The altar for the women killed and disappeared in Ciudad Juarez.
It was a beautiful memorial. 450 names read, broken only by the recitation of poems (including one I believe is called Justice that I want to get and post). As they were reading the names of the women, I kept thinking "Who was she? Who loved her?"
And the unidentified women... hearing those numbers in place of names was sad, but it was also chilling. Nameless in death, those women meant something to someone at some time. What must those left behind be thinking?
There was a professor there who kept emphasizing, kept pressing home the point that these women were killed for being women. That they were hated, mistreated, tortured for being women. "No one cares about the women of Juarez," she said, "But we care." She also reminded us, that it is our responsibility as women (as the audience largely was) to care, to tell, to make sure they didn't die in vain.
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