begun counting the barbaric manners in which people were being murdered because of the war on drugs. Overnight on the thoroughfare corpses turn up beheaded, dismembered, hanging on bridges, locked in car trunks, covered with blankets, or simply shot. Some others are buried in clandestine graves or dissolved in acid. Those who have been following the human rights situation in Mexico were certain Iguala’s egregious crime would go unnoticed, just as when 340 bodies were found in mass graves in the state of Durango in 2012, or that the crime’s effects would be downplayed, as have been so many atrocities in which the state has been responsible. However, Iguala has fostered a domestic and international resonance unprecedented in Mexican history. How is it that, in a country where so much 12

blood is being spilled, 43 students became the symbol of the savagery that is the war on drugs? Public impatience ultimately dwindled after authorities continuously distorted reports. The incompetence of Mexican authorities, however, does not explain the reasons why millions of people felt challenged by the Ayotzinapa case. The students came from rural campesino backgrounds, they were inhabitants of the poorest and most violent state in Mexico, and victimized for being activists, despite not breaking any law. As a result, they revived the never-healed wound of the 1968 student massacre. Once again the public force that should protect citizens ruthlessly attacked a group of unarmed idealistic youths. 1968 and 2014 are scorch marks of State crimes.

The social movement that flourished after Iguala unanimously claims: “The State did it!” because historical memory proves that only the state has capabilities of performing massive atrocities. Yes, the state kills, tortures, kidnaps, forcibly disappears, and never apologizes. The same State that abducted 43 students and thousands more has taken away joy, hope, dignity, and the right to a promising future from the Mexican people. This book is about the outcry of a torn and angry society. “The 43” have become the symbol of murdered innocence. Mexicans no longer trust their government or its institutions, and have taken to the streets shouting: “They have taken so much from us, they even took our fear!” May this anger and the immense pain created by the burning wound that is Ayotzinapa no longer makes us indifferent.

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I Con la voz entrecortada, Marcos explicó que la noche del 26 de septiembre salieron entre 60 y 70 alumnos a Iguala para realizar actividades de boteo porque llegaría un contingente muy grande, previo a los preparativos del 2 de octubre. Explicó que después de botear retuvieron tres autobuses que utilizarían como transporte.“Nos trasladamos a la empresa donde retuvimos tres autobuses, en esos autobuses nosotros hablamos con los choferes, y ellos también aceptaron venirse para acá, les explicamos el motivo y les dijimos que los necesitábamos.”

A la salida de Iguala se percató que eran seguidos por patrullas de la policía municipal.

“Yo viajaba en el tercer autobús y les decía ¿saben que ahí vienen las patrullas? Nos comunicábamos por celular y les decía que estuvieran al tanto nada más. Llegando al bulevar, al autobús que iba hasta adelante se le cerró una patrulla y otras más se quedaron atrás.”

“El compañero Aldo fue uno de los primeros que se bajaron, entonces las patrullas sin decir nada simplemente empezaron a rafaguear arriba, a todos los vidrios (…) A Aldo fue al primero que le dieron un balazo porque estaba abajo.

“Nosotros que estábamos en el último autobús, no sabíamos qué pasaba, y después de ahí cuando empezaron los primeros balazos como al minuto fue cuando comenzaron a tirarnos a nosotros, en la parte de atrás, en la parte de adelante, y lo único que yo hice y mis compañeros fue tirarnos abajo.”

“Caían los vidrios, ahí nos arrastrábamos, estoy cortado de la parte del codo. A un compañero mío fue cuando le dieron el balazo en la mano y él fue el primero que se bajó.

“Los policías nos bajaron, nos empezaron a golpear, ahí nos tuvieron. Yo veía a mis compañeros de primero y de segundo y les decía que no se rajaran, que no se agüitaran, pero ellos estaban muy asustados”.

14

“En el primer autobús empezaron a llevarse casi a todos, esos fueron casi a los primeros que comenzaron a subir a las patrullas.

Llegaron más patrullas, pero esas nada más fueron a llevárselos.

“Nosotros que estábamos hasta atrás, con mi otro compañero, vimos cómo los levantaron, los subieron allá a los chavos y ellos, mis compañeros, ensangrentados y golpeados, unos iban llorando de miedo, de impotencia.”

“Uno de mis compañeros se quedó viendo al policía y el policía cortó cartucho. ¿Qué me ves hijo de tu chingada madre?

Ahorita te va a llevar la chingada. Y le cortó cartucho y le apunto a la cara”. Otro policía le dijo: “ya deja al morro, ya lo chingamos, ya no le hagas más. ¡Te va a llevar la chingada a ti y a tu familia! Entonces mi compañero nada más agacho la cabeza.”

El joven explicó que a él y a otros compañeros no se los llevaron porque ya no cabían en las patrullas. “En las patrullas ya no cabían mis compañeros, entonces nosotros nos juntamos un poco. Ya estaba llegando un poco de gente, estaban viendo.

Entonces los policías a nosotros ya no nos subieron”.

Eran aproximadamente entre las 8:30 y 9:00 de la noche, cuando comenzaron a comunicarse con sus compañeros de lo que había pasado y a las 9:30 empezaron a llegar maestros de la CETEG (Coordinadora Estatal de Trabajadores de la Educación de Guerrero) algunos reporteros y ciudadanos que pasaban por ahí y finalmente sus compañeros. Eran entre las 11:00 y 11:30 de la noche cuando “los maestros de la CETEG comenzaron a tomar fotos y algunos reporteros que ya se habían presentado”.

Marcos calcula que eran aproximadamente las 12:30 de la noche cuando de repente empezamos a escuchar detonaciones de armas de fuego. “Primero fue hacia el aire después fueron contra nosotros. Mi compañero me dijo, yo vi cuando se venía acercando una camioneta blanca, grande, pero venía despacito, y dijo ‘yo pensé, que ya había visto el lugar de los hechos, que por eso venía bajando’ pero no, a los 30 metros de donde estábamos nosotros se 15

bajo

un

cabrón,

un

individuo

y

empezó

a

tirar mientras el otro corría y todavía se hincó y fue cuando empezó a tirar contra nosotros.”

En esa segunda balacera contra los estudiantes de Ayotzinapa resultó herido Édgar, un estudiante de tercer grado, originario de Oaxaca, quién aún permanece internado en un hospital de Iguala. “A uno de mis compañeros que ya había llegado de apoyo le dieron un balazo en la boca, le deshicieron todos los dientes de arriba, el labio se lo tumbó el balazo… Ahí es donde perdieron la vida otros dos compañeros”.

Narró la impotencia que sentían porque nadie los quería auxiliar, y cargando ya a su amigo herido llegaron a lo que les dijeron era un hospital, pero sólo había dos señoras. “Nuestro compañero Édgar se estaba desangrando y nos decía que nos apuráramos, nosotros le decíamos ‘aguanta carnal, aguanta no podemos salir ahorita’. Teníamos miedo de que veíamos que afuera pasaban camionetas sospechosas y de verdad que sí se sentía una tensión.”

Marcos recuerda que eran casi las tres de la mañana a esa hora, un compañero de primer grado se comunicó con otros compañeros quienes le dijeron que estaban en la procuraduría y que no estaban detenidos y están resguardados por policías.

“Nosotros no queríamos salir y nos dijeron que donde estábamos.

Que un señor de Derechos Humanos iba a ir por nosotros acompañados con policías ministeriales. Ellos los van a traer, salgan.”

La madrugada del 27 de septiembre fueron recibidos 17 pacientes en el Hospital General de Iguala, Guerrero, de ellos ocho eran normalistas de Ayotzinapa, quienes fueron agredidos por policías municipales.

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I With a faltering voice, Marcos explained that on the night of September 26 between 60 and 70 students went to Iguala to collect money through donation boxes, or “boteo,” since a large group was going to be arriving, prior to the preparations for the 2nd of October, the anniversary of the Tlatelolco student massacre of 1968. He explained that after the boteo, they retained three buses that they would use as transportation. “We traveled to a bus company where we stopped three buses, in those buses we spoke to the drivers, and they agreed to come with us, we explained to them what our motives were and that we really needed them.”

