Sabra and Shatila: A Lesson On Man's Inhumanity To Man

The night of September 16th, 1982, one of the most horrifying episodes of mass and wanton slaughtered happened in West Beirut, Lebanon. A terrifying lesson on how cruel and inhumane man can be to other human beings.

That ghastly night remembered by the survivors of one of the most terrible massacres in our century began as a raid by Christian Phlangists, led by Ariel Sharon on the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in West Beirut.

The plan was to combat some 300 supposed Palestinian Liberation Organization guerrillas holed up in the camps. They were blamed for the assasination of Bachir Gemayel weeks before, leader of the Lebanese Christian Phlangists.

That night while the camps were surrounded by the Israeli Defense Force IDF, the 1,500 strong Phalangists assembled at Israel-controlled Beirut International Airport and were given weapons and radios. They entered the camps on the supposed mission to engage the PLO fighters and what culminated in an bloody atrocity .

Only the Phlangists did not engage the supposed terrorists. They went house to house and attacked civilians. The men were lined up against walls and mowed down in cold blood among a shower of bullets.

The women and girls were raped mercilessly and murdered. Children, babies and the elderly were slaughtered as well. Piles of dead infants and babies littered the dusty streets of Sabra and Shatila.

At 11 PM a report was sent to IDF headquarters detailing the deaths of 300 civilians during the "battle". At this time, the Israeli Forces fired bright flares into the night sky, illuminating the camps and allowing the miliatias to continue their wanton massacre of innocents. The attackers also carried bright flashlights, to help them illuminate dark corners were terrifyed survivors could be hiding.

"Dont worry, nothing will happen to you" they attackers called out among the piles of bloody and slashed bodies. "If you need a doctor or hospital we will take you, nothing will happen, come out so you can be treated".

Those who arose, injured and in need of attention, were summerarily shot or slashed to death on the spot. No relief ever came.

For the next 36 hours, the Phalangists continued their horror on the inhabitants of Sabra and Shatila. People had their bellies shashed open in the forms of Crosses. Pregnant women had their wombs ripped open and left bleeding to death in the streets. Babies were tossed against brick walls while their mothers or sisters were brutally raped. The men were simply led outside and machine gunned to death.

For two days. At one point at the start of the massacre, a miliatiamen questioned what to do with captive women; the response from Elie Hobeika, future Israeli cabinet minister was terse and to the point:

"You know what to do. Dont ever ask me that again". The rapes and murders went on for 48 hours.

The Miliatias did not terminate the operation at 5:00 AM Saturday September 18th as planned. This was time for cleanup. They used bulldozers to destroy homes with people still inside and to hastily bury some of the bodies. Other bodies were doused in chemicals and destroyed. By 8 AM cleanup plans were abandoned and survivors were hearded to a stadium to be interrogated. Most were executed as well at the station as the massacre continued.

At 9AM the first foreign journalists and officials entered Sabra and Shatila and discovered the horror. Red Crescent workers wore gas masks against the stench of death as Western journalists covered their nose with handkerchiefs and proceeded to make the first reports of the horrendous massacre that had occured.

By the afternoon of Saturday September 18th, 1982, the world was stunned at the atrocity that had occured at Sabra and Shatila.

Bruised and bloodied bodies littered the streets and homes of the camps. Men women and children in piles of dead broken corpses, already covered in flies. The images were shocked and the Western world was appalled.

According to Israel some 800 people died during those days of madness. According to Lebanese figures, the death toll was probably more than 3,500. Hundreds were reported missing and never seen again.

Those responsible for the massacres never saw justice. Elie Hobeika, who ordered the massacre despite Israels orders to behave like a dignified army took up important government positions. He was assasinated by a car bomb in January 2002.

Ariel Sharon was Prime Minister and he died in 2006.

The survivors of the massacre still await justice in World tribunals.

Saying Goodbye to Grandma

Saying goodbye is hard. Saying goodbye in a dream then waking up is even harder.

I dreamt my mother, my grandmother and I were at Longs Drugs (I refuse to call it CVS now, fuck that). Only this one is huge like a Wal Mart. My grandma is wearing my sweats from Middle School for some reason, my favorite sweats that are so baggy and huge, as was the fashion in 1998, that they STILL fit me to this day.

