Surely you forgave them, out of faith, out of respect for the law, you forgave them. That is how you were before it happened, calm and confident, marvelously empathetic. But I don't forgive them. I'm not capable of saying those words. Though eventually resignation will come; resignation is one of the undeniable facts of life. I don't forgive them. They killed you; they took your body and a part of my soul. How can a person without a part of their soul forgive? How can a dried up heart forgive? Anna Rodriguez, Global Voices
Children that survived the shooting in Monterrey will keep remembering it. There will be an entire generation of future citizens with memories of violence in their country, forming a part of them, a part of their personal identity. On the other hand though there are children that live in another reality, as if they were living in another country. These children have learned since they were young that the country has already been lost and that the violence has beaten us. What do you suppose will be the future of a generation of people that already believe the country is broken? This is what worries me.
Saying that it hurts is redundant. We hear, we read, we see daily the face of pain in a constant media onslaught that nurtures a scandalous fiction about what must it mean to be a democratic nation in ephemeral, empty words. So empty that the there is a self-congratulatory agreement among the media to not report on what is happening. This media releases publications that show cruel, shattered images of #RedMexico.
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