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They have opportunities to enjoy the garden, access to academic and recreational activities, and their mentors are unarmed, but they live surrounded by police officers who watch for any possibility of escape. Even in confinement, they laugh, play basketball, make crosses, and enjoy poetry.

In my presentation, I read my own work, but I also read poems by other poets I admire. On this occasion, "My Tribe" by Alberto Blanco was the most popular, so although the reading had a mix of authors, this chronicle focuses on the effect of sharing "My Tribe" behind bars. Here are random and unordered excerpts from the poem, as I don't have the luxury of quoting it in its entirety:

"But if I were to belong to any tribe

- I tell myself -

let it be to a large tribe,

let it be to a strong tribe,

a tribe where no one

is left out of the tribe,

where everyone,

everything and always

has their sacred place."

The author begins by acknowledging his very human need to belong to a tribe and simultaneously invites us to create that tribe instead of waiting for it to exist.

"I speak of a tribe of which one cannot speak.

A tribe that has always existed

but whose existence is yet to be proven.

A tribe that has never existed

but whose existence

we can verify right now."

Alberto Blanco also warns that he is not referring to a tribe that becomes dogma, ideology, or a mechanism of separation:

"Perhaps I belong to the tribe

of those who have no tribe;

or to the tribe of black sheep;

or to the tribe whose ancestors

come from the future:

a tribe that is yet to come."

I asked the young men to recite "My Tribe" in chorus. I would say a verse, and they would all repeat it. During the reading, for a few moments, an eclectic mass, a spirituality without a specific denomination was formed. It resonated in the space, revealing the tribe that we are, a fragile possibility and a source of strength in every moment.

After the poetry reading, I opened a brief space for literary creation. I am impressed by the heart-wrenching clarity of the verses produced in just a few minutes by these young men. I quote one:

"A Child's Poem

There was a child dreaming,

Then his dreams left, and his soul turned dark and without feeling.

He realized he was trapped in a river of problems

and didn't know what to do."

I am moved by the contrast between the "dark soul" and its title, "A Child's Poem," signifying both shadow and innocence, dualities that exist within us all.

At the end of my presentation, the director of the center told me she wanted to hang "My Tribe" on the wall in large letters. In her office, she told me more about the young people's context: "Many of them have problems with substance abuse. Or they come from families that are involved in distributing substances. Some are forced to work for criminal gangs. We give them everything we can, but when they are released, they often have nowhere to go and return to the same violence that led them to crime. Our hearts break every time we hear that one of them, now free, suddenly turns up murdered. Their environment often trains them to be tough and endure everything. That's why it's crucial for them to know that it's okay to feel, express, and gauge their feelings. That's why it's vital to seek and create a loving tribe and community, and that's what poetry can offer: a way to feel and survive."

Philosophers, writers, and academics debate whether poetry is useful or can change anything. Such questions fade when a poem resonates so strongly in a prison. Freedom with poetry is the benefit, even if it's for a few moments or hours or a lifetime: the lightning bolt of imagination soaring beyond the bars.

– La Jornada Morelos’ "El rayo de la imaginación volando más allá de los barrotes."

He is driven by the thirst for the unexpected, seeking what rehabilitation cannot provide: intimacy. His scoliosis has deformed his back, and the surgery to correct it was unsuccessful. He suffers from chronic pain, but his expression doesn't reveal his suffering. He can no longer move his wheelchair and relies on the help of strangers he encounters along his journey. These strangers push his wheelchair from street to street, assist him in boarding buses or taxis, help him with meals, toileting, and bathing in the homes of others. Each stranger receives him differently: with admiration, charity, hostility, or affection.

His father, a tire vendor with limited resources, worries about his son living on the streets but respects his hunger for freedom. Juan Carlos returns at midnight, and his father feeds him. But behind the scenes his father is diagnosed with colon cancer. Who will care for Juan Carlos? His mother has been absent for years. 

I initiated a fundraising campaign for Juan Carlos, and it was an odyssey to find a place willing to accommodate him. Shelters are expensive, and to gain admission, one must meet specific criteria related to age, disability type, or risk situation. But what about those with disabilities living on the edge of an uncertain future who don't meet these institutional criteria? Where do they find support and stability? Fortunately, a clinic for addicts, led by Dr. Sergio López, took him in while his father recovered.

