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| Eduardo Urbano Merino |
On the afternoon of November 15, Mexico City and at least 17
other states across the country awoke to a different atmosphere. From early
morning, entire families began gathering at various points in their cities,
carrying signs with simple yet powerful messages: “We want peace,” “Stop the
violence,” “Mexico deserves to live.” It wasn't a march of anger; it was a walk
seeking the opposite: a truce, a respite, a way of saying that the daily
violence had worn the population down too much.
At 4:00 p.m., in Mexico City, the column proceeded along
Avenida Juárez with an almost ceremonial calm. Soft drums, prayers, subdued
chants, and, in some sections, spontaneous applause could be heard. It was the
kind of demonstration in which older people, students, and mothers with small
children predominated, many carrying white flowers or yellow handkerchiefs tied
on their wrists.
But as the contingent advanced toward the Plaza de la
Constitución, something became noticeable: a much larger police cordon than in
previous marches. Rows of uniformed officers equipped with helmets, shields,
batons, and tear gas lined the surrounding streets.
At first, the atmosphere remained tense but stable. The
demonstrators tried to continue along their usual route, convinced that there
would be no obstacles; after all, it wasn't a violent march or an unexpected
protest. However, upon reaching the intersection with 20 de Noviembre, the
police blocked their path without warning.
What happened next
was abrupt.
The shove that sparked
chaos
Witnesses say the clash began with a shove. A demonstrator,
around 50 years old, tried to speak with an officer who was blocking the
contingent's advance. She didn't raise her voice, wave any objects, or try to
break through the line. He simply extended his hand to show her a sign that
read, "I am here for my missing son."
The response was a shove that sent her stumbling back
several steps. That seemingly isolated act sparked shouts, protests, and a
swarm of confusion.
The first line of
police officers advanced immediately.
In a matter of seconds, the scene changed: shields closed
like an opaque barrier, batons began to crackle in the air—and then at arms,
backpacks, and banners—and a light cloud of tear gas drifted among the
protesters, who began to run aimlessly.
Families trapped,
flowers on the ground.
The hardest part of the scene was seeing the most vulnerable
groups trying to get to safety. Children crying, elderly people struggling to
breathe, women trying to cover their faces with makeshift scarves. The white
flowers that many carried as a symbol of peace were scattered on the pavement,
trampled, or rolled among the shields.
Some young people tried to form human chains to prevent the
police line from splitting them. It didn't work. Several were violently thrown
to the ground, while others shouted names, trying to find their companions.
“Why are they doing
this to us?”
The phrase was heard repeatedly among those trapped between
the police lines. There were no stones, no firecrackers, no graffiti. Just
confused people.
Even so, the officers continued pushing, waving their
batons, and dispersing the crowd.
The operation, according to witnesses, lasted no more than
fifteen minutes, but the chaos it left in its wake stretched for more than an
hour. People were treated for eye irritation, panic attacks, and bruises on
their arms and legs. Many reported feeling “treated like enemies,” even though
the reason for the protest was precisely to demand an end to the violence.
An unexpected end to
a peace march
The march, which had begun as a symbolic act to demand a
less wounded country, ended up as a scene that perfectly reflected what the
protesters wanted to denounce.
When the streets were finally cleared, small groups gathered
to try to regroup and resume the march. Some picked up their slogans again;
Others simply remained silent, sitting on the sidewalk, watching as the police
withdrew without offering an explanation.
“Why are they doing
this to us?”
The phrase was heard repeatedly among those trapped between
the police lines. There were no stones, no firecrackers, no graffiti. Just
confused people.
Even so, the officers continued pushing, waving their
batons, and dispersing the crowd.
The operation, according to witnesses, lasted no more than
fifteen minutes, but the chaos left in its wake stretched for more than an
hour. People were treated for eye irritation, panic attacks, and bruises on
their arms and legs. Many reported feeling “treated like enemies,” even though
the reason for the protest was precisely to demand an end to the violence.
An unexpected end to
a peace march
The march, which had begun as a symbolic act to demand a
less wounded country, ended up becoming a scene that perfectly reflected what
the protesters had wanted to denounce.
When the streets were finally cleared, small groups gathered
to try to regroup and resume the march. Some picked up their slogans again;
others simply remained silent, sitting on the sidewalk, watching the police
withdraw without explanation.
As night fell, the city regained its artificial calm. But
for those who had been there, the message was clear: even the most peaceful
expressions can be repressed with excessive force.
And the big question—the one many repeated as they gathered
their belongings from the ground—lingered in the air:
How wounded is a country when not even a peace march can
proceed in peace?