In the 1980s, Pablo Escobar, leader of the Medellín Cartel, turned Comuna 13 into the cradle of hired assassins. Adolescents and young people found criminality associated with drug trafficking a means to social advancement.
Latin America
In 2007, I migrated from Honduras and arrived in the United States in search of better opportunities. Like most immigrants, I had to work all kinds of jobs. I started from nothing.
My father worked in groups which operated in clandestine detention centers. As I went through it all, my hands began shaking intensely. I read the testimonies - accounts from survivors and people my father tortured.
The guard took my brother off the bus by force and threw him to the ground. They beat him without any explanation. The bus continued on its way. I never heard from him again.
We started digging and other, impressive bones appeared. We found the arm bones - the most interesting anatomical parts of this dinosaur – in the very early days of excavation. We quickly realized our discovery was extremely important.
Those of us who live close to the hole met with workers from Candelaria. They assured us we faced no danger, but I do not believe them. Years ago their multi-million dollar contract gave them access to all the silver in the ground and left nothing for the people.
In the square, women sell coffee from carts made with supermarket trolleys and adapted baby strollers to mobilize sales.
My life changed in a single moment when I received a WhatsApp message from a friend. He informed me that someone, somehow, had published my private erotic photos and a video on a porn network without my consent.
When I watched the leading actress personify Painé on stage for the first time, it felt exceptional. As she began to sing, goosebumps covered my skin, and a thrill ran through my body. Members of Painé’s family sat among the audience, crying.
That night sleep escaped me. I stayed up watching this little human sleep beside me and could not fathom the cruelty he experienced just a few hours ago. As the world ushered in a new year, my life as I knew it as a 22-year-old student ended.
I was detained in La Modelo for almost a year. The conditions were inhumane. Beatings, torture, humiliation, and even rape occurred during my imprisonment there.
Living in prison, I commonly saw my peers being gassed, handcuffed, thrown onto the floor, kicked, denied food, and locked up... In that cold and hostile atmosphere, they herded us into overcrowded and poor conditions... Then came the denial of our sanitary and medical needs.
All of these experiences feel exciting, but I still struggle at times. When I walk in the street or give interviews, I try to smile and be nice to everyone. Yet, at times I feel like I'm falling apart inside. Explaining these emotions proves difficult.
They see our braided hair, high-top hats, pleated skirts, and skateboards. It removes the focus from the ideas imposed upon us. I am no longer simply the cholita who works at camp or the cholita selling something somewhere. I am not the stay-at-home cholita. I am the cholita who skates, who falls, and who breaks her chains.
While doctors can legally perform abortions in public hospitals, the law has not permeated the entire country. In many places, violence against women and denial of their rights is institutionalized. Doctors and staff remain intimidated.
Some of the blocks in my neighborhood resemble drug supermarkets. Colleagues and neighbors become ill from drugs. They live for it, getting skinnier as they stop eating. Consuming a cocktail of cocaine called La Alita, they rarely sleep. Projects like Los Benjaminos prove so beneficial to the young people here.
Immediately after the attempted assassination, an estimated half a million people took to the streets in Buenos Aires. Leaders of the ruling and opposition parties called for "improved democratic coexistence" to strengthen democracy. President Fernández urged, "We can disagree, we can have deep disagreements, but hate speech cannot take place because it breeds violence and there is no chance of violence coexisting with democracy."
We did recover our property, but by then it had been destroyed, demolished, and looted. They took beams and cut down trees. Our property included the last and largest Amburana Cearensis tree in the entire region. They wiped out this and other protected species.
We began to lead medical brigades when we detected scabies. Since cases of scabies did not appear in the city, I felt unsure what to do. When the volunteer doctors recommended burning their clothes to prevent the spread, it seemed so difficult. I knew the circumstances. This community lived in extreme poverty. They could not simply burn the little they owned.
People often ask if we hit each other during competition. My answer surprises them. For every blow, fall, rise, or movement, when people see us in action, they applaud and shout to cheer us on. During combat, the expressions of astonishment from the public fill me with energy. Under my helmet, I experience tears of joy.
Traveling along a road in El Salvador with Don Jenaro Ramirez, a man with dark hair and native Salvadoran features, a large volcanic chain can be seen looming above. At 29, he calls the area, “quiet, nice, and touristy,” but he also recalls the earthquakes and landslides of 1982, where vegetable growers who lived along the base died underground.
We followed Tango closely and made probes to indicate the victims' locations. While Tango began to dig, we helped brush away the snow. Later, we discovered that the snow on top of the victim weighed 200 kilograms (441 pounds). We spotted a motionless hand as we brushed the snow bit by bit. A bad feeling arose in us.
At times, danger lurks around the corner. During one such incident, I clung to some stones. Beneath me lay a great void. Thank God I was not the last person in line. Alejandro came behind me and grabbed my hand. “You have to lift your lefts,” he said. The weight of my backpack pulled me down. I had no strength.
One afternoon when I arrived home from work, I stepped out of my car and the first inhalation was pure poison. I could not breath. I found my children inside, very sick. My dad came with his truck and helped us move in the middle of a torrential rainstorm. We gathered some of our things and went to a place my father had arranged. It felt like fleeing death.
