Anti-Trump march in Mexico City. Benedicte Desrus SIPA USA/PA Images. All rights reserved.
I have a friend who is always uncomfortable when I tell him about the discoveries of clandestine graves, about the cases of murdered migrants or the latest outrages of Mexican politicians. But his discomfort has nothing to do with that thick and opaque bubble of indifference which many Mexicans equip themselves with. On the contrary, I think that the distinctive grimace he puts on when we talk about it all comes from indignation. In fact, he often says, jokingly – albeit with some seriousness -, that he does not understand why nobody has taken up arms and gone up to the mountains like the maquis did under the Franco regime in Spain. Not without reason, I must say: it does seem that our threshold for outrage is so high that we can endure tens of thousands of forced disappearances and hundreds of open and unopened clandestine graves; state governors incurring debt as if there were no tomorrow; journalists fleeing the country or resorting to self-censorship in order to survive; state governments buying fake AIDS tests or giving fake chemotherapy to children; or the bulk of the political class using their public function as their piggy bank.
San Fernando, Playa Vicente, Allende, Ayotzinapa, the Casa Blanca, Tanhuato, Apatzingán, Nochixtlán, Tlatlaya, the ABC Kindergarten, Casino Royale: these are all milestones that should have spilled the vase that Mohammed Bouazizi smashed in Tunisia by immolating himself after his fruit vendor cart was confiscated, which led to the resignation and flight of dictator Ben Ali. Apparently though, the Mexican vase is larger and also watertight. So, I would not have dared to fathom that what would get the Mexicans out in the streets would be an oil hike – the damned gasolinazo.
