Estamos cansados. Somos un hermoso país que lo han llevado a la ruina. Antes la gente venía a nuestro país por el cálido clima, las hermosas playas ¡incluso el Salto Ángel! (que todos conocen por Up). Y ahora todos se van. Ya sea por el aeropuerto o un ataúd tres metro bajo tierra. Me duele mi país. Me duele ver que mis amigos se van porque saben que su futuro aquí ya no vale nada. Me duele ver como los niños/adultos/jóvenes se mueren a diario porque no hay insumos suficientes para todos. Me duele que no puedo salir a una disco o a casa de un amigo, incluso a caminar de noche porque corro el riesgo de ser asesinada sólo por un celular. Me duele ver que los chamos están dejando su vida por nosotros en la calle protestando mientras que a muchos no les importa. Me duele ver niños toooodos los días comiendo de la basura porque sus padres no tienen para llevarle ni un pedacito de pan a ellos o lo peor sus padres no pudieron conseguir alimentos porque nos hay NADA en este país. Se lo han robado todo que hasta el miedo se nos lo llevaron. Yo se que algún día te recuperaremos, mi amada Venezuela. Se que pronto todos volverán y lloraremos de alegría porque volveremos a ser un país hermoso, seguro y alegre. Pronto mi Venezuela. Pronto serás nuestra otra vez ¡QUE VIVA VENEZUELA NOJODA!
PD: Necesitamos que estas fotos den la vuelta al mundo para que sepan lo que sufre nuestro país. Por favor, ayúdanos a que todos sepan por lo que estamos atravesando, se nuestro granito de arena, de verdad necesitamos que el mundo vea la crisis que estamos atravesando los venezolanos. Por favor… Les prometemos que no les tomará mucho tiempo
We are tired. We are a beautiful country that have brought it to ruin. Before, people came to our country because of the warm weather, the beautiful beaches, even the Angel Falls! (Which everyone knows about Up, the movie). And now they all go. Either by the airport or a coffin three meters underground. My country hurts. It hurts to see my friends leave because they know that their future here is not worth anything. It hurts me to see how children / adults / young people die every day because there are not enough medical supplies for everyone. It hurts me that I can not go out to a disco or to a friend’s house, even walking at night because I run the risk of being killed only by a cell phone. It pains me to see that young people are leaving their lives for us on the street protesting while many do not care. It hurts me to see children every day eating from the garbage because their parents do not have to take a piece of bread to them or worse their parents could not get food because there is NOTHING in this country. They have stolen everything that even the fear took away. I know that someday we will recover, my beloved Venezuela. I know that soon all will return and we will cry of joy because we will be a beautiful, safe and happy country again. Soon my Venezuela. Soon you will be ours again! LIVE VENEZUELA NOJODA!
PS: We need these photos to go around the world so they know what our country suffers. Please, help us all know what we are going through, it is our bit, we really need the world to see the crisis that we are going through the Venezuelans. Please … We promise you it will not take too long.
I want to share this in English because I think this is very relevant to every women out there.
On May 3rd, the body of Lesvy Berlin Rivera Osorio was found inside one of UNAM’s campus on Mexico city. She was left propped on a phone booth, strangled with the cord of the public phone around her neck. She was 22 years old.
The PGJ (not sure how to translate but it’s something like the General Court of Justice prosecutor) recently released a statement that was brought up based on several interviews with people that were close to Lesvy, including her boyfriend.
They were very good at mentioning that Lesvy had not been attending classes as she had dropped out of school recently.
They were very good at mentioning that she drank.
They were very good at mentioning that she lived with her boyfriend outside of marriage.
They were very good at mentioning that the night she was murdered she had been out with friends probably either drinking or doing drugs.
They were very good at mentioning that she dared to be outside, alone, at night.
They were very good at pinning the blame of a murder case on the victim herself, but they were no closer to finding the actual perpetrator. (You know, the person who ACTUALLY STRANGLED HER WITH A PHONE CORD?)
They used the phrase “found dead” instead of calling it what it really was: MURDER.
They made no mention whatsoever of her boyfriend being a suspect, despite the fact that he was the last person to see her alive, that they had attended the same party that night, and that they had a fight right before her murder after which (according to him) they parted ways angrily.
I’m not saying he is guilty, but perhaps if she had been a “good girl, grade A student” she would deserve justice and a proper investigation of her death instead of the PGJ violating the confidentiality of a still ongoing investigation by releasing these personal facts Lesvy in the media, as if that justified her murder?
I am tired of this and I’ve been holding back tears all day.
WE ARE BEING MURDERED, AND THE BLAME IS PUT ON US.
Violence against women happens everywhere, not just in distant places. Lesvy was killed in the middle of a college campus.
If you were killed, what facts about your imperfect life do you think they would bring up on the statements, on the news media?
This is how the hashtag #SiMeMatan (If I’m murdered) began. Because it seems to be always our fault, for being at the wrong place, with the wrong clothes, or at the wrong time (things not fit for “proper ladies”) and never the fault of the person perpetrating the crime.
Back when I saw Kelly Oxford’s hashtag about sharing our stories of harassment I remembered a similar movement that was made in Latin America a bit earlier called #MiPrimerAcoso (my first harassment) I realized that we face the same struggles, regardless of what language we speak.
This is why I’m writing this now, because I think you should know about Lesvy’s story and we should all be heard.
So here goes mine:
If I’m murdered:
It would be because I lived by myself in my apartment. It would be because I confront people that catcall me on the street. It would be because I like wearing knee high boots and stockings. It would be because I dyed my hair a lot in whacky colors. It would be because I hang out more with men than women. It would be because I go out alone at night without the company of a man. It would be because I drink when I go out. It would be because I was flirty and friendly to everyone. It would be because choose to have sex without being married.
You know what the worst part is about this?
That every woman who is tweeting this hashtag is very well aware that they could be next, and that the official responses might not be too different from Lesvy’s case.
Heck, even women that have marched in outrage at UNAM and women that have tweeted disgust at what happened have started receiving threats online.
El pasado 3 de Junio hicimos una intervención en la concentración de la marcha Ni Una Menos con el objetivo visibilizar el acoso callejero y mostrar la realidad que sufrimos las mujeres todos los días, de la cual la policía es cómplice. Mostrar que pasa en todos lados, en todo momento y como la justicia y el Estado no hacen nada para detener esto.
No es la pollera, no es la hora, no es el lugar, no es su culpa. Es el patriarcado.
Like to keep things tidy? The bluespotted jawfish can relate! This colorful fish keeps busy digging, building and remodeling its den, using its mouth to shovel and arrange sand and bits of coral. Now if you don’t mind, it really must get back to work.