Paz en tu tumba A.C

Después de la muerte de Alfonso Cano, en el periódico El Espectador (el único de Colombia que leo y sobra aclarar por qué) mostraron un video de una reunión de Cano con un grupo de guerrilleros. La intención del video era-a juzgar por el título que le dieron- mostrar cómo un tirano se apoya en los secuestrados para lograr ventajas políticas. No creo en el secuestro y para mi no sirve de nada tener la vida si no se tiene libertad. Sin embargo, de los 12 minutos que dura el video, Alfonso Cano sólo se refirió a los "presos de guerra" en los últimos 30 segundos. Durante el resto del tiempo no dijo nada que no fuera verdad con respecto a la desigualdad en Colombia y al sufrimiento de nuestros campesinos.

Yo no celebré la muerte de Cano. Tampoco voy a decir que me puse triste, simplemente después de haber cruzado un par de palabras al respecto con mi pareja,  fue él quien me hizo caer en cuenta de que si bien hasta ahora no se había logrado mucho (nada?), por lo menos aún quedaba alguien con quien se podía hablar. Alguien que decidió participar en las fuerzas revolucionarias por alguna convicción (perdida o embolatada en el camino) pero no una victima mas del sistema excluyente de nuestro país en el cual los mas pobres se unen a un grupo o a otro (al que llegue primero?) y en el caso de las mujeres hay una tercera opción que no las haría mas dignas, la prostitución.

Cano no se fue a la guerrilla porque tenía hambre, como otros o porque no había más, como otros, o porque se quería vengar, como otros, o porque le gustaban las armas, como otros.

Encontrar este artículo es un alivio para mi, asi que he querido compartirlo con ustedes. Si después de mi discurso izquierdista han tenido suficiente, no hay necesidad de leer el artículo en lo absoluto. Tampoco espero comentarios, reacciones, etc, como ya les dije, encontré algo interesante que me parece que vale la pena compartir.

Aqui les dejo:

http://elespectador.com/impreso/opinion/columna-310861-el-ultimo-romantico

Yerman -Part III

Germán always spoke up what came to his mind. He wanted to be rich and we all knew that becoming a drug lord was one of his strategies, after all, he “knew” some people who were close enough to Pablo Escobar, who by the way was an important influence on his life… When Pablo Escobar was killed by the Colombian armed forces, Germán told my mom that he knew very well that Escobar wasn’t dead; he was hiding in Canada in one of his big houses with billions of dollars to spend for the rest of his life…

I used to think that he was different from us, different from the rest of the group of friends; he probably had a pathology that his psychologists failed to identify. I do not find other reason that can explain how among our group of friends, he was the only one thinking the way he did and so obsess about money and everything that comes with it… Sometimes I felt that he was a little crazy, sometimes he looked more normal.

Sadly, as soon as we started to realize how different he was, we started to reject his presence, to either ignore him or simply to make such comments that would hurt him and make him go away. I do not want to go into many details about this, I couldn’t anyway since neither do I remember any particular comment from anyone, nor anyone of us suggesting not to be so cruel and hard to him. It wasn’t always like this, but it happened many times if I remember correctly. 

About moments with Germán I remember an evening when I was fourteen or fifteen years old. I was outside my house looking at the sky and asking the stars how come I was so ugly and my friends so pretty, how come they all had boyfriends and I hadn’t. I think I was particularly sad that evening and he was around so when he saw me he came to talk. We had a nice chat that evening and I even told him why I was feeling bad… That was my biggest secret and for some inexplicable reason I shared it with him. I do not remember his exact words, but he sure cheered me up! I am hoping I said something good back, I hope I at least said “thank you”.

I wish I could say the opposite, but I know very well the kind of “business” he was doing, not exactly how or with whom, I never had to meet his “friends”. What I do not know is why it was so important for him to be able to live a life in which he could be the “boss” and feel big, important and powerful. I just know that he always said it laud, without any problem, he talked about some people he knew, how much money they had and how they got it. I don’t know if someone ever told him to hush, but many people did tell me “he’ll be killed, he talks too much”.

He was buried some days after he was killed because his body had to go through many investigations and exams. He couldn´t be cremated, as he once suggested to his parents in case he would die before them, because it is forbidden to cremate the body of a person who has been assassinated. I went to two of his masses but not to his funeral, I had to go back to school and did not have the energy to see his mother devastated… Seven years later she is still devastated, as well as his father, as well as his ex-girlfriend. 

