Christmas and New Year Greeting from Tlachinollan

For many years the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center of the Mountain has been a valued partner with Mission Mexico in trying to transform the lives of the impoverished indigenous peoples of Guerrero. I think it only appropriate to share a Christmas–New Year greeting that they recently sent out to friends (with my translation). Thank you, friends, for making a difference in the lives of the people here. Happy New Year!

Dear friends of Tlachinollan:

The indigenous peoples nestled in the Mountain of Guerrero,

during these days made for reflection and relaxation,

are especially present in our hearts

because they are the ones who inspire us to struggle for the new world we need

and for which we dedicate a toast this Christmas.

Ever since they inhabited this Mountain

they have been the architects of communitarian life.

They became the vigilant protectors of our common home,

the artisans of the culture of giving,

the wise men and wise women of the age-old wisdom cultivated in the plant of corn,

the noble and indomitable men and women in this enclave of a thousand battles,

of the enchanting geography, where the tiger warriors and the eagle warriors live,

and where combative men and women and children fight tooth and nail

against the exploitative companies that pillage their natural wealth.

Under this sky reddened by violence,

darkened by the pain of the 43 disappeared young men,

numbed by so much obliviousness,

the star of Bethlehem shines.

It guides those who walk these rugged trails in search of justice.

With their heart of steel,

their main weapon is the hope of a different world,

one based on divine plans.

The Me phaa, Na savi, Naua, and Ñomdaa peoples,

swelling with generosity

and protected by their community police,

safeguard everyone

in the face of the maneuverings of a government tied in with organized crime.

Thanks to this strength of the people

who are nourished by the cosmic powers in their prayers,

they have been able to resist and stay firm in their model of communitarian life,

as sons and daughters of fire and rain.

These men and women, on this Christmas,

from their sacred hills

where their altars to Saint Mark are found,

together with the wise elders, pray for us

and look at the world

to see what 2016 might bring.

In this cosmic prayer

they embrace us as our exemplary big brothers and sisters,

those who teach us that true happiness means

cultivating a life of simplicity and loving solidarity,

because that is how a communitarian heart is forged.

Fullness of life is achieved in the fiesta of the people

where all is shared among all,

the fruits of the land that they themselves harvested.

These men and women continue working their parcels of land on the mountainside

so that a divinized life can be born in their community,

so that justice, truth, and peace might flourish among the poor.

In their prayers to their sacred powers

they whisper the psalm of the prophet,

“God has heard the cry of the poor

and prepares to deliver them from their troubles.”

May we never lack the strength and the joy to continue accompanying

those who wander in search of their children

and struggle for a world where there are no victims.

With all of our affection and esteem,

The companions of Tlachinollan

Our Lady of Guadalupe Torch Run

Persons attempting to find a “text” in this book will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a “subtext” in it will be banished; persons attempting to explain, interpret, explicate, analyze, deconstruct, or otherwise “understand” it will be exiled to a desert island in the company only of other explainers. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR

                            Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (2001: Counterpoint)

Getting ready to leave Atlamajalcingo del Río with everyone's belongings

I thought of these lines this past week as I was accompanying a group of eighty-two persons participating in a “Guadalupan Torch Run” from the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City back to their home towns of Tlapa and Atlamajalcingo del Río. We arrived home on December 12, the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

Father Bernardo blessing the uniforms that will be worn by the participants in the relay run

The Diocese of Tlapa has over 700 towns and villages, and there are very few of them that do not have a group participating in a Guadalupan relay run. Some towns have two or three groups (or more: Tlapa has about ten). Most people suggest that about 5,000 persons from the mountains here participate directly in the run.

Some of the organizers of the Guadalupan Torch Run

We left Tlapa at 9 o’clock on Wednesday night (December 9) and drove all night to Mexico City. We arrived at the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe at 5 in the morning on Thursday (December 10), and the runners, some with guitars and mandolins, went to the shrine to sing “las Mañanitas” (early morning serenade) to Our Lady of Guadalupe. Later came participation in two different Masses, one in the older shrine dating from the 1500s and another in the newer shrine built in the late 1970s. A torch was lit from a candle in front of the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe; as well, a large backup candle was lit in case the flame in the torch died out during the run back to the mountains of Guerrero.

