Four years of blood and terror
30/06/2013
- Opinión
How can we, as narrators, write a novel of social terror if we are buried in the miasma of fear, panic and the daily chaos, with our heart converted into a tiny device for courage, still full of fear and desolation?
Day after day the hired assassins appear to extend their tentacles in all possible directions, as if Pandora's box had released death itself, snatching life and dignity from all the national citizenry.
We live in the same hell that Dante described with all its crudity and poetic rhythm, but with an imagination that escapes both reason and logic.
What is this we face, as we live in horror and despair, without any State action that can put a halt to the ignominy, the waves of crime, the violent deaths, as governmental cynicism cries to the four winds that it has reduced the horrendous wave of criminality that attacks the lives of men and women who inhabit the sweet Hibueras of which the heroes of independence and our early poets dreamed in the slumbers of sunrise.
On June 28 2009, the worst political witches' Sabbath that our history registers in the annals of national repression, opened its doors to the bloodiest coup d'état in contemporary history, unlocked the floodgates to unleash the murderous perversion that devastates streets, corners, public places, in a word, every space in the homeland, drowned in the blood of innocents that dare to dream of a new nation re-founded for peace, equity and coexistence with justice and true democracy.
We have run out of ink to explain causes and effects, and are left only with the tint of the violence unleashed across the country, as if the assassin's scythe were decapitating as many heads as possible, in the tragic darkroom into which the motherland of Francisco Morazán has been converted.
There is no rest for the tears of families, friends or simple citizens who with horror painted on their faces, day after day see the cadavers of the victims falling to the ground, as if they were brute animals in a public slaughterhouse.
Four years where the people arising in anger, search for peace and democracy, in spite of so many separations, with the most heartfelt pangs of pain, in every house, in every grassroots community, upholding the torch of social, political and economic demands, as a flag of hope and redemption.
Four years that look like four centuries of an unending nightmare, of a terrible night that knows no dawn, four years of suffering, tears, fright and terror, every morning, noon, afternoon or night, in the unleashing of schizophrenic madness that annihilates us.
But there will be a time what all this disaster and chaos imposed on us with blood and persecution must end, this will be the day electoral judgment, the day of political justice, the day of democratic redemption, the day of the peoples' vote, a day that we recall, in anticipation of the future that will open for us on November 24 of this year, when the first woman president of the country grasps the reins of national government as the result of a victory of a people rising with the ballot boxes, opened as if a flash flood had swept over the voting tables, multiplied to the highest democratic power possible.
That day must come, the day of the end of the inferno and the condemnation that we unjustly received for the crime of merely dreaming of a sovereign country, without chains, that unleashes its morning light over a brilliant and just horizon.
- Galel Cárdenas is a Honduran writer.
(Translated for ALAI by Jordan Bishop)
Day after day the hired assassins appear to extend their tentacles in all possible directions, as if Pandora's box had released death itself, snatching life and dignity from all the national citizenry.
We live in the same hell that Dante described with all its crudity and poetic rhythm, but with an imagination that escapes both reason and logic.
What is this we face, as we live in horror and despair, without any State action that can put a halt to the ignominy, the waves of crime, the violent deaths, as governmental cynicism cries to the four winds that it has reduced the horrendous wave of criminality that attacks the lives of men and women who inhabit the sweet Hibueras of which the heroes of independence and our early poets dreamed in the slumbers of sunrise.
On June 28 2009, the worst political witches' Sabbath that our history registers in the annals of national repression, opened its doors to the bloodiest coup d'état in contemporary history, unlocked the floodgates to unleash the murderous perversion that devastates streets, corners, public places, in a word, every space in the homeland, drowned in the blood of innocents that dare to dream of a new nation re-founded for peace, equity and coexistence with justice and true democracy.
We have run out of ink to explain causes and effects, and are left only with the tint of the violence unleashed across the country, as if the assassin's scythe were decapitating as many heads as possible, in the tragic darkroom into which the motherland of Francisco Morazán has been converted.
There is no rest for the tears of families, friends or simple citizens who with horror painted on their faces, day after day see the cadavers of the victims falling to the ground, as if they were brute animals in a public slaughterhouse.
Four years where the people arising in anger, search for peace and democracy, in spite of so many separations, with the most heartfelt pangs of pain, in every house, in every grassroots community, upholding the torch of social, political and economic demands, as a flag of hope and redemption.
Four years that look like four centuries of an unending nightmare, of a terrible night that knows no dawn, four years of suffering, tears, fright and terror, every morning, noon, afternoon or night, in the unleashing of schizophrenic madness that annihilates us.
But there will be a time what all this disaster and chaos imposed on us with blood and persecution must end, this will be the day electoral judgment, the day of political justice, the day of democratic redemption, the day of the peoples' vote, a day that we recall, in anticipation of the future that will open for us on November 24 of this year, when the first woman president of the country grasps the reins of national government as the result of a victory of a people rising with the ballot boxes, opened as if a flash flood had swept over the voting tables, multiplied to the highest democratic power possible.
That day must come, the day of the end of the inferno and the condemnation that we unjustly received for the crime of merely dreaming of a sovereign country, without chains, that unleashes its morning light over a brilliant and just horizon.
- Galel Cárdenas is a Honduran writer.
(Translated for ALAI by Jordan Bishop)
https://www.alainet.org/en/active/65256
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