As they left Iguala they became aware that the local police were following them.

“I was on the third bus and I asked ‘do you know that the police are right behind us?’ We communicated by cellphone and I told the other buses to be careful. As soon as we got to the intersection, the bus that was in front was intercepted by a police car and some other patrol cars stayed behind.”

“Aldo, our ‘compañero,’ our classmate and friend, was one of the first to exit the bus, then the police, without warning, simply began directing machine gun fire at us, they shot all the windows (...) Aldo was the first one to get shot because he was outside.”

“Those of us that were in the last bus did not really know what was happening, and once we heard that shots were fired it was a minute later that they began to shoot at us, from the back, from the front, and the only thing I did and my compañeros did was hit the ground.”

“The windows shattered, we dragged ourselves, and I got a cut on my elbow. It was then when a friend of mine got hit on the hand and he was the first one to leave our bus.”

“The policemen dragged us from the bus and begun to beat us and there they kept us. I saw my compañeros from the first and second 17

bus and I told them be brave and to stay calm, but they were very afraid.”

“From the first bus they started taking almost everyone; they were for the most part the ones that were taken in the police cars. More police cars came, but they only came to pick people up.”

“Those of us that were behind, with another compañero, saw how they detained our classmate, and they, my classmates, were dripping blood, beaten, some of them where crying from the fear, from the impotence.”

“One of my compañeros stared at a policeman and the policeman loaded his weapon and said ‘what are you looking at motherfucker? You are about to get fucked.’ He cocked the gun and pointed it at my friend’s face. Another policeman said ‘leave the kid alone, we fucked him already, don’t do anything more. You and your family are fucked!’ My compañero just lowered his head.”

The young man explained that he and his other compañeros were not taken because they did not fit into the police cars. “In the police cars my compañeros did not fit anymore, so we stayed together. A few people started showing up and they were seeing everything. So the policemen did not take us.”

It was between 8:30 and 9:00 pm when they began to communicate with their other compañeros about what had happened. At around 9:30 pm people started arriving: teachers from the State Coordinator of Education Workers of Guerrero (CETEG), some reporters, regular citizens that were passing by, and finally their compañeros. Around 11 or 11:30 pm was when “the teachers of the CETEG began to take pictures and some of the reporters had shown up.” Marcos estimates that it was around 12:30 at night when suddenly gunshots were heard.

“First they shot into the air, but later they shot directly at us. My compañero said, ‘I saw a white pick-up truck was driving towards to us, but it was moving very slowly,’ and he said ‘I thought they had already seen the crime scene, that is why it was moving 18

towards us, but no, at about 30 meters an asshole, a man, got out and started shooting while the other was running, he even knelt down and that’s when he started to shoot at us.’”

In that second shootout against the students of Ayotzinapa, a third-year student, native of Oaxaca, Edgar, was injured. He remains hospitalized in Iguala. “One of my compañero that arrived to support us got shot in the mouth, all his upper teeth disintegrated; his lip was knocked off by the gunshot…. It was then that two other compañeros died.”

He told of the impotence that he felt because nobody wanted to aid them, and carrying his injured friend they arrived to what they were told was a hospital but there were only two women there. “Our compañero Edgar was bleeding to death and he was telling us to hurry, we were telling him ‘hang in there, brother, hang in there we can’t go out right now.’ We were afraid because we saw suspicious-looking pickup trucks pass by outside, honestly we felt a lot of tension.”

Marcos recalls that it was almost three o’clock when a first-year compañero touched base with other compañeros who told him that they were at the attorney general’s office and that they weren’t being detained and were being protected by police officers. “We didn’t want to go outside and they asked us where we were. That a man from the Human Rights Watch was going to come for us accompanied by the ministerial police. They will bring you, come out.”

In the early morning of September 27 there were 17 patients admitted to the General Hospital of Iguala, Guerrero. Of the 17 patients, eight were teachers in training from Ayotzinapa who had been assaulted by the municipal police.

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II La Escuela Normal Rural de Ayotzinapa es sinónimo de rebeldía. Semillero de luchadores sociales como Genaro Vázquez o Lucio Cabañas, ha sido y sigue siendo centro de formación de gente y de conciencia. Fundada por el maestro Raúl Isidro Burgos, ha albergado y dado formación durante décadas a hijos de campesinos procedentes de las zonas más pobres del estado de Guerrero, en el suroeste de México. Por sus aulas han pasado generaciones de estudiantes que han visto la posibilidad de acceder a una profesión digna como maestros rurales y de tener un papel importante en el desarrollo de sus comunidades.

Las Escuelas Normales Rurales fueron un elemento esencial en los proyectos de reforma educativa auspiciados por los gobiernos del México posrevolucionario. Creadas para combatir la ignorancia y la miseria, se convirtieron en una herramienta de transformación social y cultural.

Durante los años 40 el impulso original se vería frenado y desde entonces pasarían a un segundo plano para la Secretaría de Educación Pública (SEP). Las normales se convirtieron en escenario de confrontación y de resistencia, de defensa de la educación pública como un derecho popular, un derecho de los más pobres. Como respuesta al movimiento estudiantil de 1968, 17 escuelas serían clausuradas y los estudiantes fueron perseguidos y criminalizados.

Desde finales del siglo XX y principios del XXI los sucesivos gobiernos neoliberales han intensificado su lucha por hacer desaparecer estos centros educativos en un intento por mercantilizar la educación, encontrando en estos espacios algunos de los principales focos de resistencia. La falta de inversión o las reformas curriculares han sido contestadas por una juventud movilizada que se ha negado a obedecer. El Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional compartió y 20

reconoció durante la Otra Campaña—en 2006—la lucha de estas escuelas normales, precisamente desde Ayotzinapa. En el caso que nos ocupa, las huelgas, los bloqueos viales y las manifestaciones en la capital guerrerense -Chilpancingo- son parte del repertorio habitual de lucha en el que se han apoyado los normalistas para hacer valer sus demandas frente al abandono institucional de uno de los Estados más pobres de la República Mexicana y con mayor represión institucional. Los enfrentamientos con las autoridades se han convertido, sin embargo, en la cara más visible de un conflicto que se ha saldado con un balance trágico.

El 30 de noviembre de 2007, la Policía Federal Preventiva desalojó de forma violenta a decenas de estudiantes cuando bloqueaban la autopista del Sol en dirección a Chilpancingo, registrándose hechos de represión que Abel Barrera, coordinador del Centro de Defensa de los Derechos Humanos de la Montaña Tlachinollan, calificó de abuso policial. Cuatro años después, el 12 de diciembre de 2011, en la misma carretera, durante un bloqueo, se registrarían disparos de la policía federal y estatal así como de agentes ministeriales. El tiroteo duró unos veinte minutos y acabaría con la muerte por disparos de los estudiantes Jorge Alexis Herrera y Gabriel Echeverría. Un año después, en una multitudinaria marcha, los familiares de las víctimas seguían exigiendo responsabilidades, destacando los nulos progresos en las investigaciones por parte de la Procuraduría General de Justicia del Estado. La masacre del pasado 26 de septiembre en Iguala es el último episodio de lo que muchos ya no tienen reparos en calificar de crimen de Estado. La última muestra de la simbiosis existente entre el régimen político neoliberal y el crimen organizado. Una geografía del dolor que es una realidad centroamericana, focalizada en México.

La muerte, procedente de una compleja y rica tradición en México, se ha banalizado en objeto de consumo de una economía que la filósofa transfeminista Sayak Valencia denomina “capitalismo gore”. El poder político traducido, ya no 21

en administración de la vida, sino en gestión de la muerte. El poder mezclado entre la política de una casta caciquil, la potencia del crimen organizado y la objetualización de las vidas que se denominan como “desperdiciables” y a las que no se les permite desplegarse. Los y las normalistas son vidas incómodas porque están organizadas en contra de esta economía de raíces internacionales donde matar es lo capital. Vidas marcadas para desaparecer, violencia cotidiana que se revela por episodios de un dolor de intensidad máxima.

