Sixty four journalists murdered in the last ten years. Eleven others have disappeared. They are attacking us and killing us. My country has become the most dangerous place for journos in the world.
The narcotrafficking mafia seems to be the biggest murderer. But not the only one. The atmosphere of violence has encouraged government officials, businessmen, small-time criminals and even policemen and soldiers to settle their accounts with journos by harassing them, kidnapping them and killing them.
The Mexican journalistic community is known for its divisions. We didn’t like each other much, it seemed, until last Saturday. For the first time in history, we marched together. Maybe we were 2,000 plus friends from other walks of life. That was still a baby step towards what we have to do to achieve a level of safety that will help us to do our job of informing society. But it’s a valuable baby step, one that was long overdue.
The journalist is the one who walks unarmed into the conflict. Vulnerable, exposed. This is always more difficult in a conflict like the one we have, in which there is nothing like a clear frontline, you don’t know where the bad guys and the good guys are, nor who they are. The gansgter you are denouncing might be your neighbour. And they do know who you are, where you live, who’s your mom, you bro or your child. We still need to pursue our duties.
And the society needs us, we are her eyes and ears.
If the society lets us fall, she will be blind and deaf.
See more pictures here
And a video: