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I’ve been busy trying to make strides in my dual citizenship process and with recent gigs that I’ve been picking up, I had to put the blog on pause. There is no real way to know for sure if there are people reading through my entire blog so not sure if anyone noticed my hiatus🤷🏽‍♂️. If you been reading my blog posts comment a Mexican flag emoji 🇲🇽 in the comment section of any of the Instagram posts embedded here and I’ll respond with something I haven’t told you yet.

It’s been about 9 months now since living in CDMX and there has been a couple notable events I have attended that I was not able to blog about so I want to take a look at the Women’s March that took place on March 8th. I had no expectations, it was the very first event I set my sights on to document. It was incredible seeing thousands of people flooding the streets of an already busy city. It was a march, a protest, and an act of rebellion where clausterphobia reigned. Whatever the opposite of claustrophobia is, I have that; I have a strange attraction to large bodies of people. Something about a pool of radiating energy makes me feel more alive. Maybe it’s a way to even out just how much time I spend in solitude.

The second thing I immediately noticed was just how hot CDMX is. The seasons on this part of the globe seem to be starting much later than what the calendar advertises.

It started as a march from the Angel de la Independencia to the Zocalo Plaza. At the beginning of my documentation, it seemed like any typical march i’ve attended. I distinctly remember recording video into the crowd as I stood on a light pole to get a better shot and as a women walked by she greeted me with a smile and a handful of flowers; though I did not have any expectations of what was going to unfold that day, I certainly did not expect to receive flowers. Though by the time returned home, I was treated the complete opposite. It might of been the heat and tension that was built up until the arrival of most protesters at Zocalo Plaza.

I took many fotos from the roof of a bus stop that was on the main road, but once it connected with the streets that lead into Zocalo Plaza, there began more direct action of protest; There was vandalism that targeted banks, non-Mexican stores, and pictures posted all over the streets identifying abusers. Once I reached Zocalo Plaza, sunset has passed and Palacio Nacional was surrounded with barriers to avoid vandalism. In different areas of the long line of barriers I saw bright orange flames from protests, objects being thrown over, and tear gas shot out into he crowd in defense. In one of the fires, women gathered around taking turns liberating themselves from their abuse (or spoke on behalf of someone close to them) from men who took advantage of them by speaking out and receiving physical embrace.

It was now dark and the attempt to break through the barriers intensified. I was getting closer to the barriers for a better shot and was approached by people dressed in black who asked me if there was someone in the crowd I was supporting. I told them I was in support of everyone there as an independent journalist, but she insisted that if I didn’t know anyone there I could not record. I tried to reason with her in this public space, and I thought that if I continued to keep my calm, I wouldn’t end up like a man I saw earlier who was also confronted; he spoke negatively about women and was spray painted purple and nearly beaten up as a result.

There were others in black who noticed us still going back and forth and came over to find out what was going on. One they found out, I put my camera away, but at that point I was seen as a threat to their cause. They began harassing me to leave and one of them made an attempt to take my camera. I was not intimidated, they seemed to be younger than me. I stood in place the entire time as they yelled at me, I remember one of them yelling at me (in Spanish obviously) “this movement is not for your viewing.” It was once one of them aimed a spray can bottle straight into my face and began spraying I decided it was not worth it and backed away. They continued until I was far away not to see the front line.

Though they didn’t have a right to stop me from doing my job, I am not mad of what they done. This day was not for me. On this day woman are entitled to feel however they want to feel and express it freely. I experienced an intense duality of emotions from women that day; I felt the love and compassion that women can have when I received flowers and I also saw the rage and distress released from continuous suppression and/or neglect from society.

I decided to head back home and as I found an empty seat on the metro, I felt pain in my eyes from the tear gas, soreness in my feet from miles of constant walking, and an uncomfortableness from the visual impairment; my right lens of my glasses were almost completely blocked with purple spray paint.

I love you CDMX, even if sometimes it doesn't seem like you love me back. I love every moment I’ve had here, and continue to do so in all of my adventures.