From Chiapas, an essay on solidarity, empathy and courage — to thank the mothers searching for victims of the human rights crisis in Mexico

Solidarity with what is far away – and I am not referring to geography, but to its place in information – is not only convenient. It also allows for the most absurd and contradictory positions (such as justifying the murder of civilians, mostly children, who ignore that the present hell is not momentary, but also a promise of the future).

Solidarity with what is far away does not require commitment: it is others who suffer and die. For them, the alms of momentary attention, the heated discussion (ha) about one or two States, the historical references according to each position. Solidarity with what is close, on the other hand, demands something more than a comment on social networks. In the strange and small world of progressivism, the Kurds, Palestine and Ukraine are closer than Ostula and its stubborn resistance; the native communities of the Isthmus that rebel against the fate of being converted into customs guards on the new southern border of the American Union (because that, and nothing else, is this mega-project); the ecological destruction called the “Mayan Train”; the plundering of water throughout the geography; the imposition of thermoelectric plants; the rebellions against looting, impositions and destruction of the environment;…and the Searchers.

And no, it is not about ignoring, due to geography, an injustice anywhere on the planet. No, it is about understanding and feeling that solidarity is not a fashion and a pose, but a commitment that curses.

Like hearing, vision… and the word

*

Of all absences, the most terrible and inhuman is the one that has no explanation.

The missing persons, their current situation and the indifference they provoke from above, are the overwhelming proof that frivolity and cynicism are virtues in the political work of the right… and of the progressive left.

The existence of people who seek truth and justice for those who are missing is what marks the modernity so vaunted up there: the hell in which these disappearances are brewing is terrible; and it is wonderful that those who search, revalue human dignity with their efforts.

In recent years, the most terrible and marvellous thing that this geography has given rise to is the profession of “searcher.”

What is the minimum to fulfil this demand for truth and justice for the missing? What is the “baseline”, -as the experts in administration would say-, in this request? A bone fragment? The shred of a faded blouse? A shoe without its pair? A resolution from the judiciary, the police, the government in power: “we did what we could”? The GPS signal blinking alone, desperate, useless?

A speech that, of course, ends with “I promise that the truth will be known before my government ends, no matter who falls”?

The searchers are not only looking for those who are missing, they are also looking for the shame, dignity and humanity that were lost with a government position, a line in the Excel spreadsheet of the payroll for resignations.

What are those who refuse to respond to the Searchers’ demand afraid of? What is the basis for them to affirm that “the majority of the missing are missing through their own choice”? Is it that they have already investigated and those missing are missing voluntarily? So why not tell the Searchers: “Madam, your son, daughter, left because he found a partner” or “because you did not understand them”?

Don’t they have high technology (drones, satellites, ground-penetrating radar, digital files)? If not, why don’t they buy, rent, or borrow that equipment? Look in online stores… or on the Navy’s website. Just type in “search and rescue equipment” in the search box.

If they have the means to spy on their enemies (you get a Pegasus in every soldier), why don’t they use those technologies to find out if that person is missing “through their own choice”?

Or are the Searchers lying? So, it’s a lie that they go from one place to another, based on the information they receive? Do they suffer because they want to or because someone is missing? Those images where they appear, with spades and picks, in rural areas, are they edited with a digital application and, in reality, are they at home doing the math to see how they make ends meet? Did the Searchers, female and, of course, male, voluntarily disappear their sons, daughters, partners, fathers, mothers, family, with the sole purpose of harming the imaginary victim of the National Palace?

Perhaps they could, at least, ask those Searchers to search and find the shame that, up there, they lost for a government position… and a personal payroll.

*

You who work in the media, do you remember those times when journalism was about investigating, going to the scene of the events, interviewing the “parties involved,” challenging “self-censorship,” fighting in the editorial committee for publication – because you committed yourself to those victims to make their tragedy known; and you hold the value of the word in high regard, that is why you chose journalism -, returning to the scene and showing those grieving people the article (which cost you the umpteenth threat of dismissal – or its confirmation, of course)?

Do you remember when articles were taken from reality and not from social networks? Do you remember when the “PRESS” badge, more than pride and impunity, was a symbol of ethical commitment?

Wasn’t there a time when you fought for the article with other journalists and not with influencers who don’t even know how to write the description of their videos? Those days when the enemy was the gift, the bribe, the envelope with money, the unconfirmed information? And not like now, the death threats -not infrequently carried out-, or the virtual harassment of bots of one side or another. In addition, of course, to the morning court with which the Supreme Court hands out slaps and caresses.

Where are the great reports, the investigative journalism, the exclusive news, the incisive questions, the impeccable writing, the correct diction, the image where the news is not the journalist but reality?

Follow Ariadne’s thread, perhaps within the labyrinth you will find what made them choose journalism as a profession… and a curse.

*

Somewhere in the human heart there is something called “empathy.” This ability to “put oneself in the other’s shoes” is, in reality, the ability to “put oneself in the victim’s shoes.” Sometimes individually and increasingly collectively, this feeling goes further and confronts the need to “do something.”

But reality does not give rewards. If anything, it gives nightmares. So, it takes courage to say “I am and I feel that this is not fair and I have to say it or make it felt, especially to the victims.”

The achievements that are gained are few and far between. They seem small, but for the victims they are everything. As it will be for -let’s assume, without conceding-, José Díaz Gómez, who will surely be surprised when he sees all the messages of support and solidarity that, from the most unexpected corners of Mexico and the world, converged in the effort of that NGO -uncomfortable, as all NGOs should be-, which assumed the search for justice for what it is, that is, a duty.

His freedom was born of all those voices and actions that, mind you, converged in a simple but forceful demand, as old as humanity itself: freedom.

*

Look for the searchers. It occurs to me, I don’t know, that perhaps they are also looking for another tomorrow. And that, friends and enemies, is fighting for life.

Okay. Cheers and may you find them. It is urgent.
From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast.

~ El Capitan

Translated by Schools for Chiapas