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| Photo: La Jornada |
lived in the Port of Veracruz and had not changed my voter registration card. I played, will therefore be in boxes of "outsiders." I arrived early with my little girl, in her arms at an early hour, thinking it would come soon. Not so. The queue was huge. It was hot but it was cloudy. I thought it would rain soon but I had the slightest hope of being able to vote before that happened. It did not happen, water surprised us before, but I saw how my little plug. A lady helped me. "Put yourself to the mall so that your child does not get wet, I will keep his place." The wait lasted three hours. Entered and left the mall to wait my turn and exercise my right to vote. I got it and stayed calm. I knew I had made the right choice, I knew he thought as many as a million, that the road was no continuity.
After the disappointment of the following days and the swearing in of Mr. Calderón, my desire to improve it looked frustrated. I felt that my decision was not taken into account. No, I did not choose to Calderon as president. And putting aside my political antipathies could see, over six years, as my world, and many, collapsed to social inequality, to a dehumanized political class that sees only their welfare.
thought, then, to live in the province would be a good choice for my daughter, that the City was being uninhabitable by theft and violence. How far was to assume that this violence, which I feared extend to every corner of Mexico without anyone to stop. While in Veracruz I got to see the beginning of a social descomposción not believe ever see. I had to learn that just a few steps from my old house had kidnapped people, the division where he lived was full of safe houses. I heard about a shooting in the middle of an attack on a bus where two women were raped in broad daylight. I began to invade the horror. At the same time listening to lazy people say "if the kill is because something must." The criminalization of the dead, those who can not defend, is our daily bread. I did not know with certainty when the country blood bathed in its entirety. They said it had to end the violence no matter how many innocents die. Fear came over me to see my daughter grow. And if you happen to it? I thought again and again. At the same time that my world collapsed with debts in credit cards, my country was collapsing. I dreamed of escape, where? without money and a little beside me. My dream of escape seemed tainted by hearing the news, knowing of the dead, so far distant for me. But one day it happens that is closest to you. On hearing the news of a close friend who moved to Monterrey to protect their children and the youngest died in a crossfire, react with pain and helplessness. He can add up the dead, in the north of the border, downtown, everywhere. Names, faces, fragmented families. Pain running streams. You realize that you must react, demand, raising his voice. Understand that silence is a murderer and an accomplice to the same bullets. My cry, my impotence is to many. Today they are in the streets marching. The summons is not one voice, they gather for their own heart, by his own beat, by his desire, mine, all of them to stop arms. March for the dead child, the mother dead, and burned children in a nursery due to criminal negligence. Marchan in silence with pain, with tears, but also with hope. Many will say to Mr. Calderón as I do: Do \u200b\u200bnot choose so I do not claim it, do not ask me support, not wash your hands, do not blame me. Many more just cry for those who left with a stray bullet in a crossfire, without knowing why, without knowing it was not his time. Today
Mexico says he is fed up to the mother. And what is with those who abuse their power to blame others, to ensure your strategy is right. It is obviously the criminals. But they remain unpunished, they will kill us if we let them continue killing. Join the marching is our moral duty. Join with our presence, our voice, our letters, as possible but we unite.
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