domingo, 11 de febrero de 2007

The ones Venezuela forgot

About 7 Pm, I was walking with a group of friends through the very few "safe" streets of Caracas. Then, from another street, I saw like 50 people, quiet; with candles and signs and I asked my friends for a few minutes, to come closer and see what they were doing. Call it curiosity if you want. They were mostly old women, and all the signs had different names; with a common logo in one corner "Grupo 11 vive" (11 group lives). I quickly read and recognize some of them; then I looked at them in a friendly sad way and left. Then I told to one of my friends who wanted to come with me just in case:
- I think Venezuela has completely forgot about them -
Then he said:
- Sometimes it is better not to remember those things.
- But- I insisted - If one person close to you, friend or family, were killed there; would you want it to be forgotten by your country?
- I don’t think so - He answered immediately, and gave me a regretted look back.
Yes, we, the Venezuelans have our own 11; maybe not as big as the United States or the Chile one. Was in April, 2002. Many people were killed in circumstances we quite don’t understand yet and we even less understand the events that happen later that day. Too many sides, too many versions, too many stories that sometimes I doubt they are even talking of my country. And almost 5 years later, and is not even a part of history, is part of nothing cause no one but that group (probably family from the ones who were death that day) remember; by going religiously, every 11 of every month, to that place (this is just a supposition, I will go on March 11 to see if it’s true), to light a candle for the ones who are not here anymore and that for Venezuela, were never here in the first place.
I also lighted a candle for them once. After all, I was there, in Caracas, in the manifestation and later events of April 11, 2002 (what some call "Military Coup" but this is not the place for discuss it). And after so many years of thinking and thinking back; I still don’t have a version of what happened that day. I only know what I saw, and that’s the only truth I hardly hold when everything, even documentaries made by foreigners, tells the opposite. I can choose between two slang’s. One "You cant believe on everything you see" or two: "You can only give credit to your own eyes". In this case, I’m stocked with the second.

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