Protests over missing students planted in Guerrero spread across Mexico

The protests about his son and dozens of others abducted by police had been building for weeks.

杭州桑拿

The next morning, caravans of buses would drive out of these wooded hills to spread their defiant message to far corners of Mexico, as protesters in different states blocked highways, seized town squares, closed airports, and burned cars and buildings.

“The parents are enraged by so much waiting and so few results,” De la Cruz, who has emerged as a spokesman for the victims’ families, told the crowd last Wednesday. As of Monday, he said, “the flame of insurgency has been lit.”

In the seven weeks since police drove away with Cruz’s 19-year-old son, Angel, and 42 of his classmates at a teachers’ college in the rural state of Guerrero, the localized rage of their relatives at the forced disappearances has flashed across the country and the world, drawing condemnations from everyone from President Barack Obama to Pope Francis. The crime has captured Mexico’s attention unlike nearly any other atrocity in the recent years of brutal drug-war violence, and spawned a protest movement that has shown no signs of abating. President Enrique Peña Nieto, who returned this weekend from an extended trip abroad, is now facing the most acute crisis of his two years in office.

The demand to find the students and punish those responsible for their disappearance has broadened into a more diverse fury about corrupt politicians and their drug-trafficking cronies, the economic and education reforms pushed by Peña Nieto, and the enrichment of the political class as poverty persists in states such as Guerrero. The outrage reflects deep distrust of the new government, which has emphasized that security is improving, even as large swaths of the country remain under the control of drug cartels and more than 20,000 people are officially counted as missing.

“It is not violence to burn a government building that isn’t an institution, that’s a white elephant that doesn’t serve the interests of the people,” said a protest leader who said his name was Carlos, wearing a skeleton mask and aviator sunglasses as he prepared to march through the Guerrero capital of Chilpancingo. “The real violence is the assassination of our comrades. And we will not give up this fight.”

The protests have spread far beyond the rural towns and villages where they started. Tens of thousands of marchers have descended several times on Mexico City’s main Zocalo plaza. At minute 43 — the number of Ayotzinapa students missing — of the Mexican national soccer team’s game in Amsterdam against Holland last week, a stadium full of fans chanted “justice, justice.”

The trouble began on the evening of Sept. 26, when police stopped the students as they traveled on buses in the town of Iguala. Authorities accuse Iguala Mayor Jose Luis Abarca of ordering police to prevent the students from disrupting a speech given by his wife. According to the government version of events, police then handed over the students to a drug gang, Guerreros Unidos. In the ensuing weeks, 10,000 Mexican soldiers and police scoured the region and uncovered various graves. Last week, Mexico’s attorney general, Jesus Murillo Karam, announced that the charred remains of what probably were the students had been found at a dump and in a river in Guerrero. He presented videotaped confessions of drug gang members talking about how they carried out the killings. Authorities are working to identify the remains through DNA testing.

The night after Murillo Karam’s presentation, protesters threw Molotov cocktails at the door of the national palace in Mexico City.

On Friday in Chilpancingo, thousands of people marched through the streets, led by masked men from the teachers’ union carrying riot shields and metal pipes. With police or soldiers nowhere in sight, they stopped along the way to spray-paint government buildings, newspaper offices, and the storefront windows of Oxxo convenience stores, part of a national chain. The march ended at the town square, which protesters have occupied for weeks, with people living in tents surrounding a statue in the central plaza hung with a cardboard sign that reads: “We are going to disappear the narcostate.”

“If the state doesn’t return our students, this could get out of control,” said Walter Añorve, a teacher from Acapulco who is one of the protest leaders. “It’s a peaceful struggle so far, but it might not remain so.”

The state of Guerrero, rural and poor, has a history of antigovernment mobilizations. The Mexican military fought leftist guerrillas here in the 1970s and government security forces have killed villagers in uprisings in the decades since, including a massacre by police of 17 farmers on their way to a protest in 1996. As in neighboring Michoacan, a citizens’ militia movement took off in Guerrero, with peasants forming armed groups to keep out drug traffickers and corrupt cops.

Veterans of these struggles say that this time feels different. The protests tapped into a growing opposition to Peña Nieto’s reforms to open up the country’s oil sector to foreign firms, and his challenges to teachers’ unions, which have prompted months of protests in Oaxaca. A teacher and protest leader in Chilpancingo who called himself Pastor Mojica said that earlier uprisings, such as protests over the disputed 1988 presidential elections, were more narrowly focused.

“Those protests were to defend the vote,” said Mojica, a teacher from the mountains near Acapulco. “This time it’s deeper.”

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The government, he said, wants “to impose these reforms at any cost,” and the “society rises in opposition to that.”

Some of the parents involved had no experience with politics. Bernardo Campos Santos, 59, a corn farmer from the town of Tixtla, first heard of his son’s disappearance when a truck with a megaphone drove down his street announcing that something “grave” had happened that night and that everyone with relatives at the school — the Escuela Normal Rural Raul Isidro Burgos — should go there immediately.

Since then, he and other parents have converted the school into a base camp for the protest movement, sleeping in student dormitories and eating communal meals on the basketball court.

Campos had never participated in any political protest before the disappearance of his son, José Angel. But like many others, he resented a government he saw as serving the interests of the cartels over the residents. He and other parents know people who have been pushed off their lands by drug traffickers and who pay them protection fees in cash or with portions of their crops. They consider the government complicit.

“Peasants don’t like to get involved in politics. We work. We go home. We sleep. We get up early,” he said. “A politician has never helped me at all.”

“For them, the lives of the poor don’t have any value,” said Nardo Flores Vazquez, whose 21-year-old son, Bernardo, is among the missing.

The parents and protest leaders say they do not believe the government’s claims that their children were burned at the dump. The hope that they might still be found has given the protest movement momentum, because it’s a concrete, although perhaps unmeetable, demand for the government: return the students alive.

“As long as they continue to be missing, the movement remains alive,” said Vidulfo Rosales, a lawyer advising the families.

The parents have presented some apparent complications to the government’s narrative. Among them, they say they cannot understand how so many young men could be burned up so completely on a night when it was raining.

“It’s just not possible,” Flores said.

Parents say they are willing to accept the findings of an independent organization, just not the government. An Argentine forensic team has been working on the case, and remains have been sent to Austria for testing. Until those results come back, Flores said, there will be more marches, more protests, more unrest and more waiting.

“This has been hell,” he said.