Juan Carlos and I met in various rehabilitation programs for people with disabilities. There, our routine involved rigorous exercise, occasionally interrupted by schoolwork or an art class. I remind you: both of us were born with cerebral palsy and use wheelchairs. We were always waiting, silently or explicitly, for a miracle: the promise that rehabilitation would enable us to walk like others. Deep down, we knew that day might never come. We pondered the same questions: What comes next? What happens when the family member who physically and financially supports me can no longer do so? What will I do for work? How and where will I find a space of my own, an intimate and fulfilling life? What about my sexuality? These questions were not ours alone but resonated with an entire generation of people with motor disabilities in secret.

Physical exercise is a vital part of health, and there are surgeries and technologies that, if accessible, can improve our quality of life. I'm not suggesting that rehabilitation and special education programs be shut down. What I propose is that we no longer view physical therapy as a salvation or a promise of a secure future. With that mindset, we risk falling into cycle, where generation after generation of people with disabilities suddenly face an unprepared future and adulthood.

Today, I have finally escaped the pitfalls of the rehabilitation paradigm. I exercise, but it's no longer the center of my life. I have a job I love – poetry – a beloved son, a turbulent and active sexual life, and roommates who assist me. Embracing poetry instead of seeking a cure for my body's imperfections has been my key to a fulfilling life. Everyone has their path to pleasure, and it's crucial to awaken that source. Juan Carlos's situation made me realize that many people with disabilities are at risk of ending up on the streets. But being a person with a disability from a family with greater economic status doesn't prevent desolation and isolation. No family member is immortal. Now, Juan Carlos's father is undergoing chemotherapy, and resources are scarce once again. It's urgent to think about how to contribute to Juan Carlos's and many others' cases, as they seek and deserve a full life: a home of their own, a dignified job, an accessible community, assistants who support their autonomy, and connections to love and intimacy. Their desire for a rich and secure adulthood embodies the vital longing of a generation of people with disabilities I know intimately and many others.

– La Jornada Morelos' "Juan Carlos: Crónica urgente de una generación con discapacidad al borde de la calle."

Surrounded by tamarind trees and mesquites, mangoes and thorns, amidst the heat, I felt another warmth: a welcoming and familial atmosphere, care for the children and youth that could be felt through their natural interaction, regardless of age or gender. In this landscape, young individuals with intellectual disabilities played alongside other children without apparent disabilities, creating a harmonious and natural coexistence. This could be problematic for the rigid regulations of the DIF (Family Development Agency). For me, it is a vivid example of inclusion because what other inclusion is there, if not genuinely connecting with another beyond labels and diagnoses?

I learned that at this foster home, two individuals with intellectual disabilities became parents. Several proposals emerged, driven by the DIF: giving the baby up for adoption, sterilizing the young parents with intellectual disabilities to prevent a recurrence. Must the baby and mother be forcibly separated just because they do not meet the institutional criteria of a foster home? What about the mother's right to receive the necessary assistance for nurturing her baby? And the father's voice? What are the consequences of abruptly separating a mother from an environment that has been familiar and loving for years? It is worth noting that in these proposals, the last priority is allowing the mother to express her wishes and needs. While it's uncertain where she and her baby are located, whether they live together or apart, in dignified conditions or not, I can assure you that these uncomfortable and challenging questions remain on the table and extend beyond the specifics of this situation. These are questions present in other foster homes and families.

It's not surprising that, at a certain age, love, desire, and even the dream of having children emerge beyond disability. What is surprising is how ill-prepared we are as a society to acknowledge the sexuality of people with intellectual or physical disabilities. It's "easier" to bury our heads in the sand and think of ourselves as angels untouched by desire, restlessness, and pain, by the need to have our own family and meaningful work. Even worse are attempts to sterilize people with disabilities against their will or consent, as if they were dogs. Although many loving and courageous individuals look beyond this veil, it's time for institutions to dare to abandon their rules and assumptions and look us in the eye as equals.

There are no easy paths or answers, but if we want to build a more inclusive society, each person's power to decide the life they want to create, in other words, their legal capacity, already approved in Mexico for people with and without disabilities, should be at the center of our focus.

What does poetry have to do with this quest? The poem by José Emílio Pacheco, "Poem of love with a line from Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, 7)," answers the question better:

I am you.

No

don't

separate

us

from

me.

