Editor-In-Chief
BROWNSVILLE, Texas - Reports of the latest combat are sketchy, but estimates on the dead stood at "dozens" yesterday afternoon. No, it was not local residents, although it could have been people with close ties to this despair-shackled bordertown, people who had dined in town the night before, people who had sold drugs here, people who had family or girlfriends or wives living alongside the American citizenry.
The killings were taking place in broad daylight, under rain-heavy skies...in neighboring Matamoros, Mexico. Wheeeeew! There for a second it was as if I would write about some deranged shooter or group of shooters taking-out this poor city's population at some crowded fleamarket, or at a discount grocery store, or at the forever-availing government Food Stamps office. Only, no, it's not anything to do with this side of the Rio Grande. All that shooting and killing and butchering is taking place on the southern banks of the passive river.
It is the war that is and isn't.
Much has been rumored and much has been ignored, by Brownsville's people and by the Brownsville press. One Blogger has chanced the ill-advised and written brazenly about the heartless, vindictive killers. This bit of military poetry was included in a post published this past week by The Brownsville Literary Review: "Wake up, Brownsville! The barbarians are at the gates! Today Mexico celebrates its independence and I have never felt less free in my life. I can't sleep. I'm afraid. I fear for my six-year-old son. I fear for my pueblo. I fear for my country. And nobody says nothin'!"
Meanwhile, the mainstream Brownsville Herald has been dragged slowly into the fray. It has begun to cover a war spreading by the day. There are two other Blogs in town, Brownsville Voice and something with the strange name of El Rrun Rrun. Neither has touched the Matamoros War with any regularity or notable reporting. Brownsville Voice seems to have no interest or knowledge on things Mexican, and El Rrun Rrun (what does that mean, anyway? Is it Aztec for something unique, or what?) has become a specialty Blog focusing on the less-dangerous doings at the local school district. Its operator is said to be quite familiar with Matamoros, yet he chooses to battle legalese and not chance an errant bullet. Matamoros is the story of the day in Brownsville. How these writers can look the other way speaks volumes about their seriousness of purpose, which is, to be frank, missing-in-action.
It would be something altogether different if Matamoros and Brownsville did not co-exist literally side-by-side. Its lands are separated solely by the river. Properties roll to the northern and southern banks and it is said that all it takes to land a golf ball from the U.S. banks of the river to the rusting, metal roofing of the Mexican customs station is a mere 9-iron. Rifles are fired each way across the river on New Year's Day just for fun, and it is a known fact that bored U.S. Border Patrol agents assigned to walk the riverbanks on this side often get into shouting matches with itchy Mexicans on the other side. The relationship between both communities is close, geographies fitting into each other like pieces of a puzzle. Yet, it may as well be two cities separated by the much-wider Amazon.
In Brownsville, residents these days go about their lives, perhaps worried, but seemingly oblivious to the bloody battles they soon hear about in graphic and disturbing words. In Matamoros, the streets are owned by the battling thugs fighting for turf one humble neighborhood at a time - day and night. Public places are attacked. Gunfire moves like crazed, unwanted buzzards. Evening falls slowly, but nothing changes. It is a killing War Zone for the Mexicans and a handy "over there" mirage for the Americans in Brownsville.
The war is not here, and that is enough for locals to rest easy - or as easy as they can rest. The Human mind is not that super. It cannot simply block-off pain, death or war. Residents can only tell each other that it doesn't matter, that it is not happening in town, that the people being killed are not Americans, that the children crying at seeing their dead parents are not Brownsville children. Life is best taken one minute at a time. This is a town used to a mountain of other hassles and disappointments. It has long lived without much, with dreams that are easily attainable elsewhere in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas.
Now, as the Drug War morphs into a Daily Hell...Brownsville has again chosen to merely let things be, let them be...
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6 comments:
If you browse through the comments section at the BH regarding the recent shootouts, you would think that Matamoros is thousands of miles from the Rio Grande Valley. Their inane, contemptuous, and snide comments makes me wonder if these posters are even residents of the RGV.
Otherwise, how can one accept their dismissive attitude regarding the narcoviolence and grisly deaths at the hands of the cartels? Are they trying to be snarky and impress their fellow posters? What would they even gain by outdoing each other at the BH?
Christian
Christian:...It's the nature of the beast, more than anything else. The Herald, like many online publications, allows anonymous commenters to post at will for its own economic sake (hits = advertising), and often the comments add little to the seriousness of the topic. Brownsville is a quirky place - it acknowledges and dismisses Matamoros, and always has done it. The commenting you refer to is Cyber-ego, that bully keyboard being worked-over by a wimp. No, nothing good comes of it. We equate it to guys talking tough at a boxing match from cheap seats, the ones far from the action... - Editor
I went to Maramotos with a male friend the other day, to get him his medications. I wanted to tell him that I didn't want to go, because the last time I went with him, we had to wait in line to come back for about an hour and a half. With that nasty thought in my mind we travelled into the mouth of the beast. We went to Garcias and were back in the good old USA in less than 45 minutes. All due to Americans unwilling to travel to that God-awful place.
Every once in a while we have a little taste here of what life is like across the Rio Grande. Two gangs will start to go at it with drive-by shootings and revenge killings. But it's usually short-lived and we don't feel particularily endangered. What will happen when the killing virus spreads and infects our lives on a day-to-day basis. When you can't walk down the street without dodging bullets. When you can't get to the grocery store because of street barricades. When your children end up lying in the gutter while waiting for the school bus. You think it won't happen here? You think it won't cross the river? Think again. M
Gladys & Anonymous M:...Matamoros, heroic city near the mouth of the Rio Grande, deserves a better fate. But is it the people who will have to rise against the killing machine. And M, yes, it's predictable that the violence will spread northward. Any day now, the RGV will have its own Sept. 11th - and things will never again be the same between bordertowns. War breeds - and feeds on - the psychotic side of the mind... - Editor
Eliot, how in the world can you trust Jr. Bonner, with such a darling. Like the one who only wants to be a: A tribune-eye-candy.
By his looks can he even use a camera??? Does he know how to use a key board???
That wimpy cowboy needs to be taken to Las Casuelas in Harlingen, and be fed at least one Mexican plate, once a day for 30 days. Darn, he is one goofy looking man, standing outside the Cowboy motel.
Now, that gorgeous woman doesn't only have a pretty face, she has all the attributes, many Valley women are lacking. Enough said, just to let you know, I love Mexican food.
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