The scene in the plaza in front of the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe

At about 3 PM (Thursday) we drove from the Shrine to Chalco, on the outskirts of Mexico City, and there the 82 runners began running the torch back to Tlapa (with one group of 22 planning to then continue on to their village of Atlamajalcingo del Río). It is a relay run: the runners are spaced out about every hundred meters, although the distance varies depending on the age and physical abilities of the runner.

One young runner with a copy of the tilma (cloak) that Juan Diego showed to the bishop in 1531

At about midnight we stopped for a few hours beside a gasoline station in Cuautla. The runners stretched out on the pavement and tried to rest. At 5 AM (Friday, December 11)) the run started again. This lasted all day, until we arrived in Huamuxtitlan, once again at midnight. There a family offered the floors of several rooms in their house and the backyard for all runners to rest for a few hours.

Running at sunrise along the highway between Cuautla and Izucar de Matamoros

At 6 AM on Saturday, December 12, we left Huamuxtitlan and the relay run continued to Tlapa. Entering Tlapa at about 9 AM, the people of a neighborhood called Contlalco offered everyone a hot breakfast. Then the sixty persons from Tlapa prepared to go in procession with their Guadalupan torch to the cathedral. The twenty-two runners from Atlamajalcingo del Río lit their own torch, and we continued on for another ninety minutes or so to their village. There the people were waiting to receive the runners with great joy.

Runners heading toward the parish church in Atlamajalcingo del Río

At 12 noon the bishop of Tlapa arrived in Atlamajalcingo del Río to celebrate Mass. After that celebration, there was a meal for everyone. Then—for me at least—home to bed.

Bishop Dagoberto blessing people as they go into the church for Mass

During these days of the run, I asked many people why they participated in this very tiring, difficult, and dangerous (since there are so many narrow roads) run. All referred to their love for “Lupita,” the affectionate name given to Our Lady of Guadalupe. Many told stories of how she had blessed their lives. Their responses weren’t “explanations” in any “analytical” sense (thus, my initial quote), but their heartfelt words reminded me of Albert Einstein’s words in 1932 that “the most beautiful and deepest experience a [person] can have is the sense of the mysterious…” These people have that.

A mother and daughter running their part of the relay

Or, to follow up on that initial quote by Wendell Berry that began this blog, later in that same book called Jayber Crow, Berry writes: “And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led—make of that what you will.” This is what I heard many of the runners suggest—except that, for them, Our Lady of Guadalupe plays a vital role in that “being led.”

Lalo during one of his many relays

It was a blessing and an honor to accompany these beautiful people in their “Guadalupan Torch Run.” They definitely earned my respect and admiration. National surveys in Mexico suggest that about 83% of Mexicans “believe” in Our Lady of Guadalupe; but those same surveys suggest that among the impoverished indigenous peoples, almost 100% “believe” in Our Lady of Guadalupe. This belief impacts their understandings of life, their imaginations, and, most importantly, their actions. I am grateful that these noble people allow me to learn from them and with them. What an incredible blessing!

The procession to the parish church in Atlamajalcingo del Río

People on the Ground in the Kingdom of God

People who push the envelope in the “welcoming” congregations, people who make peace and serve the poor, the people in the working church, are the people on the ground in the kingdom of God, with or without God. They are the people of God, in the most radical, literal, material, and embodied sense, people who transform God’s insistence into existence and give God a good name. They are the way God acquires mass and body. They are what God does, what God means, what is getting itself done in and under the name “God.”

-       John D. Caputo, Hoping Against Hope: Confessions of a Postmodern Pilgrim (Fortress Press, 2015)

As the month of December advances and as the year 2015 draws to a close, I find myself reflecting more and more on how blessed I am to be here in the mountains of Mexico among so many wonderful human beings who “are the people of God, in the most radical, literal, material, and embodied sense.”

Lunch for lay religious leaders from the 28 villages in the parish of St. Mark Xochitepec

Many of these people were born here in the mountains and somehow have managed to escape the message of individualism and consumerism that tends to be promoted by the people and institutions with power in Mexico. No one is perfect, but these "friends" do what they can to promote a culture of respect, justice, dignity, empowerment, and love among the impoverished indigenous communities.

Franciscan Sisters of Divine Providence, the only group of sisters actually founded in the Diocese of Tlapa 

One such person is Edith NaSavi, a teacher at the local National Pedagogical University. Born in the mountains, she is involved in almost every struggle for justice that exists in the region, and she shares her vision for a just society with her students, with her friends, with the oppressed—and with the oppressors. If anyone is a “sparkplug” here, it is definitely Edith.