The maid of his house at that time said, that during the days prior to his death he had been sad and concerned. She believed that maybe he knew what he had done wrong and the consequences. And here I am wondering if he really knew he was going to die that way, if he felt what we all knew and anticipated, I wonder if he was given a chance to make up for whatever he did, how bad was it to have to pay with his life and with the life of those who loved him most, because even alive, they have been dying ever since he left, day by day and little by little. (The end)

foto tomada de http://didaskalosbarranquilla.wordpress.com/actualidad/

Yerman (part II )

...The first thing that comes to one’s mind when these kinds of things happen is –but who did it? How? Where?  You do not even wonder why anymore, or well, in some cases you may have the benefit of the doubt. With Germán it was clear, we all somehow knew that sooner or later he would end up lying on a puddle of his own blood with holes on his body. I do not intend to be sensationalist, most of them end up like that (when they are lucky enough), I wish they wouldn’t, I wish there was no drug trafficking, no guns, no shuts, no war, no good and no bad, but that’s the way it is and I am just telling the story.

When we were kids, Germán usually came to our house during school holidays, the last time I let him in, he broke the wheels of my new scatting doll. I was so upset and keen to get a new doll from his parents, that I went that night to show them my doll and to let them know what Germán had done. He denied his action and I only got to keep the broken 5 days old doll which was not longer able to skate. That night I asked our housekeeper not to allow him in our house anymore.

We did not play anymore inside my house, but the neighbourhood was small enough to keep all the children playing together, and big enough to make it perfect for different games. I remember that Germán always suggested games that required a lot of energy, he could not just sit down and play something for a little while, he always had to run and probably play the role of the one who needed to be chased or hunted as we used to say, for instance, when we were playing “policias y ladrones” = policemen and robbers, he never wanted to be a policeman, although, as children, we all kind of enjoyed  being hunted, but still had to play the good guy every once in a while…

Germán was the only one among us who had ever been to the States. He was the only one with a visa on his passport, actually, the only one with a passport. He told us so many stories about Disneyland (most of them ended up being extraordinary imaginary scenes but it did not make them less interesting) and I remember how I particularly enjoyed his explanations about Mickey Mouse, who was a real mouse two meters high and who in reality did not like children but got well paid to pretend he did… After his summer in the States he asked me once not to call him Germán anymore, he wanted to be Yerman,” Yerman sounds really American” he said.

When Germán was on his early 20’s without any prospects of finding a good job (since he did not really want to go to university and did not belong to a particularly rich family with companies or properties for him to administrate) he tried to get a visa to go to the US and pursue “the American dream”. However, life had something different prepared for him because this time his visa was denied and he had to stay in Colombia... (to be continued)

Picture taken from: http://patentados.com/invento/muneca-patinadora-perfeccionada.html

YERMAN- Part I

I was recently asked if the Colombian drug-violence had ever touched me and if so how. I wonder if there is any Colombian able to say “I have not experienced violence” or “I have not been a direct victim of it”. 

Next to all my good memories with my cousins, friends, grandparents, sisters, parents, and every person with whom I had the chance to grow up. I also remember the sound of the helicopters at least once per day, gun shots and even how, when I was around eleven years old, a man was shot on his chest four meters away from the bus station, where my older sister, two cousins and me where waiting for the bus after having visited my grandparents in Cali.

In this occasion I want to share another way in which violence, as a result of drug trafficking, touched me one more time, if not directly (as many could say), indirectly enough to leave long term effects among me and my community. 

The story has to start many years ago when we all were kids. I could say that Germán was my first male friend, if we were ever friends. He was the son of my parent’s friends (although the friendship of our father´s ended some months before German´s death and nothing has ever helped my dad to heal his heart and forgive his old friend). I remember that we went on holidays together a couple of times, once to the Caribbean, and many times to the river. Mauricia and my mom have been friends since I can remember, definitely not the best ones, but still friends. And I also remember how Mauricia always gave me presents for my birthdays until I turned fifteen.