La desaparición tiene memoria, la poesía lo sabe, la vida lo sabe, los movimientos lo saben, la memoria -los nombresimportan para no seguir esta senda del capitalismo que convierte la muerte en algo normal en estas zonas empobrecidas, como en la región rural de Guerrero- que son denominadas como aptas para el sacrificio de todo tipo.

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II The Rural Teachers’ College of Ayotzinapa is a synonym for rebellion. A breeding ground of fighters like Genaro Vázquez or Lucio Cabañas, it has always been, and still is, the training ground for people and awareness. Founded by the teacher Raúl Isidro Burgos, for decades it has given shelter and training to sons of rural workers of the land, or campesinos, coming from the poorest areas of Guerrero, in southeast Mexico. Generations of students have come through its classrooms, seeing the possibilities of entering into a dignified profession as teachers in training and of playing important roles in the development of their communities.

The Rural Teachers’ Colleges were an essential part of the education projects that were sponsored by the governments of post-revolutionary Mexico. They were created to fight off ignorance and misery, and they became a tool of social and cultural transformation.

During the 40s the original intent was halted and since then they have become a low priority for the Secretary of Public Education (SEP). The Teachers’ Colleges became the centers of fighting and resistance, places to defend public education as a human right, a right of the poorest of the poor. However, as a response to the student movement of 1968, 17 schools were closed, and the students were persecuted and criminalized.

Since the end of the 20th century and beginning of the 21st century, the neoliberal governments have intensified their fight against these schools to make them disappear in an attempt to commercialize education, basically because these education centers provide some of the principal clusters of resistance. The lack of investment and the attempts to reform the curriculum have been answered by a youth that refuses to oblige. The Zapatista Liberation Front, specifically from Ayotzinapa, shared and recognized during the Other Campaign—in 2006—the plight 23

of these rural schools. In the current case, the strikes, the road blockades, and the manifestations in the capital of Guerrero— Chilpancingo—are part of the usual repertoire that the rural teachers and teachers in training use in order to make their demands heard. Guerrero is one of the poorest states in the Mexican Republic and it also faces institutional abandonment and the highest amount of institutional repression. The clashes with the authorities have become, without a doubt, the most visible side of a conflict that is being resolved with tragic consequences.

On November 30th of 2007, the Federal Preventive Police Force violently evicted dozens of students during a road blockade on the highway Sol on the way to Chilpancingo. Abel Barrera, the coordinator of the Center for Human Rights of the Mountain of Tlachinollan, classified these acts of repression as police brutality. Four years later, on December 12th, 2011, on the same highway, during a road blockade, gunshots that came from the federal and state police along with ministerial agencies were reported. The gunfire lasted for more than 20 minutes and ended with the deaths from gunshot wounds of Jorge Luis Herrera and Gabriel Echeverría. A year later, a massive march was led by the victims’ family members who were still demanding justice, highlighting the lack progress in the investigations by the State Attorney General’s Office. The massacre of the 26th of September in Iguala is the latest episode of what some have no qualms in classifying as a State Crime.

This is the most recent evidence of the symbiosis that exists between the neoliberal political regime and organized crime.

This is the geography of pain that is a Central American reality, focalized in Mexico.

Death, coming from a complex and rich Mexican tradition, has become a banal commodity of an economy in which the transfeminist philosopher, Sayak Valencia, calls “gore capitalism.” Political power no longer translates as the administration of life, but rather as the management of death.

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Power intertwines with the caste of landlords, organized crime and the objectification of lives that are considered to be “dispensable” and that are not allowed to unfold. The lives of man and woman who are schoolteachers are ill-fated because they are organized against this economy of international roots where killing is its capital. They are lives marked to be disappeared, objects of daily violences that are revealed in episodes of insurmountable pain.

Disappearance has memory. Poetry knows it, life knows it, the social movements know it, the memory—the names—matter in order to not follow this path of capitalism that turns death into something ordinary in these areas—impoverished, like the rural area of Guerrero—that have been labeled as suitable for any type of sacrifice or slaughter.

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III Una narcomanta de dos metros de largo fue encontrada en la madrugada del 16 de octubre. Apareció en la barda posterior de la escuela secundaria número tres en Iguala, Guerrero, a menos de un kilómetro del 27 batallón de infantería. En ella, en un mensaje escrito con letra de molde en pintura roja y negra, El Choky solicita justicia al presidente Peña Nieto. De paso, denuncia, con nombres, apellidos y seudónimos, a los responsables del asesinato y desaparición de los normalistas de Ayotzinapa.

El Choky fue señalado en días pasados por el fiscal general del estado, Iñaky Blanco, como jefe de sicarios de Guerreros Unidos, y responsable de ordenar la matanza y desaparición de los jóvenes el pasado 26 de septiembre, tras el ataque contra ellos de policías y sicarios. La lista de los asociados al grupo delincuencial delatados en la manta es larga: ocho alcaldes, directores de Seguridad Pública, el delegado de la Secretaría de Desarrollo Agrario, Territorial y Urbano y distintos personajes.

Según el denunciante, éstas son las gentes que el gobierno deja andar libres y cometiendo tanto delito contra la población.

Finalmente aclara: “No toda la culpa la tengo yo. Firma: Atte: Choky.”

El clima delincuencial denunciado por el narcomensaje no es exclusivo de Iguala y de siete alcaldías de la Tierra Caliente. El tipo de relación entre el edil José Luis Abarca, su policía local y el crimen organizado, puesto al descubierto con la masacre del pasado 26 de septiembre, está presente en muchos municipios de Guerrero. Se trata de una relación que involucra también a importantes políticos locales, legisladores estatales y federales, dirigentes partidarios, jefes de la policía y mandos militares. Es por ello que podemos caracterizar al régimen político existente en la entidad como un narcoestado.

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Denuncias como la del Choky corren de boca en boca entre los guerrerenses. Empresarios, dirigentes sociales y periodistas han documentado este nexo. Parte de la prensa local y la nacional los ha publicado. En algunos casos, como en Iguala con el asesinato de los tres dirigentes de la Unión Popular, incluso se han presentado acusaciones formales ante las autoridades correspondientes. Todo ha sido en balde. Quienes han alertado sobre la extensión y profundidad de la narcopolítica en la entidad han sido eliminados y amenazados. Cuando el empresario Pioquinto Damián Huato, líder de la Canaco en Chilpancigo, acusó a Mario Moreno, alcalde de la ciudad, de tener vínculos con el grupo delincuencial Los Rojos, fue víctima de un atentado en el que murió su nuera y quedó herido su hijo.

Invariablemente los políticos señalados han negado las acusaciones y las han explicado como resultado de rencillas políticas, que ellos no son responsables del comportamiento de sus familiares o amigos. Han dicho que las autoridades deben investigarlos y que están en la mejor disposición de aclarar las cosas. Pero nada se ha hecho. El pacto de impunidad que blinda a la clase política ha actuado entrado una y otra vez.

Según el obispo Raúl Vera, quien estuvo al frente de la diócesis de Ciudad Altamirano entre 1988 y 1995, la impunidad es la característica más lacerante de Guerrero y su desafío más importante. Su extensión y persistencia –señala– alienta el crimen y la violación de los derechos humanos y la dignidad.

Pero la violencia no es sólo asunto de disputas entre grupos político-delincuenciales por centros de producción, rutas y plazas. Es también resultado de la decisión de los poderes fácticos de deshacerse de líderes sociales opositores y de la protección que desde el poder se les brinda a quienes los liquidan o desaparecen.

Las víctimas de desaparición forzada y de ejecuciones extrajudiciales durante el gobierno de Ángel Aguire son 27

múltiples. La relación de asesinados y detenidos-desaparecidos durante su administración es enorme.

