Collective pain

The following text is not mine. I’m copy-translating a text a dear friend of mine just wrote in Spanish, in Facebook. He writes far better than I do (much better than most people I have known). I am not also a great translator. If you can read Spanish, go read the original.

I hate my country. I want to get the hell out of here. This country stinks. Phrases that appear in talks between Mexicans since yesterday. On the network and outside of it. And to tell the truth, I would have put them between quotation marks if I had not thought them as well. At some point. Because that is the edtent of the pain. Enuogh to hate, to insult, to give up. But we talk and write without realizing that it might be the most terrible thing in all this mess. That the pain makes us give up and consent to play a role in the game that they, the executioners, would pleasedly look at from their tribunes, laughing at us while they hand each other the popcorn. That would be over the line. So lets not give them that joy. Because they surely don't realize we have the obligation to notice it from the very beginning and do something to avoid falling there: The root of the pain they caused us yesterday is because that's how the annihilation of hope feels like. The shout "Alive they were taken" –they do not realize but we do– is a shout of hope. A pronouncement for the possible goodness in the human being. A testimony of hope in the future. A bet for life. And with his cold address, the federal attorney yesterday wanted to finish the killing of our already aching hope. We cannot grant him that joy. They say it's the last thing that dies. I'd say it's the only thing that should not die. Ever. It finishes and everything finishes. There is no possible justice for the parents of the 43. Much less for the 43. Not even however much the official discourse wants to gets us dizzy with the propaganda saying "we will not rest until". Not even if the president quits that would bring back to their classrooms even one of those that by today are just ashes. And sadly, that's the excuse that man wields to not stop boarding his plane and travel wherever he pleases. The farthest from Mexico, the better. Lets not do the same. Lets remind the world this country is full of us, not of them. That the face of a persn is not the dirtyness on his forehead and cheeks, but the skin that's below, that feels and throbs. Lets show the world Mexico is more the verse than the blood, more the idea than the terror. And to them... Lets not give them the joy. To them, lets make them see that, however hard they try, there are things they will never take from us. Our love for this country, for example. The country, over all things.

• Antonio Malpica. After what appears to be the bitter and sadly expected end of a sad, terrible, unbelievable collective social rupture we have lived for ~50 days.

And what comes next? How can it come? How can we expect it? I have no way to answer. We, the country’s people, are broken.