The Cone Issue #8 Winter 2016 | Page 42

The housekeeper leaves us. I still have some doubts about the gravity of the situation. Why do we have to protect ourselves from these people who just want their justice back? So far, what I have seen is a very traditional nation trying to protect their freedoms, strong values and ancestral Mayan heritage from occidental capitalistic conquest. This is not a war. But in any case, I decide to trust the housekeeper. My sister’s house is at the entrance of the city, a bit far from the center. So I go back to my position in the garden and try to see what is going on at the other side of the lake, in the city center. At the port, none of the “lanchas” (little boats making the connection with the others cities of the lake) are moving. Everything seems normal, even if I don’t see anybody. Getting impatient after an hour, I decide to see what the situation is like in the streets. I recognize some local women in colorful traditional outfits, they are walking with their children towards the exit of the city. In the middle of the only road, I can see many large rocks piled. It is now impossible to escape or enter with a car anymore. I go back quickly into the garden to get an idea of the city’s situation. I can hear the hubbub of people shouting and I see a crowd moving down to the port. They gather all together around a man who is giving a speech but I can’t hear from where I am. My eyes try to catch something, a movement or a sign from their body language to understand what they are going to do with their anger. Suddenly, at the end of the pontoon, I notice a black mass. I run into the house to get my sister’s roommate’s binoculars. When I have a second look, I quickly understand that it is a body. A man is lying on a wooden plank. I can’t believe it, but I know what I am watching. Around him there are men talking, while some others are trying to move him with a few little kicks. I want to know if he is alive, but the body doesn’t move. There is no way of telling if it is the policeman or not. One after another, other men come to see him. I even see a father coming down to the pier with his son and later a woman. I want to ask them: “Is this something entertaining?” That man probably has a wife and kids. However bad that man was, he didn’t deserve to end his life like this, in public, with this amount of violence. I feel a strong anger rising, like a pain burning inside me. I feel so helpless and want to shout. Very quickly, my thoughts wander to last year‘s earthquake in Nepal and its consequences that I experienced first hand. Of course, it was unfair and people never deserve these disasters but compared to nature’s random anger, human anger is intentionally absurd. I feel terribly ashamed for these people and our world. 42 THE CONE - ISSUE #8 - WINTER 2016