Entre otros muchos, forman parte de ella los ecologistas Eva Alarcón Ortiz y Marcial Bautista Valle. Los normalistas Jorge Alexis Herrera y Gabriel Echeverría. Los dirigentes de la Liga Agraria Revolucionaria del Sur Emiliano Zapata, Raymundo Velázquez y Samuel Vargas. La ambientalista Juventina Villa y a su hijo Reynaldo Santana. El síndico de Iguala, Justino Carbajal. Los integrantes de la Unión Popular Arturo Hernández, Rafael Banderas y Ángel Román. Rocío Mesino, que estaba al frente de la Organización Campesina de la Sierra del Sur. Los campesinos Juan Lucena y José Luis Sotelo, promotores de una autodefensa en Atoyac. Los organizadores campesinos José Luis Olivares Enríquez y Ana Lilia Gatica Rómulo.

La narcopolítica no es asunto exclusivo del viejo PRI. Integrantes de varias corrientes en el PRD han sido señalados como parte de ella. De manera reiterada, el miembro de Nueva Izquierda y presidente del Congreso estatal, Bernardo Ortega, ha sido señalado como jefe del grupo Los Ardillos. Su padre estuvo preso por el asesinato de dos agentes del AFI y fue ejecutado al salir libre.

Servando Gómez, La Tuta, reveló en un video que Crescencio Reyes Torres, hermano de Carlos, líder del sol azteca en la entidad y parte del Grupo Guerrero, dirigido por David Jímenez, es uno de los principales dueños de laboratorios para la fabricación de drogas sintéticas, aliado del cártel Jalisco Nueva Generación.

Al mismo gobernador Aguirre se le ha relacionado reiteradamente con el cártel Independiente de Acapulco. De su líder Víctor Aguirre se dice que es primo del mandatario. Por supuesto, tanto el gobernador como el resto de los acusados han rechazado enfáticamente cualquier nexo con grupos delincuenciales.

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Pese a la multitud de denuncias contra ediles y funcionarios en la entidad, los arrestos han sido escasos. Feliciano Álvarez Mesino, alcalde de Cuetzala del Progreso, fue detenido por secuestro y delincuencia organizada. Él se reivindicaba como parte del Grupo Guerrero. El oficial mayor de Chilapa, el priísta Vicente Jiménez Aranda, fue apresado por secuestro.

El asesinato y desaparición forzada de los normalistas de Ayotzinapa ha destapado la cloaca de la narcopolítica guerrerense. Falta ver si la pueden volver a tapar.

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III A two-meter-long “narcomanta,” or banner placed by the cartels, was found in the early morning of October 16. It appeared on the back wall of Iguala’s Secondary School Number 3 less than one kilometer from the 27th Army Battalion. In it, a message written in red and black paint, The Choky demanded justice from president Peña Nieto. And it also denounced, with names, last names, and nicknames, the people responsible for the murder and disappearance of the teachers in training of Ayotzinapa.

During the previous days, The Choky was accused by the attorney general of the state, Iñaky Blanco, of being the chief of the paid assasins (sicarios) of the Guerreros Unidos cartel. The attorney also claimed that the cartel were responsible for ordering the massacre and disappearances of the young men last September 26, after the attack against them by police and sicarios. The list of the people associated with the criminal group denounced in the banner was long: eight municipal mayors, public security chiefs, the Secretary of Agrarian, Territorial and Urban Development delegate, and some others.

According to the denouncer, these are the people that the government allows to be free and to commit so many crimes against the citizens. Finally it clarified: “It is not all my fault.

Signed: Cordially, Choky.”

The criminal environment denounced by the narco-message is not exclusive to Iguala and the seven counties of the Tierra Caliente region. The type of relationship between the mayor José Luis Abarca, its local police, and organized crime—exposed by the massacre of September 26th—is present in many municipalities of Guerrero. It is a relationship that involves important local politicians, state and federal legislators, heads of political parties, and police and military chiefs. That is why we can portray the region’s present political regime as a narcostate.

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Reported allegations, such as the one made by Choky, are transmitted by word of mouth by the people of Guerrero.

Businesspeople, social leaders, and journalists have documented this link. A few members of the local and national press have published it. In some cases formal accusations have been made to the proper authorities, such as the one in Iguala, with the murder of the three heads of the Popular Union. But all has been in vain. Those who have warned about the extent and depth of the narco-politics in the region have been eliminated and threatened. When the businessman Pioquinto DamiĂĄn Huato, leader of National Chamber of Commerce in Chilpancingo, the capital of Guerrero, accused Mario Moreno, mayor of the city, of having links with the criminal group Los Rojos, he was the victim of an attack in which his daughter in law died and his son was injured.

The politicians who have been accused have invariably denied the accusations and have explained them as political infighting, and have said that they are not responsible for the conduct of their relatives or friends. They have told the authorities that the authorities should investigate them and that they are fully willing to clear things up. But nothing has been done. The pact of impunity that shields politicians has protected them again and again.

According to the bishop Raúl Vera, who led the diocese of Altamirano City from 1988 to 1995, impunity is Guerrero’s most piercing characteristic and its most important challenge.

Its extent and persistence encourage crime and violations of human rights and dignity, he said.

Violence is not only an issue of fighting between politicalcriminal groups for centers of production, routes, and control of the region. It is also the result of the decision of de facto powers to get rid of opposing social leaders and the protection given by the government to those who kill or disappear them.

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The victims of the forced disappearances and extrajudicial executions during Ángel Aguirre’s government are many.

During his administration the relation between murders and the number of detained-disappeared is enormous.

Among the victims: the ecologists Eva Alarcón Ortiz and Marcial Bautista Valle; rural teachers Jorge Alexis Herrera and Gabriel Echeverría; the leaders of the Emiliano Zapata Revolutionary Agrarian League of the South, Raymundo Velázquez and Samuel Vargas; environmentalist Juventina Villa and her son Reynaldo Santana; the trustee of Iguala, Justino Carbajal; Popular Union members, Arturo Hernández, Rafael Banderas and Angel Román; Rocío Mesino, who was in charge of the Rural Organization of Sierra of the South; rural workers of the land (campesinos), Juan Lucena and José Luis Sotelo, promoters of self-defense in Atoyac; and campesino organizers José Luis Olivares and Ana Lilia Gatica Rómulo.

Narco-politics is not an exclusive issue of the old PRI. People from various factions of the PRD have been identified as part of it. Many times the member of the New Left Party and president of the state Congress, Bernardo Ortega, has been identified as head of the criminal group Los Ardillos. His father was jailed for the murder of two agents of special police of investigation (AFI) and he was executed as soon he was freed.

Servando Gómez, La Tuta, revealed in a video that Crescencio Reyes Torres, Carlos’s brother, leader of the Aztec Sun in the region, and part of the group Grupo Guerrero, ruled by David Jímenez, is one of the main owners of the laboratories used for making synthetic drugs, and is also an ally of the criminal group Jalisco Nueva Generación.

The governor Aguirre has been repeatedly associated with the criminal group Independiente de Acapulco. It is rumored that its leader, Víctor Aguirre, is the governor’s cousin. Obviously, 32

the governor and the rest of the accused have emphatically denied any link with criminal groups.

In spite of the high number of reports against mayors and government officials of the region, there have been very few arrests. Feliciano Ă lvarez Mesino, mayor of Cuetzala del Progreso, was arrested for kidnapping and for organized crime.

He claimed to be part of Grupo Guerrero. The senior officer of Chilapa, Vicente JimĂŠnez Aranda of the PRI party, was arrested for kidnapping.

The murder and forced disappearance of the teachers in training of Ayotzinapa has uncovered the pestilent sewer that is Guerrero’s narco-politics. We yet have to see if they can cover it again.

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IV … Tierra de contrastes sociales marcados por la barbarie caciquil y por un Ejército federal posicionado dentro de los territorios de los pueblos indígenas para guerrear contra los pobres y dejar crecer en los centros turísticos el negocio del narcotráfico. El minifundismo amapolero es la justificación de la militarización que desde la época de la guerra sucia se implantó en las escarpadas sierras y montañas de Guerrero, que sirvió para la posteridad como modelo de guerra contrainsurgente que nos ha desangrado y nos ha colocado como una de las entidades más violentas, donde la vida tiene un precio ínfimo.