Edith visiting in San Marcos, municipality of Metlatonoc

Another such person is Abel Barrera, the founding director of the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center of the Mountain, located in his home town of Tlapa. His has been an untiring voice for justice for the indigenous peoples and for all who have been victims of human rights abuses. Abel is a poet whose studies in anthropology and theology allow him to express in a most beautiful way the longings of his people for true life.

Abel is the man in the middle, accompanied by Father Juan, Malu (international coordinator with
 Tlachinollan), Father Vicente, and Father Eugenio

Another such person is Father Adrian Hernandez, who just yesterday became the new parish priest in Huamuxtitlan, after seven years as the pastor of Copanatoyac. During that time he served as chaplain of the Champagnat High School of the Mountain, located in Potoichan. His witness and his commitment have surely marked the generations of students who have graduated from that institution.

Father Adrian is the man in the middle, accompanied by Marist Brothers Javier Francisco
(with guitar) and Salvador (with camera)

Other people have come from other parts of Mexico and have fallen in love with the noble people and their struggles. They offer who they are and what they have as they accompany the people in their many efforts to transform life here. A prime example is Father Juan Molina, parish priest in Xochitepec. If Juan had his way, he’d never have to leave the mountains. In his life, Juan is definitely one of those persons who "give God a good name," as philosopher John Caputo expresses it in the quote that began this note.

Father Juan anointing a very sick Delfina (covered in the blanket, lying on the bed)
while husband Tomás looks on

I could go on and on naming people, but I suspect that you are getting the idea. There is a whole community of heroic, noble people sharing their lives with the poor—and Mission Mexico works with these people and these groups to assist in this struggle for transformation. Thanks to all who help keep this struggle going. As the opening quote suggests, your support represents one of the ways that “God acquires mass and body” here in the mountains of Mexico. The people here know that, and they are most grateful to you for your solidarity. Gracias.

The one-hour walk down to get to Delfina's house wasn't so bad; the climb back up
involved a few breaks "to admire the view" (I don't think anyone believed that)

When Helping Doesn't Hurt

Poor people typically talk in terms of shame, inferiority, powerlessness, humiliation, fear, hopelessness, depression, social isolation, and voicelessness. North American audiences tend to emphasize a lack of material things such as food, money, clean water, medicine, housing, etc.
                           When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty
                              Without Hurting the Poor...and Yourself, by
                              Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert

Children in the village of Plan Ranchito

I recently read online that Brian Fikkert, one of the co-authors of the book When Helping Hurts, was a keynote speaker at a conference at the Foothills Alliance Church in Calgary. Thinking that I’d like to know what kind of message was being shared with the good people of southern Alberta, I decided to purchase the book (via Amazon Kindle) and see what it might say.

Rosario and Elena carrying their firewood in Cerro Pelón

My impression: Wow! Corbett and Fikkert articulated many of the ideas that my friends and I often talk about. I congratulate them on the wisdom they share and on the courage it must take to try to “break through” some of the (mistaken) assumptions of many well-meaning North Americans.

An altar for deceased family members in a house in Tototepec - Day of the Dead 2015

That doesn’t mean that I agree totally with everything they write. For example, my approach to other people’s religion is more along the lines of the prophet Micah’s “act justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8), while the authors of When Helping Hurts note that “the profound reconciliation of the key relationships that comprise poverty alleviation cannot be done without people accepting Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.” I don’t think I’m being wishy-washy about my commitment to the gospel or to “poverty alleviation” by allowing a little more freedom in one’s worldview or choice of religion.

Some of my main advisers on how to best live compassion among the poor

But other than for that personal “doubt” on my part, the book is filled with important insights—ideas about collaborating with local organizations familiar with the challenges and culture; ideas about power (I like their line that “people who have power seldom think about that power, while people who do not have it are very aware that they do not”); ideas about the importance of distinguishing between relief and development (I like their line “How do you spell ‘effective relief’? S-e-l-d-o-m, I-m-m-e-d-i-a-t-e, and T-e-m-p-o-r-a-r-y”); ideas about the importance of “living in right relationship with God, with self, with others, and with the rest of creation”; ideas about the recognition that “every human being is suffering from a poverty of spiritual intimacy, a poverty of being, a poverty of community, and a poverty of stewardship”; ideas about questioning oneself in terms of whether one’s efforts to alleviate poverty are “about people and processes or about projects and products”; ideas about short-term mission trips (the authors suggest that they should be “about being and learning as much as about doing”); ideas about looking “for ways to give money that builds up local organizations and that truly empowers the poor”; ideas about avoiding paternalism; ideas about how “our perspective should be less about how we are going to fix the materially poor and more about how we can walk together, asking God to fix both of us”; ideas about how the best efforts to alleviate poverty “tend to happen in highly relational, process-focused ministries more than in impersonal, product-focused ministries.”

