SOCRATES

I remember that in late 1969, early los70s, when he had just entered the Autonomous University of Mexico, were held numerous meetings by student political organizations. The 1968 movement was still very fresh. The wounds were still open and bleeding. The government, its politicians and government institutions supported by the army had massacred his youth in the interests of wealthy social class of great influence and interference in the socio-cultural development.
During long sessions, the committees of struggle required the students and teachers to reflect on what was to come and be valued themselves to define trends and policy preferences. The boards were surrounded by a tense, almost always concluded to tearing and drama, is suspected arrangements with key state leaders of the movement, especially with those who took shelter with the university flag and diverted the fight to their interests very personal and private. The persecutions of the student leaders and all those dissenting were the order of the day. All seemed like stones. There was statism and did not know who could shoot or stop by surprise. The campus was infiltrated by spies in the service of vested interests. Nobody wanted to say anything, for fear hovered everywhere, the university was a real ground moles.
On occasion, one of those multiple and long sessions were held at the Faculty of Economics, went to the bathroom. There, I met a student who was nicknamed Socrates. His appearance was strange, haggard, very white of teas, always dressed in black, and did not talk much. I knew him long ago and in a few months, seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. Suddenly started vomiting. Do not stop. The spasms of her belly and chest were impossible to master. I turned to look sideways and tried to apologize, issued a grimace with his mouth and try to esbosar a sonrrisa: "These bloody meetings are unbearable to me, can not take much tension" ... He said that aggressive people caused him anguish and often had to use breathing exercises before returning to the auditorium. A teacher who taught the professor of economics, was approached and entered the bathroom. We are silent. Moments later, he went out, leaving the sound of water was still falling in the toilet. I stared at him Socrates and took from his pocket a packet of cotton which had a small bottle with amber liquid.- In this jar there are all kinds of dreams, 'he said doubtfully. - I turn away from everyone and everything in your own solitude ... And you think - prosigiò as saying-and you hear your thoughts hover around you, like mythological gods soon fleeing textbooks. They do not reach you to hear. Solitude is beautiful do not have to worry about anything, what can you say about others or how you look or seem them or whether we should change the system!Removed the stopper from the vial and the contents precipitated to the bottom in one gulp.- Many of the dreams are obviously the work of the true revolutionaries who can vent their resentment against the system inside me without any danger, against riot police, the soldiers who massacred our brothers and sold even against government authorities. ..-You see, 'continued my compañero.-I have to be ready to face any risk, while I am in full in these stinking vomit existential school bathrooms. Sometimes I spend deleting all the crap written on the walls of these toilets, to the moment I again get the urge to vomit. After all, I am a philosopher of modernity and its excesses ...
Despite their fears, their fears and weakness, my partner not missing the main classes or seminars, his presence was very important for everyone, but of late he liked pretty run down. On occasion, a teacher of sociology, asked to comment on the strategy that had just put into force the government to rescue the social instability in the country was, Socrates stood up, pale and sweaty but appearing calm and said, "This strategy in many respects oppressive and class, is much better if we continue to sell drugs, because that is more humane to slaughter us every time we disagree with them "... There was silence. There were no comments, the teacher reluctantly told to sit down. There was a great buzz in the class. All students were very rowdy: Several companions got up and left the living room noisily. I realized that we were all sentenced to a period of decline and defeat.
The semester ended and I lost touch with my friend the philosopher. Time later I found out that his deterioration was increasing every day. Occasionally someone, almost laughing, I said that was no longer alive, that this foul, had committed suicide in the bathroom of the Faculty. I was silent, feeling very sad ... He came the worst for my country, ever since Socrates already knew ...