I Couldn't Even Imagine That They Would Kill Us_An Oral History of the Attacks Against the Students of Ayotzinapa_City Lights Open Media by John Gibler

Author:John Gibler [Gibler, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780872867482
Amazon: 087286748X
Publisher: City Lights Publishers
Published: 2017-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

JUAN SALGADO, FRESHMAN. I kept running and about two blocks down the street I saw some people carrying a compa who was bleeding. I thought: “Damn, what happened to this compa?” I stopped to see what had happened. That was when I saw that his lips were gone. The compañeros were getting tired and I went to take over for one of them. The shots were still ringing out and we kept going as best we could. We were running and asking if there was hospital or clinic nearby. And a woman, a pregnant woman from the second story of a house shouted out to us that there was a clinic.

“Where? Where?”

“There, right where you are, in front of you, that’s it.”

“Thank you!”

We knocked and there were two receptionists there. The lights were all off, but the receptionists were there.

“Please, open up!” But, it’s like they were thinking twice about opening up for us or not. “Please, open up! A compañero is wounded! Please!”

Pretty much in tears we were asking them to help us. When they opened the door we all ran inside; there were about twenty-seven of us. The others had run as best they could. A bunch of us hid beneath the stairs, sitting down there. The wounded compa sat down on a sofa, bleeding.

“A doctor,” I said, “a surgeon for the compañero.”

“He’s not here right now, the doctor’s not here; I’ll have to call him.”

One of the receptionists kept calling until the doctor answered. He said that he wasn’t going to go to the clinic because it was too late.

“Please, at least call a taxi or an ambulance so we can take him to the hospital.”

The receptionists could see that the compañero was seriously wounded. But the only thing they said was that the doctor couldn’t help because it was nighttime, that they couldn’t help us. That’s what they said, but we saw them call a taxi. The taxi service wouldn’t send a driver to pick us up. They weren’t going to put their drivers at risk while there was shooting nearby. The receptionists didn’t want to call an ambulance.

We were there for about thirty or forty minutes when the soldiers came. Two military trucks arrived and they gathered us all in the waiting room and made us show them all the things we had with us. They went through our stuff like we were the suspects or something. They took note of how many of us were there. That’s when I noticed something strange: when the soldiers arrived the receptionists were gone. The soldiers looked through the clinic, but the receptionists were gone; we were the only ones there. I asked myself: “What is this, what is going on here, how is it that the receptionists are gone and the soldiers are taking notes about all of us? Why aren’t they helping the compa who is seriously wounded?”

“At least call an ambulance or a taxi to take him to the hospital,” I said.

But they didn’t want to call an ambulance or a taxi.

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