Fighting a Losing Battle

This morning in the barrio of San Ángel I stood by and watched as police and forensic experts snapped photos of three bodies left dead—presumably dumped—on an otherwise normal residential street. A few residents, like me, are curious, but most just go about their business as if nothing had happened. And for my part I wasn’t so much curious as I was pensive and contemplative over why this city—Mexico City—and country has become so violent...so bloody.

From where I stood, digital recorder in hand, about twenty meters from the bodies I observed how young the three male subjects appeared. I guessed between seventeen and twenty. Next I wondered who was going to miss them. Which mother, sister or spouse was about to have their day and lives permanently altered by the phone call or visit they were about to receive? If I were the police officer how would I feel to be charged with such a responsibility? I’ve seen bodies before on the street; I’ve seen a man given a lobotomy with a .45 caliber hand gun; I’ve had dinner with someone one day, and the next learned that they’d been killed. This was not my first experience with death. But this time, for some reason, I felt angered by how these deaths were just going to be used by the government and media to further accuse organized crime and narcotics trafficking as the responsible parties. Last week I attended a press conference given by President Calderón, where he reiterated that the war against organized crime was going to be won. What a fool. Am I the only one who sees the absurd futility in fighting a war that can’t be won? And to think that I actually voted for such a man.

People have told me that I’m sympathetic to criminals, and most of the time I don’t even bother trying to defend myself. In fact, one of my current projects, which was what I went back to thining about as the officers continued to snap photos of the bodies, is titled: The Cartel. And I got to thinking about the backgrounds to some of the characters, and I hope that I’m able to depict the motivating factors that lead these young men to join the ranks of the Mafia. There is nothing glamorous about it. Maybe I’m a fool for thinking so, but I believe that with understanding comes appreciation. There is honor in keeping someone great alive. How we define “great” is up to us. But personally, I’ve yet to know a great man who blindly accepted the Commandments of another