Review: "La Lucha: The Story of Lucha Castro and Human Rights in Mexico," by Jon Sack, Edited by Adam Shapiro, Verso, 2015
It
does so by focusing on the bravery and resilience of a few determined
Mexican women -- some living, some dead -- who refused, in the words of
the eponymous Lucha Castro, "to cooperate further with a patriarchal and
unjust system." These women, coming from diverse backgrounds,
confronting a variety of horrifying situations, rise up "through acts of
love and justice," and proclaim, ya basta!, enough is enough.
And thus, as Lucha eloquently describes, "they offered their hands,
arms, lap, voice [...] so that other women could learn that another
world is possible, another world without violence."
Writer
and illustrator Jon Sack relates their stories through the bold medium
of the graphic novel. The words may read like a human rights
fact-finding report but the images are lucid and dramatic. There are no
fictional super-heroes in this comic book, only very real, humble and
fragile humans coping with unimaginable horror. "Our voices are
sometimes lost or silenced," says Lucha. "The strength in our legs
sometimes falters, and fear can paralyze us." But have no doubt, these
women are very heroic.
The Failed War on Drugs
Cuidad
Juárez (and the surrounding valley of Juárez) came to international
attention in the late 1990s/early 2000s as "the capital of murdered
women" as hundreds of women were disappeared and murdered - many of them
young migrant workers drawn to the cities' grim maquiladoras. This
veritable femicide gave way to increased levels of violence in the late
2000s as drug cartels, army and police factions fought over local drug
markets and smuggling routes to the U.S. In 2008, Mexican president
Felipe Calderón sent thousands of soldiers onto the streets, effectively
militarizing the situation, creating a state of siege, and leading to
an increase in the general level of violence. As Lucha Castro points
out, "under Calderón's 'War on Drugs,' at least 100,000 people were
killed, 20,000 disappeared, and over 200,000 fled their homes."
In
a zone where "there are more murders annually than in war torn
Afghanistan," described rather luridly as the most violent place on
earth, we learn that due to a culture of impunity, "over 97 percent of
killings in Juárez go unsolved." In one town alone in the Juárez valley,
Guadalupe, we are told that 75 percent of the population has fled, been
killed or disappeared, leaving the town practically in ruins.
Despite
the wanton destruction and massive suffering, there is nothing familiar
about this form of carnage. "We are in the middle of a 'war', which is a
war and isn't," explains Alma, another embedded activist. "We don't
know what the warzones are or who the enemy is ..." This adds another
level of terror to the Juárez theater - the war is itinerant,
de-territorialized and below the surface. The battlefield, then, is
everywhere, all the time.
A Collective Voice of Resistance
How
to be human, or to defend human rights in such terrible scenario? Lucha
Castro is an activist lawyer working to identify the killers and their
official enablers through the Chihuahua Women's Human Rights Center. The
Center provides legal and support services for families and communities
affected by the violence. Her work is, without doubt, vital, but
despite the title of the book, this is not about just one individual.
Lucha's story is the gateway to introducing a series of vignettes about
extraordinary women and their families caught up in the violence. Thus
La Lucha is a collective testimony, like a memory of a movement of
people who resist.
Each
of the vignettes repudiates the official narrative -- embraced by the
mainstream media -- that the problem is inter-cartel violence, a turf
war between highly armed drug criminal gangs. The reality is much more
complicated, and insidious: the business of illegal drugs permeates
every level of society involving police, military, government officials,
the justice system, and banks, all hellbent on getting a slice of that
hugely lucrative trades' cake.
And
so we learn the heart-breaking story of Marisela Escobedo who in her
attempts to bring the killer of her daughter Rubi to justice, is in turn
murdered as she protested outside the capitol building in Chihuahua.
Complicit in her murder are both crime lords and local security forces,
as well as the justice system that protected the perpetrators. We learn
about the death of the prominent social activist Josefina Reyes,
murdered outside a restaurant on her way to work in a military-style
ambush. Her masked killers were heard taunting Josefina as they shot
her, "You think you are so cool because you belong to the [human rights]
organizations?," sending a chilling threat to other activists.
Josefina's extended family, the Reyes-Salazar, have been virtually
annihilated due to their involvement in the social movement. Targeted
because of their work in organizing the community against the violence,
and exposing official collusion with crime, the few remaining members of
the family took refuge in El Paso, where they refuse to remain silent
about the ongoing campaign against their family.
Another
vignette tells of Norma Ledesma, founder of Justice for Our Daughters,
whose 15-year-old daughter Paloma was disappeared and murdered in 2002.
Her attempts to work with authorities to find justice for her daughter
have led her to conclude that "from the experiences I have had, there
really are negligent, corrupt people [in authority] who are working with
the drug gangs."
Lucha
Castro shares this analysis: "Human rights defenders have always faced
up to political and economic powers. However, there is a new player that
has increased the risks: namely organized crime working hand in hand
with the police and military to implement mega-projects, with no qualms
about threatening, torturing or murdering activists."
In
effect, under the auspices of the Mexican government's War on Drugs,
Juárez has been militarized and social organizations, humans rights
groups and activists who get in the way of business are targeted and
eliminated by paramilitary forces colluding with law enforcement
agencies and military, operating with complete impunity.
Front Line Human Rights Defenders
With
nowhere left to turn, human rights activists like Lucha Castro look
further afield for some kind of support. This brought her into contact
with the Front Line Defenders, a globally-focused organization based in
Ireland. Raising awareness and providing practical support for human
rights workers in the firing line, they campaign to increase their
visibility and recognition. This book came from that collaboration, with
the support of the publisher, Verso.
Although
its focus is on human rights and its defenders, Front Line Defenders
don't -- as evidenced from this graphic novel -- shy from the political
issues underlying the human rights abuses, or refrain from pointing
fingers at the rich and powerful enablers behind the violence. La Lucha
promises to be the first in a series of graphic novels focusing on human
rights defenders around the world. As a tool for raising consciousness,
the graphic novel as a form certainly makes the information very
accessible, and perhaps opens up the field to a new kind of readership.
The series is off to a deft start with the publication of “La Lucha: The
Story of Lucha Castro and Human Rights in Mexico.”
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Mexico: A Lesson in Defiance Amid the Carnage