La lucha por la tierra y la defensa del bosque ha ubicado a los pueblos indígenas y campesinos como sujetos bajo sospecha: los campesinos ecologistas, como Rodolfo Montiel y Teodoro Cabrera, fueron torturados por el Ejército y encarcelados por atreverse a defender el bosque. El fondo del asunto fue atentar contra la red de la economía criminal que domina la Sierra de Petatlán. A Felipe Arreaga Sánchez se le fabricó el delito de homicidio por asumir el compromiso de denunciar a los caciques talamontes y por desairar su poder con la organización independiente de los campesinos. A pulso, han logrado demostrar en el plano internacional las razones profundas que inspiran su lucha y evidenciar la perversidad de un sistema de procuración de justicia que criminaliza la defensa de la ecología. … obras que son ahora la causa de un movimiento de resistencia que ha emergido del Guerrero profundo para defender la tierra con todo lo que está al alcance de sus manos.

Irresponsablemente el gobierno estatal se ha hecho cómplice de un proyecto pensado desde la lógica capitalista y lo ha acuñado como un modelo que vendrá a redimir a los pobres al transformarlos en parias dentro de sus propios territorios. Se trata de un proceso de extinción del campesinado que pretende 34

ponerlos de rodillas y someterlos a los dictados del capital. Lo Ăşnico que han provocado es despertar al Guerrero Bronco, al movimiento campesino que desde la ĂŠpoca revolucionaria ha sabido defender sus tierras con el honor y la dignidad de los hombres y mujeres que saben bailar al son que el gobierno les toque.

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IV ... Mexico is a land of social contrasts, marked by savage landownership and a federal army that occupies indigenous lands to fight against the impoverished population in order to allow the drug trafficking commerce to grow in tourist centers.

The justification for the militarization is the feudalism of poppies, which since the Dirty War of the 80’s has entrenched in the highlands and mountains of Guerrero. It is a place that has served as a model for posterity of how to conduct a counter-insurgency war, and has made us one of the most violent regions in the country, where life is deemed insignificant.

The fight for land and the defense of the forest has made suspects of the indigenous people and of the rural workers of the land (campesinos). Ecologist campesinos, like Rodolfo Montiel and Teodor Cabrera, were tortured by the military and imprisoned for daring to defend the forest. The root of the issue was the threat to the criminal economical network that controls the mountains of Petatlán. Felipe Arreaga Sánchez was falsely accused of homicide for denouncing the illegal tree logger landlords and for undermining their power in front of the independent campesino union. In the international arena they have been able to prove the profound reasons that inspire their plight and have uncovered the perversity of a justice system that criminalizes the defense of the environment. … These deeds are now the reason for a resistance movement that has emerged from the depths of Guerrero and which defends the land with everything within its power. The state government of Guerrero, however, has recklessly become a supporter of a capitalist model that believes that it will redeem the impoverished citizens by transforming them into pariahs within their own lands. This is a process of extinction of the campesino that pretends to put them on their knees and to make them adhere to the demands of wealth. The only thing 36

that they have done is wake up the Furious Guerrero, a campesino movement that, since the Revolution, has known how to defend its lands with honor and the dignity of the men and women who know how to dance to whatever song the government plays.

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The country is going through a crisis; it is unacceptable for us to remain seated while the State commits these types of crimes.

Our voices must be heard not just because of this crime, but because of all of the injustices taking place day after day in our country.

DMRM, UNAM [School of Philosophy and Letters, National Autonomous University of Mexico]

What are we—the youth—doing to be disappeared?

FFyL [School of Philosophy and Letters], UNAM

We are sinking, it’s not just the 43 teachers in training, it’s all the people who were disappeared, raped, murdered. Enough with the fear, we need to act.

UAM [Metropolitan Autonomous University]– Iztapalapa- Bachelor of Administration

A faceless young man, 43 disappeared, a country ablaze, and thousands of bleeding hearts.

UNAM, Graduate Studies, History.

Mexico is going through a terrible crisis right now. Students, Mexicans in general, have the duty to fight. We must remember who we are.

No retreat, no surrender!

NGL [School of Philosophy and Letters], UNAM 39

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The sparks that have awakened our society are critical to the creation of a grassroots effort to join the student and humanist fight.

Ximena, FAD [School of Art and Design], UNAM [National Autonomous University of Mexico]

Down with the criminalization of campesino demonstrations in Paraguay!

Cultural resistance!

Revolution, resistance, and rebelliousness, below and to the left, the School of Anthropology and History!

ENAH

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Disappeared! #WeAreAllAyotzinapa 42

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We are all Ayotzinapa!

Because the fight belongs to the people as a whole, students, workers, artists, courage until we get justice!

Family Buenfil Gayoo Demonstration, Oct. 22, 2014

Because we can’t allow more deaths, disappeared, political prisoners.

Justice for Ayotzinapa.

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46

Always towards poetry!

We shall overcome!

Long live the students!

Poets are not marginal.

Lauri García Dueñas Espacio Cartonero

We’re fed up with the lack of justice. The POS Socialist Workers’ Party vindicates Socialism as a life project for Mexico.

They took them alive, and alive we want them back!

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48

I would like to protest against the charade of our society, but I can’t, I’m part of it.

Today I just protest against the disappearance and kidnapping of some people. At least I’m not a part of that genocide.

Moy

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Because I’m enraged Because we aren’t able to know where they are…

Justice for Ayotzinapa Iberoamerican University

We are the H.I.J.O.S. (Sons and Daughters for Identity and Justice against Oblivion and Silence. H.I.J.O.S. by its acronym in Spanish) of the struggles of Latin America, our disappeared, our losses. They are the same. We want them alive! Trial and punishment. Let’s build a country, a great nation.

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Nobody disappears as long as their names remain

From the people’s front, we are offering our support, organized resistance Evicted from our workplaces Support to the teachers in training Public roads for the building of shopping malls?

Tepito

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SME Workers Resistance from the Union of Mechanical Electricians (SME) 16,599 We join our blood brothers in this pain, we know and are conscious of the pain and grief from the loss that these 43 families from Ayotzinapa experience.

16,599 + 43 = Dignity and Justice No more . . . injustice "Free Mexico"

Excerpts from the cartonero book Memorias de Ayotzinapa, October 22, march on Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City, World Day of Action for the Disappeared of Ayotzinapa.

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Magdaleno Rubén Lauro Villegas:

Mexico City 21 Oct., 2014

I do not know if the things they say about the day of your disappearance are true. Some of your classmates who survived the bullets and managed to run away have uploaded some videos in which they tell what happened, and it really does not matter if things went as they say or otherwise because in the end you and your classmates are still missing. What horrible circumstances made me know your name and see your photo!

I’m sorry, friend. I know that I and society in general could have avoided this situation. We are all responsible for what happened to you and I don’t know how many other thousands missing in this country. Unfortunately we fell prey to fear and became aware of the situation too late. I feel responsible, and what’s worse I don’t know what to do to change the horrible situation in our country, of which you are a direct victim.

I’m sorry, friend! I opened my mouth too late. For what it’s worth, rest assured that we will not tolerate this anymore.

Sincerely, Andrea Sandoval UNAM Student

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Fellow teacher in training JesĂşs, This letter is for your mother, your father, your sisters, and your brothers. It is not to tell them that they are not alone because I hope that the warmth of the fight we are doing here in Mexico City has already gotten to them as a never-ending embrace, which is not of pity nor sadness, but rather of strength and life. With the joy of telling them that here in Mexico City a lot of mates are fighting, and with each step, each tear, and each cry we are demanding justice. Not only we have not forgotten you, we give you more life.

We are very far from being dead if we never stop fighting. And JesĂşs, wherever he may be, is alive, alive for ever.

We, his brothers and sisters, have no other choice than to keep on fighting.

Q.

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Mexico City, 22 Oct., 2014 Compa単eros: Thank you for teaching us to be outraged, to act, to fight against a murderous state, against a murderous state. We will not leave you alone, because your struggle is our struggle.

You are the spark that lit the flame of social union, that will not be quenched until we find you.

It will not be extinguished until we achieve justice.

