By Presley Suome, 15 May, 2024
Tijuana is a city within a city. Its own thing. Either the dark center or the beating heart of Mexico City, depending on your point of view. It’s the home of Santa Muerte, the skeletal St. Death. This is where they come: the impoverished, the oppressed, the marginalized, the criminal—people for whom the traditional church has less relevancy. For the unforgiven and the unforgivable. For those on whom the Catholic saints have turned their backs, there is Santa Muerte. This is a place and Santa Muerte is a saint that accepts everybody. “Death to my enemies” written on a votive candle. Let’s face it: We’ve all prayed for that at one point or another.
It’s a poor neighborhood, for sure, and a tough one. A center of commerce, both aboveboard and not.
The quiet night in the Zócalo, the central square of Oaxaca. But even tonight there’s plenty of evidence of the struggle, the discontent, boiling just under the surface.”
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