Marisa Iglesias
Shaken since the early hours of Friday morning when I heard about the attempt on his life until now, I have managed to articulate a few words. I know that his death did not happen. I know that armor and providence protected him. I know I can send him a WhatsApp, and he will answer it shortly. I already know that I will see him on the Imagen newscast tonight. And tomorrow morning on Fórmula, in one piece and practicing journalism. I know that soon we will toast, me with tequila and him with whisky. But it might not be like that. Today, I want to put aside the cowardice and the misery surrounding this episode, which will have to be clarified and punished. Today I just want to celebrate his life.
Ciro is a rock star in Mexican journalism that is quite atypical. He does not use an armed escort or a chauffeur. He has no properties. He does not collect cars, clothes, or watches. He walks to the bank, to the pharmacy. He takes the Metrobus to the gym. He plays squash with the boxing coach. Eats simply. Cevichero to the death, until recently, I don’t know if he still does now; he bought his fish himself from a stall in the Mercado de San Ángel. If he gets a bigger fridge, he gives away the old one and pays for the move. He is always looking for educational, medical, or emergency expenses for those around him. Even around those around him. He enthusiastically comes down from his flat on the 8th floor to clap his hands and throw a buck in the pocket of some young marimba players playing a great version of Coldplay’s Clocks in the street. In everyday life, he is like that. Simple, generous, supportive.
I worked with him for 25 years and learned a lot from him. If you put up with him, you learn from him. Although putting up with him professionally is not easy. It can be frightening, very intimidating. He handles extreme pressure as an element, a perverse one, I would say, of encouragement. He has an overly spartan sense of discipline, which I never shared. But he is an exceptional teacher. He knows exactly what a text or a television piece requires or lacks. He leads his team to polish, refine, and perfect the work. His journalistic instinct is formidable. Like no one else, he deciphers radio, TV, and the written press. At every stage, in every schedule, in every cycle. With the nose of an old hound, infallible. He is an actual creator.
I don’t want to talk about him in the past tense because, luminously, whoever tried to kill him last Thursday failed. And I want to believe that we will have Ciro for a while. Perhaps with something even more refined, born out of this extreme experience. Perhaps with a renewed desire to live, to design, to create. A wiser and stronger Ciro. He has always been a character capable of reinventing himself from scratch, of rising from the ashes. I would say that he likes to do it and enjoys it. And above all, he knows how to do it masterfully.
I salute your life, dearest Ciro. And I am grateful to have accompanied you for so many years. It has been a privilege.
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