Nothing but thanks!

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21 October, 2014 Felipe Arnulfo Rosa, like that, with your full name so that it is clear, so that your being and its absence are heard loudly and completely. You have to know you are not alone, there are another 42 missing since September 26. There are a lot more men and women missing since long ago.

I do not know exactly in what part of me you are, I feel you in my tear ducts and in each tear that drops, you are in my throat, in my stomach, in each pearl of sweat. You inhabit the feelings of desolation and rage, you and all of your brothers and sisters.

When I say “you have not died, you haven’t died, my brother,” I say it in truth, even if you no longer are next to your body. You inhabit the air, the environment, in all Earth, in each scream and each thought being used to find how to stop all of this cruelty, to exchange it for love and let that be what unites us, and combats sadness, and fear, and rage. We can no longer be like this, we are dead in life here. The distance between us is smaller than it seems.

All the love, all the resistance always.

You have not disappeared, your name proves it and every time it is uttered illuminates you.

Your compañera, Alejandra

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October 22, 2014 My name is BĂĄrbara, and I am a student just like them, and it hurts me how the government has taken all these drastic measures. I am a woman, I am 17, and I am fighting so that things like these never happen.

I will be supporting you to the end in any way I can. I will not let this pass.

I would like to think that in times like these, words weigh more than crying and mourning.

That a word is one of the few renewable resources which we can freely spend and use freely, that a word can denote and blow up what is being tried to be kept silent. To tell you and remind you that you are not alone, that your struggle is our struggle, your rage is our rage. “Words, though wounded, cannot die.�

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Mauricio Ortega Valerio This letter is for you and your 42 compañeros.

You are three years younger than me and you could have been my brother, friend, neighbor, etc. But even though I haven’t met you this does not stop me from feeling anger, indignation, and sadness for what happened to you, to all of you.

Forty three compañeros whose whereabouts are unknown, hoping that you are alive, however the worst can’t be ruled out.

Mauricio! You have to resist, you and all of those who are with you. You have to resist, listen to how everyone is raising their voices, not only in this country, but all over the world. Asking and demanding that you be returned home, where your family and friends are waiting for you!! And everyone else is hoping you don’t show up six feet under.

Fight, fight, fight!! Never stop fighting!!!

Letters collected by the students of the School of Letters and Philosophy of the Autonomous National University of Mexico during the third week of October, 2014.

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V “El asesinato y desaparición forzada de los normalistas de Ayotzinapa ha destapado la cloaca de la narcopolítica guerrerense y de todo el país”, lo que estamos viendo es la clara representación de una narcopolítica articulada en los tres niveles de gobierno, de la cuál todo mundo quiere salvarse pero todo mundo tiene las manos embarradas. ¿por qué se han tardado en presentar evidencias? ¿por qué no aparecen los desaparecidos? ¿a quién le sirve que no aparezcan? ¿qué otros casos esconden? ¿qué cabezas de políticos van a caer como resultado de esta estrategia? ¿para qué?

La violencia y el uso calculado de la fuerza por parte del Estado contra sus propios ciudadanos es parte de la estrategia, lo de Ayotzinapa está premeditado y atiende a grupos que tienen bandera verde para cualquier acto criminal con el permiso del gobierno. Tal vez como dice Carlos Fazio, esto atiende a cubrir asesinatos extrajudiciales con otro crimen y es que “desde 2006 las fuerzas armadas han venido exterminando enemigos en el marco de un Estado de excepción permanente de facto. Los hechos de Iguala confirman la regla: fue un crimen de Estado.

La Secretaría de la Defensa Nacional mintió en el caso Tlatlaya; todas las autoridades pueden estar mintiendo ahora”.

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V “The murder and forced disappearance of the teachers in training of Ayotzinapa has uncovered the sewer that is the narco-politics of the state of Guerrero and all the country,” what we are seeing is the clear representation of narco-politics intertwined in the three levels of government that everyone wants to stay clear of but everyone’s hands are tainted. Why have they taken so long in presenting evidence? Why haven’t the disappeared appeared? What other cases are they hiding?

What political head will fall as a result of this strategy? Why? The violence and the calculated use of force by the State against its own citizens is part of that strategy. The Ayotzinapa situation is premeditated, and it is carried out by groups that have the green light for any criminal act with the consent of the government. Maybe, as Carlos Fazio said, this is an attempt to cover up unsanctioned murders with another crime because “since 2006, armed forces have been exterminating enemies framed by a de facto dangerous permanent state of exception.

What happened in Iguala confirms the rule: it was a crime of the State. The National Defense Secretary lied about the Tlatlaya case; all the authorities could be lying now.”

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Epílogo (y un eco) Yo no soy Ayotzinapa. Lamento romper abruptamente sus románticos #hashtag, pero es necesario dejar en claro desde donde hablo. No soy Ayotzinapa porque no soy pobre, no soy indígena ni campesina y tampoco soy hombre. Sé dónde estoy parada, sé que soy una estudiante mestiza, pasante de una carrera burguesa, de una universidad privada y diagnosticada como mujer al nacer con todas las implicaciones culturales, políticas y sociales que eso conlleva.

Yo no soy Ayotzinapa porque no soy una estudiante incomoda de una normal rural, no soy símbolo de rebeldía social ni de resistencia indígena. No soy Ayotzinapa porque mañana no vendrá la policía a sacarme de mi trabajo para entregarme a un grupo de sicarios al servicio del narco-Estado para que me desaparezcan. No soy Ayotzinapa porque si mañana me secuestran, me violan y me asesinan a la salida del trabajo no habrá multitudes marchando para exigir justicia. Yo no soy ellos, porque toda violencia y conflicto está atravesada por la clase, por la raza y por el género, con todas las opresiones y privilegios que eso implica, y es indispensable el análisis desde ahí para no caer en romanticismos.

Yo soy la indígena asesinada en un crimen racista. Yo soy la mujer violada y desmembrada a la salida de la maquila. Yo soy la estudiante secuestrada por las redes de trata. Yo soy la mujer golpeada hasta la muerte por un hijo sano del patriarcado. Pero nosotras no somos Ayotzinapa ¿Y por eso ustedes no nos lloran?

Cuando nosotras somos las desaparecidas, las asesinadas, las violentadas ¿Por qué nos convertimos en ELLAS, nuestras, … pero nunca en todxs? Nosotras somos LAS muertas de Juárez, LAS desaparecidas del estado de México, NUESTRAS niñas. ¿Por qué?

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México es un país inseguro. Es uno de los sitos más peligrosos para ser periodista, mujer y luchar por los derechos humanos, y también es un país que está en guerra contra las normales rurales. Las normales rurales enfrentan desde hace añosuna guerra sucia que pretende desaparecerlas por ser un icono de resistencia, por abogar por una formación socialista y popular, pero sobre todo porque forman educadores bilingües que llevan educación a comunidades indígenas; a un Gobierno neoliberal al servicio del imperialismo no le conviene que sus poblaciones racializadas y empobrecidas tenga acceso a una formación socialista, bilingüe y popular porque la rebeldía es contagiosa y México no necesita más indígenas y campesines alzades, necesita mano de obra barata para Shell.

Me solidarizó con Ayotzi porque he aprendido a escuchar les otres, porque ya no necesito visibilizar a otras personas como parte de mi familia o círculo cercano para indignarme. Porque no necesito pensar que me puede pasar a mí para que me de rabia. Pero sobre todo porque para mí, el tema de Ayotzinapa sí puede ser leído desde el feminismo. ¿Por qué? Porque es evidente que para el sistema patriarcal los normalistas fueron castigados por ser contrarios al estereotipo de progreso y desarrollo es decir el hombre blanco, heterosexual y burgués.

Ellos eran empobrecidos, racializados y con ideales socialistas, carne de cañón, no humanos, no hombres, esclavos. Sin embargo como feminazi enferma de rabia no puedo dejar de apuntar que también veo los privilegios de género. Para la sociedad no son leídos del mismo modo que para el sistema patriarcal, para la sociedad patriarcal son hombres, valientes, héroes y entrañables.

