Yet again, I find myself outraged (shocker), though, again, for a legitimate reason. I hope I’m not putting you off by constantly expressing my (contained) wrath. I promise I’m not a curmudgeon–I just get easily ticked off by absurdity, and today’s events successfully managed to detonate my temper. And even then, it’s not that I’m mad. I’m just so disappointed at the sad state of Mexico.
I feel utterly powerless.
To be honest, I don’t even feel like explaining, even though I’ve been mulling over thoughts and ideas for the past five hours nonstop. I’ve even tried discussing it with my parents, though to no avail not because they don’t listen, but because age has hardened their expectations of what could be a great country. My mom even rolled her eyes and told me flat out–“You’re naive.”
Yes, I’m naive. I’m only 21. I have idealistic views. I just graduated from college. I’m the poster girl for naivete.
And I can’t take it anymore. Just today violence spilled into the streets as the two cartels fought for control of the plaza (the territory) in a deadly shooting. One newspaper reported that the leader of one cartel was killed. The Associated Press said otherwise. Does it matter? The government will tout it as a victory, the media will report the hell out of it. I just see it as another death, another shooting, another symptom of the decades of “controlled” drug trafficking in which the government would turn a blind eye, instead sticking out its righteous hand to rake in some money.
I really do just want to close my eyes and make it go away. I want to blame those politicians and drug lords who royally screwed my generation and their families and who, if not dead, are gallivanting all over the world without a care in the world, squandering the money that they robbed from their own country, the one they left to rot in brutal war hell where innocent men, women and children die every day. Yeah, about 35,000 reported deaths since 2006.
But nothing good can come from ignoring this. I’ve been writing about this, through columns or edit desks, for three years now because I care. I really do. Sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much, because of my family and their safety. I know that my parents are concerned that these are the types of issues I like writing about and that either one of us (or all of us) will end up dead as a result. I think about this all of the time. I’m scared as I write. The shackles of fear.
The most debilitating thing about this whole thing is that there is no one solution. The problem is so complex, so out of control. It’s a catch-22. There is no escape. For now, I’ll keep writing about it.