Metaphors allow us to recognize our own reflection in what appears foreign. In my readings and poetry workshops, stories like this emerge, not so much about a "vulnerable public" but about the shared vulnerability of being human, having a mortal body, and experiencing joy and suffering on this earth. Poetry reveals that mirror, that unique and shared heritage, and the empathy that arises from that mysterious space is magnified when shared and celebrated out loud. Through poetic exercises, reading our own poems and those of other references on disability, we enter a space of literary creation. While we may not have found definitive answers, we opened ourselves to the conviction of listening to a multitude of voices from the realm of imagination: a mother's, a father's, a community's.

– La Jornada Morelos "A casa hogar abre sus puertas al misterio: Poesía, empatía y discapacidad."

They arrived from Tepoztlán and Amatlán, well-prepared for their roles: Ekiwah had selected poems related to environmental care and our sacred connection to Mother Earth, accompanied by insightful comments. Ron, on the other hand, provided context, emphasizing the significance of taking responsibility for the waste and debris we generate daily in our lives, both for the present and the future.

These were two luminous individuals with extensive experience in their respective fields, devoting their time and enthusiasm to help us elevate this citizen's struggle.

Their approach was a candid, loving challenge, urging us not to see ourselves as victims but as active architects of our destiny, both individually and collectively. This extended beyond our local community, emphasizing coexistence, respect, and care for our shared Mother Earth.

Ekiwah possesses a unique ability to make poems sing from the heart, transforming the reading into a ritual act that unites us. He encouraged us to offer a poetic, liberated account of the struggle we've engaged in over the last five months, demanding the restoration of our living conditions through property remediation and sanitation from both authorities and landfill owners. This wasn't about hatred or revenge but mutual respect and care for each other. Their proposal was nothing short of remarkable.

Ekiwah and Ron offered continuous support following the workshop, helping us construct our discourse around the problems we've faced. They introduced options to minimize the social damage stemming from our waste if we don't take preventive actions. They even reminded us of the power of social struggle through poetry, with the idea of reading poetry in public squares to voice our collective concerns and demands.

Ekiwah's approach to poetic themes is filled with magic and allure, and Ron's active participation in this endeavor was convincing. Those of us who participated in the workshop are eager for future sessions. More importantly, we feel jointly responsible for sharing this experience with others in our community, enriched by the passionate presence of both Ekiwah and Ron. I encourage you to reach out to Ekiwah, and he will extend an invitation to Ron. We are fortunate to have their support, and you will be too if you seek their assistance. Environmental and social struggles require our collective attention.

– La Jornadas Morelos, "Ekiwah Adler y Ron Sawyer en la comunidad de Tezontepec."

The PAPIAM-D has the purpose of stimulating creation and research in the field of technological and digital media in our country. To this end, the Cenart Multimedia Center launches a call in which prizes are awarded as financial support, as well as advice, both for the production of artistic work and for theoretical research, individual or collective.

"The Surprising Escape of María Pérez Inmaculada" is a documentary radio drama that tells the story of a woman in a wheelchair who disappears. Her family is looking for her, but no one knows where she is. 

Ekiwah, her poetry teacher and friend, who is also in a wheelchair, tries to piece together the clues to her disappearance and in this exercise discovers an incredible answer.

It is a story dedicated to all those people in wheelchairs who fight for their autonomy in a society that infantilizes the condition of disability. In the case of the protagonists, their struggle unfolds in a context where they are doubly discriminated against, both because of their disability and because of their sexual identity.

Ekiwah Adler Beléndez (Amatlán, Morelos, 1987) is a poet, lecturer and teacher. He is the driving force behind the original idea of ​​this documentary radio drama and co-creator of the script and direction of this project. His work has been presented in Mexico, the United States, Germany, Hungary and Canada. He edited the book "Act of Presence" (Anthology of young poets with motor disabilities), which, in its radio version, won the “Gilberto Rincón Gallardo” Faces of Discrimination Award.

The presentation of the podcast "La Surprendente Fuga de María Pérez Inmaculada" will be broadcast online, through the Facebook profile of the Multimedia Center, on Tuesday, October 5, at 6:00 p.m., with the participation of Adriana Casas, director of the Multimedia Center from Cenart; Lorena Martínez, director of artistic projects at the British Council; and Ekiwah Adler. The six chapters of the first season of this project can be viewed online on the podcastlafuga.com website.

– Zachala Magazine, "El Cenart presentará el radiodrama documental La Sorprendente Fuga de María Pérez Inmaculada."