Indigenous students doing homework in the library of the Champagnat High School of the Mountain,
one of Mission Mexico's major educational projects in the mountains of Mexico

I could say more good things about the book, but I think I’ve stated enough to let the reader know that I think that this is a great book—an important book. And I like to think that Mission Mexico attempts to be faithful to the many pieces of “advice” that are shared in this book. Thank you, Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert.

Griselda and Israela walking to village cemetery on the Day of the Dead

To end this note, I would like to encourage the reader (if you have four and a half minutes) to take a look at the images in a video that is available on YouTube at https://youtu.be/5vV9QsEvOz0. In my blog on September 21, I mentioned three friends from Mexico City (Beatriz, Claudia, and Agustin) who were visiting the mountains. They participate in a non-profit organization called (in English) Alternatives for a Life in Solidarity for Development and Peace. Beatriz posted a short video of many of the people (especially children) she met during that trip. Mission Mexico plays a role in producing many of the smiles you will see in this video. Please take a look and enjoy! Hasta pronto.

A great way to enjoy a morning coffee in Xochitepec, as friends drop by
on to their way to school for the day

Daring to Really See

Discipleship is at its core a matter of whether or not we really want to see enough to follow Jesus' Way...The challenge of how to live faithfully as a servant of the living God in the context of power, privilege, and inequity is timeless.

-       Laura K. Cobb, Mark & Empire: Feminist Reflections (Orbis Books, 2013)

Mark’s gospel has always been my favorite, for many reasons, and as I stood in the cemetery of Xochitepec the other day, I couldn’t help but think of these words quoted above that I had read the night before. I kept thinking that perhaps my whole life has been one of responding—or, in too many cases, not responding—to the challenge of really wanting to see.

The final resting spot for three-year-old Ezekiel

I was in the cemetery for the burial of three-year-old Ezekiel, who had died the day before. Death is a common experience here in the mountains, but it seems to be especially painful when the victim is a young child. I wondered, “What does it mean to really want to see—to see that this death and so many others should never have happened? In a just world, with adequate nutrition and access to health care, without so much power, privilege, and inequity, Ezekiel would be playing with his friends in front of his house.”

Father Juan tries to console Ezekiel's grieving father

Of course, I didn’t come up with answers—I seldom do. So I won’t be illuminating the people of Xochitepec (or the reader of this blog) with any pearls of wisdom. All I can do is recommit myself to trying to really see and trying to follow Jesus’ Way as best I can. I consider myself blessed to be surrounded by so many friends who are trying to do the same and who teach me by their example.

After the burial, all attendees were invited to lunch. The orange bucket has water to wash hands;
the yellow bucket has tortillas; the blue bucket has pieces of chicken. And, of course, Pepsi.

A special blessing this past week was the opportunity to spend time with Tlapa’s former bishop, Alejo Zavala Castro. Bishop Alejo is now retired in Morelia, Michoacán, but the Diocese of Tlapa wanted to offer him a final “Thank you” for his fourteen years as pastor of the diocese (and I had been his assistant for ten of those years). I wish I could describe the huge celebration given to Bishop Alejo, but his Jeep broke down as I was driving him to Tlapa, so he continued on in a bus that passed by, and I stayed with the Jeep to try to get it fixed. The celebration began at 12 noon; I arrived in Tlapa with the repaired Jeep at 8 that night. But at least I arrived.  

Bishop Alejo being greeted by friends in Tlapa

And there was lots of activity these past days as Tlapa celebrated its largest annual religious feast day. October 23 is the feast day of El Señor del Nicho—the Lord of the Niche. The story is told that the Augustinian priests who evangelized the mountains in the 1500s brought over from Spain a three-meter image of the crucified Jesus. At the beginning of the past century, while excavating at Tlapa’s main church after an earthquake had destroyed it, workers found the image in the rubble—but the image had not a scratch on it. Falling beams had created a natural “niche” to protect it from all of the other wreckage that came tumbling down. Such a “miraculous” occurrence gave rise to a special veneration for this image.

