SO, Ruiz burns the proof of his corruption, Calderón is installed over the will of la gente, the Federal police are sent in to crush the uprising, cameras are shut down and the operators shot...and the big gears in the back room keep turning—greasily, grittily, bloodily turning—as we lurch toward the hallowed ground where one day, we shall rid ourselves of all these ladrones, these murderers, these liars, these torturers, these evil men who want only to control and exploit others for their own benefit.

Like the messianic george w. bush, I have my own vision that gives me hope. Unlike bush, I am not the central figure in it. It is a vision that lives far in the future, perhaps even after his Long War exhausts itself upon the bruised and broken backs of the People of the free world. It is of a bright, bright day, when a righteous fire shall catch wind and extirpate all these spiritual cancers from the face of humanity, when true justicia shall return por todo el mundo, and open a wall of pure flame like a cosmic sail. Let these small men with their malnourished, withered, prune-pit hearts soar into a white-hot ocean of karma. Let it be one where they are finally, for one terrible moment, gifted with the full awareness they ought to have had from the start. Let them scream, know conscience suddenly and inexorably—in one overwhelming, horrific surge of feeling that destroys both their corporeal and spiritual essence. Let them drown and be buried there.

And have faith, dear human. Small as you may be. Tu voz y tu corazón are limitless, carry on, echo on, feed the ever-thrumming, everlasting heartstrung Song of Resistencia. And as bush says, history will be the judge. Not man-scrawled records in a soot-black building.