Antonio Navalón
It has always struck me that when an accident, attack, or execution occurs, shoes are usually the first thing to be blown away. Seeing a shoe flying through the air is generally a harbinger of tragedy and a symbol of human fragility.
Every time I have visited the Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, I inevitably stop for a few moments at the entrance, in front of the imposing cone displaying photographs and testimonies of the victims of the Holocaust. It is impossible to fully register in the human consciousness almost six million lives lost, as documented during the Wannsee Conference in 1942, where Adolf Eichmann and senior Nazis planned what they coldly called the “final solution”: the systematic extermination of Jews in Europe.
However, what moves me most about this museum is the long pile of broken shoes brought from extermination camps such as Treblinka, Auschwitz, and Sobibor. These shoes are more than objects: they are the memory of the last steps taken by their owners, tangible proof of the horror suffered; they are a stark reminder of human vulnerability in the face of barbarism. The shoes symbolize absolute loss and the constant reminder that any of us, at any time, could be stripped of everything we have and lose everything.
For years now, we in Mexico have been seeing macabre scenes: human heads publicly displayed in Michoacán during popular festivals, dismembered bodies abandoned in streets and on bridges, or executions broadcast on social networks with appalling coldness. This brutality has gradually eroded our capacity for horror. And it is that, little by little, it seems that we have become accustomed to living with death.
We live surrounded by violence. It is as if everyday life represented a work of fiction, cinema, or spectacle, forgetting that behind each victim is a story: shattered families, broken dreams, and fragmented communities.
It is crucial to recognize and acknowledge the social and moral reaction to the recent discovery of mass graves and extermination camps in areas near Guadalajara, Jalisco. The clandestine grave recently discovered in the “Jardines de Santa Anita” neighborhood is one of many found in recent years. This discovery is serious, but even more alarming is the fact that for so long, no civil, military, police, or political authority has been able or willing to discover it before. How could such an atrocity remain unnoticed near the country’s third-largest city? At what point did we become so indifferent to horror?
Indifference is our worst social disease, much worse than fear or pain. This apathy prevents us from demanding justice and accountability from those with a legitimate monopoly on force, that is, from the state that should protect us. Instead of reacting, we look the other way, we ignore the endless lists of missing persons, and we forget the faces and names of those who are no longer with us. This institutionalized indifference is also violence, and it greatly complicates the search for truth for the affected families.
Civil society continues to resist despite everything. Groups such as the search collectives for missing persons, who bravely face institutional apathy, deserve recognition and support. Their daily struggle against indifference is light amid darkness. It is also vital to reinforce human rights education early, generate collective awareness of the gravity of these atrocities, and cultivate a culture of peace and empathy.
In this context, it is essential to point out the media’s responsibility. Its role should be crucial in constructing an honest and courageous narrative that exposes the harshness of violence and promotes critical reflection in society. Often, media coverage is limited to sensationalism, inadvertently reinforcing our insensitivity to everyday horrors. There is an urgent need to transform this dynamic to foster proper citizen awareness.
Likewise, we must firmly demand the creation of effective, transparent, and evidence-based public policies to address this humanitarian crisis. Violence is not fought only with military operations or superficial political speeches; it requires a comprehensive and sustained commitment from the State and the strengthening of judicial institutions capable of providing prompt and expeditious justice. The victims and their families deserve more than just words; they require concrete actions that re-establish trust in the system and allow deep wounds to heal.
It is not a question of exclusively blaming the past or the political present but of facing our reality with courage and responsibility. The shoes piled up in Jerusalem are not so different from the shoes that are now symbolically accumulating near Guadalajara. Both scenarios force us to ask ourselves what kind of society we want to build and leave to future generations.
As the German writer and journalist Kurt Tucholsky pointed out, “The death of one person is a tragedy, but mass death sadly becomes a mere statistic”. It would be irresponsible of me to compare the approximately six million Jewish victims with the deaths caused by drug trafficking. However, diminishing the seriousness of the situation would be equally irresponsible. The fact is that, to mention just one piece of data, in Mexico, the violence associated with drug trafficking and organized crime is estimated to have left more than 400,000 fatalities in the last 20 years. Leaving this data as a simple statistic would be synonymous with indifference and admitting that we did not want to realize it.
If we don’t wake up today, we risk our shoes lying silently in front of the crematoria of oblivion tomorrow.
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