The story ends many years later, It was Easter 2004. I was at home with my mom and my older sister… We heard someone screaming, we heard the neighbour running to our house, she wanted, as always, to be the first person to announce it. My mom opened the door and there she was, she almost couldn´t breathe but still managed to speak it out “They killed Germán, they killed Muricia´s son…”  (to be continued)


Picture taken from https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13jwjBHfqbR2_c-s4_WNZ0NIHoa_yBNY3t-rdLTxDihTQAb1xiHq38E0SkxQklNf7NdKtL5zkKXb45EvPhlO-hzqZ2VxUMAphL8ASFZcjSJGIb2tjuDdgFQ13Bh5lW5Z9s61UU-zVwdul/s1600/muerte.jpg

Proyecto DLM

No se si ella misma vino y me lo pidio, pero tengo esta idea en la cabeza desde el mismo instante en que supe de su muerte, cuando si hija tenia unas cuantas horas de nacida...

Cada vez que recuerdo mi infancia me siento afortunada y feliz de haber tenido la oportunidad de crecer en Tulua, rodeada de las amigas que tuve, yendo al colegio que fui y sobre todo de haber podido contar con el apoyo incondicional de mi familia. Cada vez que hago diferentes evaluaciones de lo que fue crecer en casa, no puedo evitar pensar en la vida de aquellos que por diferentes razones no han podido contar con la compañía incomparable de sus padres. Esta es, sin duda, la razón principal para haber decidido emprender este proyecto en compañía de Diana Villegas y Ariana Guevara, quienes muy amablemente han aceptado la tarea de caminar conmigo, y con todos los que quieran incluirse en la lista de cosas por hacer.

Denisse Lorena Maldonado fue indiscutiblemente una maravillosa compañera, una amiga generosa e incondicional, una hija ejemplar, una buena estudiante, una mujer feliz, una buena hermana, una linda pareja, y si la vida se lo hubiera permitido, habría sido también una madre maravillosa… Sin querer juzgar lo justo o lo injusto, la responsabilidad humana y la suerte, Denisse desafortunadamente hoy no esta, pero ha dejado entre nosotros lo mejor que ha podido, una personita hermosa que merece y necesita conocer a su mamá en sus diferentes facetas… Ya los abuelitos le contaran como era Denisse “la hija” y sus tios le contaran como era Denisse “la hermana” y su papa le contara como era Denisse “la pareja” pero quien habrá de contarle como ere Denisse “la estudiante”, “la compañera”, “la amiga”, la enamorada, la desenamorada, la companiera de habitación en el retiro espiritual, la adolescente cuando no estaban sus padres, la soñadora, la…

Personalmente considero que más que una manera de preservar la memoria de Denisse Lorena, es un deber contarle a su hija todo lo que sabemos de ella, para que tenga en donde refugiarse cada vez que no entienda muchas actitudes de su propia existencia y para que pueda conocer otros aspectos de su mamá.

La propuesta es muy sencilla. Vamos a escribir un libro, no importa si son solo 10 páginas, o 100 o 500, lo importante es describir a la Denisse que conocimos, con todo y sus defectos. Redactar diferentes acontecimientos de nuestra vida con ella, compartir las cartas (si alguien aun tiene una guardada o en las agendas que tanto nos compartíamos), las fotos, los dibujos, los sueños, los anhelos, los malos ratos, los buenos, contarlo todo.

Cada persona es libre de escribir lo que quiera, solo necesita darle un titulo que permita entender de que se trata, por ejemplo “una pelea”, “un novio” o “un examen”, “el profesor de Física” lo que sea!!! Por favor traten de contar las anécdotas con detalles, intentando describir muy bien su carácter, su manera de asumir cosas, su manera de relacionarse y de reaccionar ante diferentes acontecimientos.

Una vez tengan escrito lo que quieran compartir de su vida con Denisse, por favor hagan un documento en Word y envíenlo a redacciondlm@gmail.com

El plazo máximo para enviar sus historias de la vida de Denisse será el 31 de agosto de 2011, a partir de ahí Ariana, Diana, yo (y cualquier otro voluntario que esté interesado en participar) trabajaremos en darle una estructura/orden a todo lo que ustedes y nosotras mismas hayamos escrito. La meta es tener el libro listo en diciembre de 2011.



Solo gracias a tu ayuda lograremos sacar este proyecto adelante así que manos a la obra y gracias mil!!!