The Lord of the Niche being carried out of the cathedral

The highlight of the day is an afternoon procession (lasting about four hours) with this image of Jesus throughout the city of Tlapa. Families and businesses purchase lots of sawdust ahead of time, dye the sawdust different colors, and make a pictorial carpet of sawdust on the street in front of their house or business.

Families on Matamoros Street preparing their sawdust carpets on the morning before the procession

Of course, the thousands of “pilgrims” in the procession “destroy” the carpet, but at least it is in good shape when Jesus (whose image leads the procession) passes in front of their location.

I was toward the rear of the procession, and yet all of these people were behind me.
So, yes, it is definitely a huge procession.

The idea of “really seeing” occurred to me during that procession too. Most of the sawdust carpets have typical religious images: crosses, doves, Bibles, bread and wine, Jesus, etc. But several families remembered the 43 students from the Ayotzinapa teachers college who were “disappeared” just over a year ago, and their sawdust carpet referred to this terrible crime.

This reads: Lord of the Niche, the Mountain cries out for justice and truth for the 43.

This reads: We place in your hands your 43 children.

So I will continue asking myself tough questions. Do I really want to see? If I do allow myself to really see, what might that mean in terms of my following of Jesus’ Way? What does life look like when seen from the underside of history, from the side of the victims of this global reality of power, privilege, and inequity? How can I (and Mission Mexico) best respond to this challenge of living faithfully as a servant of the living God? I suspect that you, the reader, would not be reading these lines if you weren’t asking the same kinds of questions. I honestly wish you well in your journey toward a response. Feliz camino.

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada

I’m sitting here in Tlapa de Comonfort, thinking of my family and friends in Canada celebrating this wonderful day of gratitude (and trying to not think of my five-hour drive to Xochitepec in the rain this afternoon). Mexico doesn’t have a Thanksgiving Day in its annual calendar. Lots of pundits could come up with a punch line for the reason for that, I’m sure.

Showing up for breakfast with Simona and Hipólito at their house in San Marcos

But despite the impoverishment and injustice that exist here, I think (and wish) that Mexico could incorporate such a day into its calendar. Not so much in terms of thanksgiving for material benefits, but thanksgiving for so many incredibly noble people here. It would be a “Thanksgiving” more along the lines of the words written by Richard Wagamese, the great Ojibway author and journalist from northern Ontario. On his Facebook page today, he posted the following (I hope you don't mind me sharing your thought, Richard—thank you):

I love stories. I work with stories. I live with stories. So that this weekend when everyone’s focus shifts to thanksgiving, I ask myself, “What story am I telling myself about this?” Am I telling myself the story of thankfulness for the usual, easily observed things in my life? Or am I telling myself the bigger, wider, all-encompassing story of thankfulness? The story that includes thankfulness for the clarity of my mind, the full range and sweep of my emotions, the openness of my heart and spirit, the health of my body, the ability to be productive, to be useful, to be of service to someone, for the blessings all around me right now. It’s all about the stories we tell ourselves. This weekend I want to tell myself a great, grand story of thankfulness…Peace, friends. Happy Thanksgiving!!

Simona preparing coffee for breakfast

And it would be a “Thanksgiving” that would celebrate the incredible sacrifices and struggles of people to bring new life to this country. It’s hard on a day like today to not think of the families of the 43 disappeared education students from the teachers college in Ayotzinapa, and those who accompany them (like the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center of the Mountain) in their struggle for truth and justice. I thank Warren Harbeck for his article this week in The Cochrane Eagle newspaper; the article was called Where are Mexico's "disappeared" 43 this Thanksgiving?, and it ends with this paragraph:

This Thanksgiving, as we in Canada are united once more with our families in joyful celebration, let us remember the families of these 43 disappeared students in the State of Guerrero. May they finally find deliverance from this nightmare of uncertainty and realize their dream of reunion.

Hipólito and Mike waiting for the coffee

 

After the coffee there was tortillas and a spicy chile sauce—no beans today

After breakfast, we just sat and talked around the "kitchen stove."

