Abstract

In Mexico, as in the case of the massacre of 1968 in Tlatelolco, there exists a long tradition of writing history in a tragic or traumatic key by starting from its founding moments of violence, as if the repetitive compulsion could be met only by the compulsion to repeat the trauma. And yet, this essay proposes that perhaps we should not forget that the compulsion to respond to the violence of repression with a sorrow song or a memorial of grievances ends up being very much part and parcel of the effect of displaying the spectacle of sovereign power that was being sought after in the first place. Precisely because it is so terribly awe-inspiring, state violence when it is wielded serves not just as a symptom of vulnerability but also as a way of diverting attention away from the utopian dreams and efforts in resistance and self-government that were unfolding on the ground prior to the punctual onslaught of repression. Drawing important lessons from the experience of the disappeared students of Ayotzinapa, the point is not to let ourselves be blinded by the power of repression but to let ourselves be illuminated by the resistance that comes before it.