El sistema patriarcal los desaparece y la sociedad patriarcal los convierte en figuras románticas representantes del colectivo, sujetos de lucha universal y por tanto causa de indignación de multitudes. La máquina feminicida alimentada por los Gobiernos neoliberales y el sistema heteropatriarcal capitalista desaparece, viola y asesina todos los días miles de mujeres y 71

jamás he visto que seamos encabezado de periódicos, ni razón de marchas o quema de edificios.

A nosotras nos venden, nos violan y nos matan todos los días, de a poco a poco. También somos terrorismo y crímenes de Estado. Nosotras también somos pobres, racializadas, estudiantes y símbolo de rebeldía porque ser mujer y sobrevivir en México es un acto de resistencia y no he miradoal socialismo exigiendo la presentación con vida de las desaparecidas; Sin feminismos no hay socialismo, el capitalismo no caerá sino cae el patriarcado primero. No he visto al EZLN marchando para exigir que paren los asesinatos de mujeres; sin feminismos no hay otro mundo posible, ni un mundo donde quepan muchos mundos. Nosotras no somos Ayotzinapa. Nosotras somos Juárez, Estado de México, Chiapas y Guanajuato.

No todos somos Ayotzi. Ayotzinapa son ellos. Yo no soy Ayotzinapa. Nosotras no somos Ayotzinapa y no creo que sea necesario universalizar desde nuestra lógica inclusiva para compartir la rabia y el clamor de justicia. Sin embargo ¿Qué es necesario para que ustedes se sumen a nuestra causa?

ECO Cuando escribí “Nosotras no somos Ayotzinapa” lo hice como una reflexión personal sobre cómo las “mujeres”, las indígenas, las campesinas, las empobrecidas; LAS mujeres como grupo que vive y lucha en un cuerpo sexuado y etiquetado por el sistema colonial sexo/género como “mujer” son/somos un asunto de segunda categoría, un tema de mujeres, daños colaterales, hechos aislados, normalización de la barbarie y cómo sus muertes, nuestras/sus muertes, no causan movilizaciones masivas como las que provocan los compañeros, los indígenas, los campesinos, los estudiantes. Pero NUNCA como un llamado a minimizar el terrorismo de Estado o apagar la rabia por los normalistas desaparecidos.

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Tengo esperanza al pensar que la rabia alcanzará, pero también tengo conciencia sobre la realidad de las movilizaciones sociales y sé que si hay una marcha en mi ciudad para buscar a Cristal Acevedo irán las mismas de siempre, pero que si se convoca por Ayotzinapa marcharan cientos, incluidas las mismas de siempre. De momento esa es la realidad y desde ahí hablo, y desde ahí pregunto: ¿Qué pasaría si en lugar de LOS normalistas de Guerrero hubieran sido LAS normalistas de Aguascalientes? ¿Habría la misma movilización? … es un texto visceral que quiere poner sobre la mesa el debate. ¿A quién incluye ese TODOS SOMOS? ¿Por qué siento que en su #TodosSomosAyotzinapa no me están mencionado? ¿Por qué cuando las muertas somos LAS no somos TODOS y nos convertimos en ELLAS? Nosotras acompañamos sus luchas pero, ¿qué tenemos que hacer para que ustedes acompañen las nuestras? Y creo que cuando se lee sin el prejuicio se entiende, dado a que el texto se convirtió en viral y ha sido publicado en dos medios indígenas, poniendo sobre la mesa la reflexión; es decir, cumpliendo con su objetivo.

Inicio el texto hablando desde el privilegio, enuncio mis privilegios para reconocerlos y para dejar en claro que yo no soy Ayotzinapa no porque NO me duelan los normalistas, NO porque no les lloré y los quiera de regreso, sino porque mis privilegios me ponen en una situación de ventaja con respecto a ellos. Sin embargo señalo que no necesito compartir sus opresiones para sentir empatía y rabia. Desde la lógica de mirar al otre y escuchar al subalterne, uno mi voz para exigir que regresen vivos porque vivos se los llevaron, aunque vivos estarán, estén como estén, porque quienes mueren luchando no los mata ni la muerte. Creo que así como buscamos los puntos de diferencias podemos buscar los puntos de conexión. Es importante poner sobre la mesa no sólo las diferencias en opresiones sino también los puntos de coincidencia a la hora de las resistencias y luchas, desde ahí me enuncio como ELLAS. 73

Epilogue (and an Echo) I am not Ayotzinapa. I am sorry to shatter your romantic #hashtags so abruptly, but the place I am speaking from must be made clear. I am not Ayotzinapa since I am not poor, not indigenous, nor a rural worker of the land (campesino), and I am not a man either. I know where I stand, I know I am a female mestiza student, an intern in a bourgeois field of study at a private university, diagnosed as a woman at birth with all the social, cultural, and political implications that go along with that state of being.

I am not Ayotzinapa since I am not an uncomfortable student from a rural teachers’ college, I am no symbol of social rebellion or indigenous resistance. I am not Ayotzinapa given that tomorrow the cops won’t come take me from where I work to hand me over to assassins at the service of the narco-state who will “disappear” me. I am not Ayotzinapa because if tomorrow I am kidnapped, raped and murdered there won’t be thousands on the street marching to demand justice. I am not them, because all violence and conflict is permeated by class, race, and gender with all the oppression and privilege which this implies, and an analysis which keeps this in mind is essential so as to not fall into romanticisms.

I am the indigenous woman killed in a racist crime. I am the woman who is raped and dismembered on the way out of the factory. I am the student kidnapped by human trafficking networks. I am the woman beaten to death by a healthy son of the patriarchy. But we are not Ayotzinapa. And that’s why you don’t cry for us? When we are the disappeared, the murdered, the raped, why do we transform into our WOMEN, ... but never into everyone? We are the dead WOMEN of Juárez, the disappeared WOMEN of the state of Mexico, OUR girls.

Why? 74

Mexico is an unsafe country. It is one of the most dangerous places to be a journalist, a woman and a fighter for human rights, and it is also a country that is at war with rural teachers’ colleges. For years now, these colleges have contended with a dirty war that seeks to make them disappear for being icons of resistance, for advocating for socialist and working-class training, but above all because they train bilingual educators who take education to indigenous communities. For a neoliberal government, it is not desirable that those who are racialized and impoverished have access to socialist, bilingual and working-class schooling because rebellion is contagious and Mexico does not need more natives and farmers rising up, it needs cheap labor for Shell.

I am in solidarity with Ayotzi because I have learned to listen to others, because I no longer need to make other people visible as part of my family or inner circle to get outraged. Because I don’t need to think that it could happen to me to become angry.

But above all because for me, the topic of Ayotzinapa can be read from the perspective of feminism. Why? Because it is obvious that it is because of the patriarchal system that the students of the teachers’ college were punished for straying from the stereotype of progress and development, that is, the white, heterosexual, bourgeois man. They were impoverished, racialized and with socialist ideals, cannon fodder, not humans, not men, but slaves. Nevertheless, as a feminazi sick with rage, I cannot help but note that I also see the privileges of gender. For society, they are not read in the same way as they are for the patriarchal system. For patriarchal society they are brave men, heroic and held dear.

The patriarchal system makes them disappear, turns them into romantic figures representing the collective, subjects of a universal struggle and therefore cause for indignation by the masses. The femicide machine fed by neoliberal governments and the heteropatriarchal capitalist system violates and murders and makes thousands of women disappear every day 75

and I have never seen us make newspaper headlines, or be a reason to march or burn buildings. They sell us, rape us and kill us every day, bit by bit. We are also terrorism and crimes of state. We are also poor, racialized students and a symbol of rebellion because being a woman and surviving in Mexico is an act of resistance and I have not seen socialism demanding the presentation of the disappeared women alive. Without feminisms there is no socialism, capitalism will not fall if the patriarchy doesn’t fall first. I have not seen the Neo-Zapatista movement, the EZLN, marching to demand an end to the murdering of women. Without feminisms another world is not possible, or a world in which many worlds fit. We are not Ayotzinapa. We are Juárez [City], the states of Mexico, Chiapas and Guanajuato.