My friends, excuse this short greeting. I should get on the road as soon as possible. It is raining hard, the roads that I will be traveling are muddy, and I want to do my best to try to get to Xochitepec before dark. That way, I can at least (hopefully) enjoy a supper of beans and tortillas tonight to celebrate Thanksgiving. That’s not a complaint: I will be sharing that meal with Fathers Juan, Eugenio, Vicente, and other wonderful friends—and isn’t that as good a reason as any for giving thanks?

The roads are not great toward the end of the rainy season

Thanks, my friends in Canada, for your friendship, and thanks to many of you for supporting Mission Mexico. Have a great week, and (in Richard's words) this weekend tell yourself  "a great, grand story of thankfulness." That's what I will be doing as I travel this afternoon—and you are in that story. “Talk” to you soon.

So far I've not failed to make it to my destination—although I confess to arriving late on occasion

Ayotzinapa and the 43 Disappeared Students—One Year Later

September 26, 2015…the first anniversary of the murder of 3 students and the disappearance of 43 students from the teachers college in Ayotzinapa, here in the state of Guerrero. Everyone knows that police, military, government, and drug gangs were involved in the affair—but everyone also knows that truth and justice are not common commodities here in this state and this country. And family members of those 43 students are no closer to knowing the whereabouts of their loved ones than they were one year ago.

The school shield for the teachers college in Ayotzinapa

Here in Tlapa, the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center of the Mountain (a group supported by Mission Mexico) is the legal counsel for the families of the disappeared students. To commemorate this first anniversary of the disappearances, they called for a five-kilometer “pilgrimage” from the diocesan seminary outside Tlapa to the zócalo (main square) of the city of Tlapa and then to a Mass at the cathedral of Tlapa.

Photos of the 43 disappeared young men who dreamed of being teachers

Most of the parents of the 43 disappeared students were in Mexico City today for a national event. But one mother—Calixta Valerio—from the village of Monte Alegre (where I happen to be invited to dinner next Sunday) was present, and she led the pilgrimage. Her eighteen-year-old son, Mauricio Ortega Valerio, is one of the forty-three disappeared students. Her husband, Eleucadio Ortega, is one of the most outspoken leaders of the family members of these disappeared students.

Mauricio's mother, Calixta (in blue), leading the "pilgrimage (Photo by "Colectivo el Grito")

The pilgrimage also involved family members of Antonio Vivar Diaz, a young man who was about to graduate here from a university in Tlapa with a degree in integral community development. He was very involved in solidarity with the families of the 43 disappeared students, and he was killed by federal police here in Tlapa on June 6, 2015. Antonio’s parents, wife and eleven-month-old son, and brother and sisters continue to seek truth and justice for this death.  

Antonio Vivar Diaz—killed by police on the night of June 6, 2015

I suspect (I hope) that even newspapers in Canada will report on this first-year anniversary of just one of Mexico’s many forced disappearances. In a recent report given by Amnesty International, they placed the number of forced disappearances in Mexico since 2007 at about 25,000.

"Pilgrimage" arriving in Tlapa today (Photo by "Colectivo el Grito")

For those who are unsure about just what a “forced disappearance” is—and if this is not a part of your everyday life, I hope you feel grateful—Wikipedia gives the following definition: In international human rights law, a forced disappearance occurs when a person is secretly abducted or imprisoned by a state or political organization or by a third party with the authorization, support, or acquiescence of a state or political organization, followed by a refusal to acknowledge the person's fate and whereabouts, with the intent of placing the victim outside the protection of the law. Can most Canadians even imagine what it is like to live in a society where "forced disappearance" is an ever-present threat?

Speeches in front of "city hall" in Tlapa

Here in Guerrero the struggle will continue. “Ayotzinapa,” the location of the teachers college where the 43 disappeared studied, means in the native Nahuatl language “place of turtles” (you can see a turtle in the school shield in the first photo of this blog). I read the following comment on a website: Consider the qualities of turtles: tough and enduring, watchful, tidy, quiet and dignified, purposeful, respectful and gentle. Turtles keep trying, plan ahead, love their home territory and are smart. That describes the moms and dads, sisters and brothers, wives and children, grandmothers and grandfathers of these 43 disappeared students. And it describes the hundreds and thousands and millions of others who accompany them in their struggle for truth and justice—and for the simple answer to the anguished question, “Where are they?” "Alive they took them away; alive we want them back!"

Wearing a sombrero with "43" on it is not only a humbling experience—it's a commitment