One day, as Miguelito headed to school through a nearby plaza, a drugged minor confronted him at the school gate, demanding his cap. When Miguelito refused, the boy attacked him with a glass, injuring him. Immediately, the boy ran away with the cap.
ROSARIO, Argentina — As a teacher in Rosario, I once taught a sweet, physically strong first-grader named Miguelito. Struggling with a significant developmental delay, I treated him with kindness. He studied in my afternoon class until fourth grade. Eventually, he transferred to the morning shift with other teachers.
One day, as Miguelito headed to school through a nearby plaza, a drugged minor confronted him at the school gate, demanding his cap. When Miguelito refused, the boy attacked him with a glass, injuring him. Immediately, the boy ran away with the cap. Soon after the incident, I received a heartbreaking message on my phone: “Miguelito was beheaded at the school gate.” Witnessing drugged individuals victimize school children deeply grieved me.
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One afternoon, while enjoying pizza with a long-time friend, I discussed life and my work as a teacher in impoverished neighborhoods. He suggested that my experiences should be turned into a story. As we chatted like old friends about drugs and their victims, he placed a small recorder on the table. Candidly, I shared that I witnessed over 30 victims since drug trafficking began in Rosario, all connected to the schools where I have worked since 1998.
Dealers infiltrate every part of Rosario. Drugs do not just affect the poor; they also penetrate the wealthiest neighborhoods. Once, I visited the Career Board at the old National School No. 1. As I walked through the beautiful neighborhood with an old teacher friend, we saw a car double-parked. Suddenly, a well-dressed man in a winter coat emerged from a building, handed the driver money, and received a newspaper in return. Then, the man went up the stairs and threw the newspaper away.
Curiously, my friend and I picked up the newspaper and discovered it was that day’s edition. Shockingly, my friend revealed that the man hid drugs in the newspaper. This experience taught me that people who can afford drugs do not face stigmatization. They avoid creating violent situations or committing robberies. In contrast, the poor in the neighborhood face stigmatization because they are often involved in such activities. I feel frustrated as drugs permeate all socioeconomic sectors, from the very rich to the very poor.
Brian, a fourth grader, was the son of Jose, a bricklayer with an imposing physique. When I shook hands with Jose, his strong, tough, and hardworking hand engulfed mine. He excelled as a skilled tradesman and also had a good character.
The family lived in a municipal neighborhood with simple, crowded apartment buildings, reminiscent of those often depicted on television. Sadly, Jose’s wife severely struggled with drug addiction. Jose’s brother, a professional soccer player, also dealt with a complicated family background tied to addictions.
On one distressing day, the drug dealers who supplied Brian’s mother evicted the family from their home to settle her debts. As a result, they lost their small apartment, where they lived together with dignity. Jose then built a small shack near the prison, almost on the railroad tracks, at an old station in Rosario, Azcuénaga. Made of metal sheets, the shack provided shelter for his family while he continued to work every day.
To escape the pain, Jose revealed that his agony led him to drink alcohol. In a drunken state, Jose went to reclaim the house that the dealers had taken from him. On his return, two young men confronted him and shot him to death. Tragically, the neighborhood’s drug problem destroyed Jose and his family.
To highlight the alarming situation, I reported the number of people who fell victim to drug addiction in an interview. However, I received threats from the dealer, demanding that I stop. I responded that I saw only 30 victims, but there were many more.
In another harrowing incident, a 14-year-old student distributed drugs in the neighborhood, working as a delivery man. His employers paid him with drugs to sell, which are low-quality and extremely expensive. He began consuming the drugs addictively. Eventually, he used the drugs meant for distribution. This led him to accrue debt to his employers who then threatened him.
One day, he sought out a tree on Camino del Indio, at the intersection of Rosario, Pérez, and Funes. In this desolate, forgotten area, he experienced solitude. Soon after, he found a eucalyptus tree and hanged himself, unable to bear his life any longer.
Meanwhile, fancy cars, which we could never afford, frequent the neighborhood to buy drugs. The wealthy exploit vulnerable areas like ours to get their supply. I feel deep anguish over this issue, as I recognize it as a social problem with far-reaching consequences.
I teach in the Cabin 9 neighborhood and never requested a transfer because I feel comfortable here. For 20 years, I drove an old car that a colleague sold me. The lock never worked, so I left it unlocked at the school door, but no one ever touched it. Despite the huge stigma surrounding the neighborhood and the outskirts of the city, schools boast beautiful features inside. The best place in the school is the dining room, where we eat together as a family.
In the dining room, different kids sit at the table each day. The kitchen prepares over 1,200 meals for our school and some nearby ones. We divide into four shifts from 11:30 to 1:00, with more than 800 people, mostly students, sharing the dining room. My favorite dish is polenta; no polenta in the world tastes more delicious than the one made at Cabin 9. The creamy texture and unique smell amaze me.
Once a week, we serve chicken breast, a favorite among the kids. The meal options include pasta with butter and chicken breast or mashed potatoes with chicken breast. The kids enjoy these dishes the most. They need and appreciate all the protein, as we all cherish it. [This is one thing the school can do to make life better amid these difficult circumstances.]