The most wonderful dance history of their music, and the village is celebrating. Democracy is deepened to the beat of equality, as we are a little longer free since the passage of equal marriage law. There
staggering, but hardly a breeze ruffles and stirs the senses. It's that quiet, because the current development model has tientos stronger than ever.
Demons vanish on its own sulfur. Without realizing it, we are inaugurating a new stage and starring in the culture of this nation. Congratulations
that way. Baltazar Garzon
While full of affection in the former ESMA and the AMIA, residences of our greatest pain, is judged in Resistencia, Chaco, murder in cold blood a Peronist thirty prisoners during the dictatorship.
speak today from this place, remembering the English judge who kept alive the cause over the years that the neoliberal model threatened to bury in oblivion with impunity laws. Besides
Marcela Bordenave and Master Alfredo Bravo went to its banks in those dark times to ask for solidarity. And what if it was in solidarity with popular memory.
There are few who suffered the ordeal seasons preceding the slaughter of that December 13, 1976 on the outskirts of a town called Margarita Belén Chaco and today give his testimony.
not hide their fear or their pain in the warm comfort of a miserable oblivion.
With the broken wing, flying over the absences and how far they can testify.
be there, against the murderers of so many colleagues, is put to the test yourself. Words and say I would not be the image of my own pain.
Behind the pain, the pain.
In this sense refers to testify in a trial against the genocide. Do not be a prisoner of eternal pain, is the challenge.
From hatred, for some time to escape.
have to continue living, they say the dead from a mystery.
We must not put adjectives to mind, so the first noun is the story of death itself. Then bring the death to the present. Unearthed, touching it with your fingertips, caressing it, refresh the front of the partner and his martyrdom, be able to whisper and say "I'm here", as if to say impossible.
I sit in the place of the witness and the image I see is that of Brisaboa priest, chaplain of the U7, speaking of his God, the martyrdom of Jesus, to hear him say in a trembling voice, in front of the guards, who " Bishop Angelelli killed but says otherwise dictatorship. " And
Brisaboa becomes Jesus and then the prisoners cry with him in a mass of shared pain. If I could, the priest of the cells would outdoor Mass celebrating his brother's faith in Cordoba penalized.
The old war hawks are not just old hateful bullies. If yesterday broke bones in the torture rooms, today seeks to break the will with her eyes stinging.
The former prisoners of the dictatorship that state have songs on their lips. And tenderly say on behalf of the dead. Fernando
Piérola, one of the slain, laughed when he sang a fellow prisoner, or he thought he sang, "Write with violet ink on paper no color of love ..." thundered
wilt in jail the day the removed. And we sang, Peronist and no. And
Hardy does not go, and Hardy is not going ... but Nestor Sala left.
yanked him out of our hands.
At the Judgement, the dead do not return in bitterness but in love and poetry. Although blood revolts seeking Patteta, who say they dropped the final gunshot wound to the body of my brother, Skinny. I want to know who he is. And finally find it. Is the dark side of human beauty. Is its negation. It is my shame to be part of the same species. I have no understanding of such evil.
I pay my tribute to the officer who risked his life handed me a paper with the names of those who were to be moved toward death.
And ask the judges: "What about the others civilians where they are? Where those who were members of these soldiers of yesterday? Who wrote the fault, the decree-law, military orders, records, the press releases, files, passing in and out? Or want to believe they were all military? Who were the judges and prosecutors and clerks and petty of all? "
must do justice to the final liberation of the word. To achieve this, desire that the Court convene to all people who have something to say. Not only for moral obligation, but for equality before the law.
You have to go back, now we can. I say. I hope so.
And the dead Margarita Belén deserve to honor the last words of Flaco Chamber when we raised well, look at me, well, his arms and said,
"Comrades, we will take to kill you ... But I want you to know that I will die standing, fighting as can, to mordiscones if I'm tied. All those who today take us out of jail, those who are in here and waiting outside, are guilty before history, blame for the misery of the people and responsible for our deaths. I just want to ask them to tell of the massacre to my children when they are old enough to understand what happened in Argentina in recent years and my mate when they can see it ... is not worth this sacrifice us if you do not continue to fight to keep alive the popular memory, which is why, tell it to our people why we kill and why we choose to die standing ... Free or Dead, Never Slaves! "
These words shot, fingers in V, come to life within the walls of the court trying the genocide. And this time, everyone listened.