We are not all Ayotzi. They are Ayotzinapa. I am not Ayotzinapa. We are not Ayotzinapa and I don’t think it is necessary to universalize from the point of view of our inclusive logic in order to share the rage and the clamoring for justice Nevertheless, what is necessary in order to get you to join our cause?

ECHO When I wrote “We are not Ayotzinapa” I did so as a personal reflection on the way women, indigenous women, campesino women, poor women, ALL women as a group that lives and struggles in a sexed body and labeled by the colonial system sex/gender as “woman,” we/they are a second-class matter, a women’s topic, collateral damages, isolated incidents, normalizing of the barbarity, and since their deaths, our deaths/ their deaths, no don’t cause mass mobilizations like those brought about by the fellow brothers, indigenous people, farmers, students. But NEVER as a call to underestimate the State’s terrorism or to quell the rage over the disappeared teachers in training.

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I am hopeful at the thought that the rage will be enough, but I am also aware of the reality of social mobilizations and I know that if there is a march in my city to find Cristal Acevedo the same women who always show up will go, but if it is for Ayotzinapa, hundreds will show up, including the same women who always do. For now, that’s the reality and that is where I’m speaking from, and where I ask: what would happen if instead of the MALE teachers in training in Guerrero it had been FEMALE teachers in training from Aguascalientes? Would there be the same turnout? …it’s a visceral text that wants to put the debate out there. Who is included in that WE ALL ARE? Why does it strike me that in their #WeAreAllAyotzinapa they are not mentioning me? Why is it when the dead are SHE are not ALL but the rather THOSE WOMEN? We women join your struggles but what must we do so that you all join in ours? And I believe that when one reads without prejudice one understands, given that the text went viral and has been published in two indigenous publications, putting the thought out there: that is to say, it is carrying out its objective.

I begin the text speaking from a place of privilege. I enunciate my privileges in order to recognize them and to make clear that I am not Ayotzinapa NOT because the teachers in training don’t cause me pain, NOT because I didn’t weep for them and want them back, but rather because my privileges put me in an advantageous situation with respect to them. In any case I point out that I don’t have to share their oppressions to feel empathy and outrage. From the logic of seeing the other and listening to the subaltern, I add my voice to demand that they bring them back alive because they took them away alive, although they are alive, whatever conditions they are in, because those who die fighting are not killed by death. I think that in the same way we seek out points of difference we can seek out points of connection. It is important to put out there not just the differences in oppressions but also the points in which we 77

coincide at the moment of resisting and fighting, and from that space I declare myself THOSE WOMEN.

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“Forced disappearances have a memory, poetry knows this, life knows this, movements know this.

The names matter to avoid this path of capitalism which turns death into something ordinary in these areas forcefully impoverished, such as the rural area of Guerrero that are marked by the State as suitable for sacrifices of any kind�.

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Hace apenas unos meses, casi neonatas las Pensaré Cartoneras, hablábamos con un amigo de la frase que ahora atraviesa nuestro manifiesto: texto global, tapa local. Este amigo, Julio, es un vínculo local cargado de intensidad al que la historia del presente lo ha llevado a Brasil. Allí están construyendo una cartonera en portugués, y vinculándonos a través de aquellos contactos cercanos. La traducción de este libro sobre la marcha al inglés por parte del colectivo de la Universidad de Wisconsin en Madison es maravillosa, pero ojalá nunca se hubiera hecho.

Ni se hubiera hecho este libro, sería mejor si el dolor y la rabia que recogen estos textos nunca hubieran tenido razón de ser.

Ayotzinapa es una vergüenza más del capitalismo homicida en las tierras heridas de México. Nuestra intención como colectivo, nunca como editorial como tal, es precisamente tejer esa red de vínculos a partir de contactos cercanos como los que dan sentido a este artefacto textual. Ayotzinapa ahora también nos atraviesa, como la frase que ya hace meses parte nuestro manifiesto, ya no estamos lejos de Ayotzinapa por muchos kilómetros y etiquetas que nos separen. Las cartoneras, cargadas en su sentido político, son una herramienta que puede difundir la información pero necesita -como la vida- de las manos, la escucha, los ojos y el corazón para circular y estar vivos.

Nota de Pensaré a la edición bilingüe.

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Just a couple of months ago—Pensaré Cartoneras was recently born—we were talking with a friend about the phrase that now is throughout our manifesto: global text, local cover. This friend, Julio, is a local link filled with the intensity of the history of the present which has driven him to Brazil. There, they are building a Portuguese cartonera and linking us to them. The translation of this marching book to English by the group at University of Wisconsin-Madison is wonderful, but we wish it would have never been done. That this book had not been done. It would be better if the pain and anger that these texts recover would have never have a reason to exist.

Ayotzinapa is another shameful episode done by homicidal capitalism in the wounded lands of Mexico. Our intention as a group, never as a publishing house per se, is to weave the web of links between close contacts such as the ones that give sense to this textual artifact. Ayotzinapa goes all the way through us all, just as the phrase that came from our manifesto months ago. We are not far from Ayotzinapa, even if kilometers and labels separate us. The cartoneras, heavy with their political sense, are a tool that can disseminate the information, but it needs–such as life does—hands, ears, eyes and heart in order to flow and be alive.

Note by Pensaré to the bilingual edition

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Libros sobre la marcha Hay una guerra en marcha contra nosotrxs.

Este es el primero de una serie de “Libros Sobre la Marcha”, textos que pasan. Porque algo tiene que pasar para que nos pase algo.

La idea es volver a poner el oído en las voces que cuentan con nosotras para la historia, porque son y somos parte de la lucha. Reventar la distancia entre comunicadora, actriz, compañera.

Espejarnos en los otros. La idea es tejer una red entre los de abajo con un formato de margen que llamamos cartonero, sin pasar por las mediaciones que nos proponen los de arriba.

Creando de la edición un movimiento social, potenciando la edición como un género literario que tiene el collage, el tejido de red de símbolos y la curaduría de información sus herramientas principales. Todo material sirve, es reciclable.

Queremos instituir documentos propios acompañando una insurrección, expandiéndola.

Este libro es octubre 2014, de los Méxicos que compartimos. No hay número de ejemplares, ni derechos reservados, circulación coronaria pa curar-nos el corazón. Es edición pirata. Es edición en marcha. //

PensaréCartoneras

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\\

Marching Books There is a war marching toward us.

This is the first in a series “Marching Books,” texts that happen. Because something has to happen in order that we make things happen.

The idea is to hold up an ear again to the voices that count on us for history, because they are and we are part of the struggle. Destroying the distance between communicator, actress, compañera. Mirroring ourselves in others. The idea is to weave a net among those below with a marginal format we call cartonero, without passing through the mediations that are proposed to us from the top. Creating from publishing a social movement, advancing publishing as a literary genre that has collage, weaving of a net of symbols and the curating of information as its principal tools. All material is valid, it is recyclable. We want to institute proper documents accompanying an insurrection, expanding it.

This book is from October 2014, from the Mexicos we share. There is no number of copies, nor rights reserved. A heartfelt circulation to heal our hearts. It’s a pirate edition. An edition in the go. // PensaréCartoneras \\

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Materials lahaine.org, desinformémonos, pueblos en camino, la jornada, facebook, twitter, email, organizandolarabia.tumblr.com, excelsior, photographs in situ, RexisteMX, pen and pencil on cartonero book, Diagonal, graduate workshop PUEG, cellphone pictures, pintas-pintadas-grafiti, Asamblea and students of FFyL, SME, H.i.j.o.s México, frente lucha de los pueblos, UNAM, Guerrero Bronco, más131, Ni vivos ni muertos (Documentary), contralínea, Centro de DDHH de la Montaña Tlachinollan. Antonio Guerra serigraph of the original cover, Pete Bouchard. Translation and edition by Axolote. Revisions and proofreading by the generous people and staff of the University of Rockford, Ill, and librarians from the University of UW-Madison. Cartonera created with additional help from Kutsemba Cartão.