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In the back seat of a luxury van, an African lion looks out the right window at the streets of San Juan Chamula. The driver of the vehicle listens to El Comando Suicida del Mayo, and shows the list of narcocorridos waiting to be played. The scene, which seems to be taken from a TV drama, is real. It is part of the emerging culture in this Tsotsil municipality, along with indigenous homemade pornography and the songs of Los Cárteles de San Juan...
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They are murdering us for the simple fact of having feminized bodies, but in the face of this we have left behind our fear, and we are not going to stop going out into the streets, we are not going to stop naming them, we are not going to stop going out carrying the memory, because what we have is life. We have the life that was taken away from them, at the moment that we are determined to go out and name them. Because memory, when it is collective, is only then memory.
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So many women murdered. What is going on? Where does this criminal impulse to choose the imminent femicide, whether directed at women by chance or for personal reasons, come from? We can allow ourselves to call the phenomenon an epidemic. Could it be a contagious disease?
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