Twelve years later, the memory of Ayotzinapa and the demand for justice are more alive than ever. Reports come and go every time an anniversary of the disappearance of the 43 young teacher-training students approaches, but the only certainty is that their parents, classmates, and society at large still—we still—do not know what happened or where they are.
The hateful messages on social media directed at those who continue to seek the truth about their loved ones—young people between the ages of 18 and 20 who are now in their 30s—are unforgivable and inconceivable; yes, in the present tense, because a missing person continues to celebrate birthdays even though their face remains unchanged. These messages follow the narrative of “just give up and settle for whatever they give you,” to put it mildly.
On Thursday, the 24th, their families and classmates expressed their outrage before the National Human Rights Commission (CNDH), demanding that it revoke the recommendation exonerating the Mexican Army of responsibility for the forced disappearance of the teacher-training students and criminalizing the human rights organizations that support the families. Then, on Friday, they did the same inside and outside the Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation (SCJN).
María de Jesús Tlatempa Bello, mother of José Eduardo Bartolo Tlatempa, insists that “there is not enough openness to self-criticism in this government.” And she demands, on behalf of everyone, that the Army hand over the more than 800 case files that are key to the investigation. And one more thing: María de Jesús brings to light the lack of support for the parents of the missing youths. “Many have died of illness, diabetes, or cancer, without knowing where their loved ones are,” she laments in front of the SCJN, where the demands are mounting.
José Eduardo’s mother is clear: for them, the presidential report to be presented next Monday “will not wear us down or stop our fight. ” For her, the federal government “has a moral obligation to reveal the Army’s complicity.”This Saturday, the streets will speak out once again, for there is a society that, as Cristina Bautista says, does not give up and keeps them afloat. Although it is surely the other way around, and it is their dignified perseverance that dignifies the rest of us.
Original text by Gloria Muñoz Ramírez published by La Jornada on September 26th, 2026.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.
The Ignominy of the Army
In the style of the PRI, the Mexican military refuses to hand over the 853 case files, claimed the mothers and fathers of the 43 students at a rally at Military Camp 35—formerly the 27th Infantry Battalion—where 25 young people were admitted. “We’re fed up. Presidential terms come and go with promises that they’ll find our children, but they’re just mocking us parents.”
On the third day of the protest, parents, the normalistas (teacher-training students) from the Federation of Socialist Peasant Students of Mexico (FECSM), and social organizations arrived at 1:30 p.m. in front of what used to be the 27th Infantry Battalion. Banners bearing the faces of the missing students were unfurled as the echoes of their shouts bounced off the olive-green walls. The family members turned their backs on the military institution as the rally began with the chants: “They took them alive, we want them back alive!” “We will never forget September 26!”
Anger, helplessness, and despair welled up in the mothers and fathers as they faced the most shameful institution of all: the army. Their aversion to the police and the military began the moment their 43 children disappeared. They have not wavered in their insistence on the army’s involvement and the handover of 853 documents containing information that could lead to the whereabouts of the missing students.
Isidoro Vicario, abogado de las madres y padres, aseveró que a 12 años se tiene información clara de que personal del 27 batallón de infantería participó en la desaparición de los 43 normalistas de Ayotzinapa. “No vamos a permitir que el ejército mexicano quede exonerado de la responsabilidad en la desaparición”.
Recordó que después de varios años el ex subsecretario Alejandro Encinas, cuando era presidente de la Comisión de la Verdad y Acceso a la Justicia (Covaj), “a nombre del Estado mexicano tuvo que reconocer que el caso Ayotzinapa fue un crimen de Estado, porque hubo participación de diferentes corporaciones policiacas y del ejército mexicano”.
Don Mario González, padre del estudiante desaparecido César Manuel González Hernández, señaló iracundo que los militares no quieren entregar los 853 folios y niegan su participación en la desaparición de los estudiantes, “pero recordemos que infiltraron a la normal de Ayotzinapa, sabían los movimientos de cada camión y de cada estudiante. Tuvieron a su cargo el C4, no hay modo de que no sepan, pero el gobierno les sigue el juego por complicidad, y la presidenta ahora tiene título de jueza porque les absuelve.”
The government has refused to pursue the line of investigation that, according to “Gil’s statement,” 25 students were taken to the 27th Infantry Battalion in Iguala. “When we were kids, the army filled us with pride, but with the disappearances and the ‘death flights,’ how can we trust them? We no longer know whether to watch out for the local gangs or the military because they’re one and the same. This is the worst form of organized crime, the most organized in the entire country,” said Don Mario.
What’s worse is that on July 9, the National Human Rights Commission (CNDH) released a report exonerating the army, pushing the victims and their families into the background. It’s yet another smokescreen used by the state to avoid providing truth and justice. A report tailored to suit the government’s agenda only deepens the wound suffered by these mothers and fathers.
They made it clear that they will continue to hold the military accountable. They will not remain silent faced with the wall of impunity. Unfortunately, one of the 43 was an active member of the Mexican military who had allegedly infiltrated the Ayotzinapa teachers’ college to monitor the students’ activities.
Cristina Bautista, mother of student Benjamín Ascencio Bautista, said that along the way, two mothers and six fathers who never heard from their children have passed away. “Those of us who remain will continue the fight because we must find the truth and achieve justice. Twelve years later, we still don’t know how they are. It’s very sad for the whole family not to know. Twelve years ago, our children were very happy at the Ayotzinapa Teachers’ College, but on September 26 and 27, all the families received the bad news. We never imagined we’d reach 12 years without knowing anything.”
The mother said: “We must not forget that Enrique Peña Nieto, the mayor of Iguala, and Ángel Aguirre knew that our children had been taken and that three students and three civilians had been murdered, and that Aldo remains in a coma. It’s also very sad for his family; even though they see him, they can’t hear him speak or watch him walk—just as we can’t hug the 43. On their birthdays and Mother’s Day, we don’t receive hugs. Christmas and New Year’s are sad for the whole family.”
The mothers and fathers recall that the federal government promised to locate their children, but no one has followed through. President Claudia Sheinbaum “wants to divide the parents—this is the work of people who lack sympathy for the victims. We’ve been struggling day after day because we can’t find our children, because we feel guilty for having allowed them to go to school, and the government criminalizes us.”
Mario González lamented the lack of solidarity among the people of Iguala, even though they are caught up in the maelstrom of violence. “All we want is to know where the boys are, why they were attacked, who attacked them, and where they are.” However, the authorities and those in power “want us to die one by one so we’ll never know what happened to our children.”
At the end of the rally, they threw a dozen firecrackers at the olive-green walls; some landed inside the military building, while others landed on the side facing the avenue. The sound was deafening, and the smoke spread for several meters. This time it wasn’t an exaggeration, but the echo of truth and justice from the families searching for their children—a beacon of hope in the middle of the night.
Original text and photo published by Tlachinollan on September 24th, 2026.
Translation by Schools for Chiapas.