I, a teacher, I think of the gestures of people who despise our claim on the bus, in the supermarket, the grocery store and many other places across the daily lives, I think of 200 broken windows in my school just west would place a month after the date of commencement of classes, I think of the government's silence usual four-week strike, I think employers demanding free routes, I think the word "vague "they reproached those who passed on foot by cutting the bridge, I think the truck driver that the only reason that the picket was attacked because it still is a crime to run over a person in a protest, I think a bishop who signs statements against abortion and that, under the ghost of Don Jaime, is a squalid participation in social conflicts, I think of that morning in Arroyito with tension in the blood, gas grenade that bounced off the car they were going, I think the teachers running cross country, bodies vulnerable to the uniformed military paraphernalia, I think of my house, when I remove my clothes with traces of gas I closed the throat, in despair and tears that day, I think my crying when the photo's murder popped my head, I think of my mother's school in the strike last year said the disputes were settled with one dead, I think as a memory exercise in teaching Huincul beaten in last year, I think of the string of names which cluster balance policy as genocidal as Teresa Rodríguez, Víctor Choque, Kosteki and Santillan, Silvia Roggetti, and now, Carlos Fuentealba, I think right in the drive already installed on the left side of the population, I think congratulations to the police of several tourists on the road, praising his actions to clear "obstacles", which were only bodies of women and men as neither the tires we put, I think the governor's words as "confrontation" and "excesses" that give continuity to the history of dictatorship, I think the bureaucracy union of the country also expects a "dead" and lucky for them that was not in Neuquén and Santa Kruz, I think what you may be thinking about my pupils and students, think of the picture, about the democracy of the son of a "pointer" where a man said to another a few meters from the counting table: "I will vote if you give me something, I think of how to be police became safe work for the poor and for the poor, for gender equality always comes before the places where the power suit you, think of what we teach and teach what we will from now on, I think I have to re-take the chalk to weigh out the body of a friend lying on the road and would like to write other names in the space of political authorities, I think that surely will be of similar or the same corrupt and negligent manufacturing, but Jorge Rafael "Sobisch and their accomplices pay for their actions, I think the policeman who shot and in the links of impunity that made possible his presence on the road, I think in the demand for justice by Carlos are many names, many bodies, emaciated prisoners, buried, maimed, disappeared, I think of the misery of the province in contrast to the millions of dollars of oil revenues, I think the slogan "Feel Neuquén" a veiled xenophobia always driven by the ruling, I think our educational work precarious always subject to the hierarchy of state bureaucracy, I think the role of guardians of social order, sexual morality and still have in us to form the "good citizen", I think I do not share the idea that teachers are sacred and as said in a brief of time, I think that education has to dismantle hierarchies of any kind, to promote understanding of the pathways to inequalities of class, gender, race, sex, sexual orientation, national origin, age, who are neither forever or forever, that there are interests to be well, I think that obedience can not be our educational mandate. I, a teacher, I think that things could be otherwise.
* Letter written by Valeria Flores, teacher, school No. 348, Neuquén. 04/07/2008, after the murder of Carlos Fuentealba, which today marks four years. Http://www.lavozdeloslaburantes.blogspot.com/ taken
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