Criminals.
staggering, but hardly a breeze ruffles and stirs the senses. It's that quiet, because the current development model has tientos stronger than ever.
Demons vanish on its own sulfur. Without realizing it, we are inaugurating a new stage and starring in the culture of this nation. Congratulations
that way. Baltazar Garzon
While full of affection in the former ESMA and the AMIA, residences of our greatest pain, is judged in Resistencia, Chaco, murder in cold blood a Peronist thirty prisoners during the dictatorship.
speak today from this place, remembering the English judge who kept alive the cause over the years that the neoliberal model threatened to bury in oblivion with impunity laws. Besides
Marcela Bordenave and Master Alfredo Bravo went to its banks in those dark times to ask for solidarity. And what if it was in solidarity with popular memory.
There are few who suffered the ordeal seasons preceding the slaughter of that December 13, 1976 on the outskirts of a town called Margarita Belén Chaco and today give his testimony.
not hide their fear or their pain in the warm comfort of a miserable oblivion.
With the broken wing, flying over the absences and how far they can testify.
be there, against the murderers of so many colleagues, is put to the test yourself. Words and say I would not be the image of my own pain.
Behind the pain, the pain.
In this sense refers to testify in a trial against the genocide. Do not be a prisoner of eternal pain, is the challenge.
From hatred, for some time to escape.
have to continue living, they say the dead from a mystery.
We must not put adjectives to mind, so the first noun is the story of death itself. Then bring the death to the present. Unearthed, touching it with your fingertips, caressing it, refresh the front of the partner and his martyrdom, be able to whisper and say "I'm here", as if to say impossible.
I sit in the place of the witness and the image I see is that of Brisaboa priest, chaplain of the U7, speaking of his God, the martyrdom of Jesus, to hear him say in a trembling voice, in front of the guards, who " Bishop Angelelli killed but says otherwise dictatorship. " And
Brisaboa becomes Jesus and then the prisoners cry with him in a mass of shared pain. If I could, the priest of the cells would outdoor Mass celebrating his brother's faith in Cordoba penalized.
The old war hawks are not just old hateful bullies. If yesterday broke bones in the torture rooms, today seeks to break the will with her eyes stinging.
The former prisoners of the dictatorship that state have songs on their lips. And tenderly say on behalf of the dead. Fernando
Piérola, one of the slain, laughed when he sang a fellow prisoner, or he thought he sang, "Write with violet ink on paper no color of love ..." thundered
wilt in jail the day the removed. And we sang, Peronist and no. And
Hardy does not go, and Hardy is not going ... but Nestor Sala left.
yanked him out of our hands.
At the Judgement, the dead do not return in bitterness but in love and poetry. Although blood revolts seeking Patteta, who say they dropped the final gunshot wound to the body of my brother, Skinny. I want to know who he is. And finally find it. Is the dark side of human beauty. Is its negation. It is my shame to be part of the same species. I have no understanding of such evil.
I pay my tribute to the officer who risked his life handed me a paper with the names of those who were to be moved toward death.
And ask the judges: "What about the others civilians where they are? Where those who were members of these soldiers of yesterday? Who wrote the fault, the decree-law, military orders, records, the press releases, files, passing in and out? Or want to believe they were all military? Who were the judges and prosecutors and clerks and petty of all? "
must do justice to the final liberation of the word. To achieve this, desire that the Court convene to all people who have something to say. Not only for moral obligation, but for equality before the law.
You have to go back, now we can. I say. I hope so.
And the dead Margarita Belén deserve to honor the last words of Flaco Chamber when we raised well, look at me, well, his arms and said,
"Comrades, we will take to kill you ... But I want you to know that I will die standing, fighting as can, to mordiscones if I'm tied. All those who today take us out of jail, those who are in here and waiting outside, are guilty before history, blame for the misery of the people and responsible for our deaths. I just want to ask them to tell of the massacre to my children when they are old enough to understand what happened in Argentina in recent years and my mate when they can see it ... is not worth this sacrifice us if you do not continue to fight to keep alive the popular memory, which is why, tell it to our people why we kill and why we choose to die standing ... Free or Dead, Never Slaves! "
These words shot, fingers in V, come to life within the walls of the court trying the genocide. And this time, everyone listened.
Criminals.
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