Women's handcuffed body found in Tijuana
In a grim image that has been replayed across the city, and cities like it, all over the world, a women's body was found this morning, in the Tijuana River channel, near the CECUT, Tijuana Cultural Center. A bleak contrast of privilege and poverty, the wealthy elite and those with bound hands and feet, slowly decomposing, wrapped in a blanket.
The facts are few, and will likely remain so; unless a captured detainee gives statements to the PGR or Siedo, and the hopelessly numbing and horrific details of this women's death will fill a few lines in a ZETA article. However, given the painful insignificance of this incident, that is unlikely.
No, far likelier she will join the ranks of the fallen in Tijuana, the ghosts that decorate the homes on Day of the Dead, and sit in morgues, have cheap funerals, or are simply disposed of by the state. Disposable is a good word….disposable income, these are disposable people to many.
Not in terms of contributions, or stature, or significance, because she and those like her were undoubtedly painfully important to their loved ones. Simply, that in a place of wrenching inequality, sickening poverty, these victims of the crushing mechanics of that system are not important to very many.
They are usually deemed either criminals, or scum, prostitutes, or promiscuous, terms that desensitize all of us to the smell of death and the way it stops the world of those left behind, lefts with nothing but memories and photos, bursts of laughter, snippets of conversations, pieces of lives. And you go on. And the memories haunt you, settling in your stomach and the base of your spine, dulled slightly only by the passing of time, unexpected crushing tears that come late at night.
How many times are hearts broken? How many times can ones heart break?