She said she had to go to the bathroom and we continue shopping. We buy nothing and we go in search of my grandma to the bathroom.

We find her sitting at a chair outside the bathroom door, with a serene smile. My mother says something along the lines of "Lets go Mom".

"you guys go, I think I'll stay here" she answers back. Thats when it hits me. My grandma passed away on March 23, 2009. How in the F is she here shopping with us?

"Ok thats NOT creepy" my smartass mutters as we leave the store my mother and I and get in the car.

Something makes me look back. Its my grandma. Shes getting on the back of a Harley Davidson hog, driven by a blond rebel looking dude with a leather jacket and shades, a bad ass from the '50s.

"Say bye to your abuelita" my mom says.

I look out the window and see the bike is following us. "Where is she going?" I ask. I get no response.

The whole time my grandma has a smile on her face, the bike starts to elevate and ride up...two three feet.

The bike passes us on the right side and I see my grandma smiling as the bike elevates higher, riding into the sky.

My stupid ass is crying by now and one last time I say another smartass stupid thing:

*crying*..."my sweats..." shes taking my favorite sweats to heaven.

My grandma almost telepathically probably heard me. With one quick swipe she takes them off and i look next to me to the left and on the car seat are my sweats neatly folded. I cry more.

Then I wake up. Takes me a second to take everything in, and real tears come to my eyes and flood my face for 5 minutes.

Rest In Peace Grandma Chayo. Everyone still and will miss you.
I know youre watching over me.

The Guadalupe Reyes Marathon

Guadalupe Reyes. No its not the name of someone, althought it might as well could be. Its the name given to a pseudo holiday time, spanning the last weeks of the months of December. It starts on December 12th, Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and it ends on January 6th, Day of the Reyes Magos (hence the name Guadalupe Reyes, oh those clever Mexicans).

It just so happens that during these three weeks, there are a total of 16 (more, if you want to make up your own, or if your birthday falls during these weeks) celebrations. Posadas, traditional Mexican Christmas celebrations are celebrated for 9 days. They re-enact Mary and Joseph's plight, searching for an Inn to deliver their baby, only to find none.

At Posadas, people sing songs, pray, and conclude by hitting pinata's, eating the candy inside and the for the adults, they gorge on Tamales or other foods and drink Fruit Punch spiked with booze...or just plain booze. A little hooch to warm you up in the December night cold, while singing carols, oh those wacky Mexicans. Nine days of eating and drinking, all in honor of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Then comes Christmas Eve, Nochebuena, December 24th. The biggest and last Posada is celebrated. A traditional dinner consists of Tamales or Birria, or other foods, and of course excessive drinking of tequila, mescal, sotol, bacanora, aguardiente, rum, beer or any other alcohol beverage known to man or alien. Christmas Gifts are usually exchanged and opened at Midnight, and after opening presents, more drinking.

Christmas Day is for family, opening presents or spending half the morning yacking in the bathroom. A warm bowl of Menudo is apropos for curing one's hangover. Later at night, more drinking.

Three days later on December 28th, is the Day of the Holy Innocents. A sort of April Fools, practical jokes are played on one another. Parties are held and alcohol intake commences once more.

December 31st is New Years Eve. Parties and Firework Blasts light up the night (both fun and bad, the ones that destroy markets or obliterate half the city block due to improperly handled gunpowder and rockets). 12 Grapes are eaten for good luck, one for each month of the year, and of course, booze and drinking contests go on. A fun one is to take a shot of tequila every time a Gobierno Federal commercial comes on, reminding Mexican citizens all is well in the country.

January 1st New Years Day. Everything is dead, everyone feels almost dead. Vomit covers the sidewalks and drunkards awaken on park benches wearing beer carton boxes on their heads. What happened? God Knows. Later, time for more drinking !

January 6th Dia de Reyes (Epiphany). On this day, the good little children who werent assholes all year receive gifts. They write a letter to the 3 Wise Men and leave in inside a shoe. The morning of the 6th the children run to see what the Reyes Magos brought them. Rosca de Reyes bread is eaten, with a little plastic baby inside. Whoever shall find the baby in their piece (and doesnt choke to death on it) has the honor of throwing a party on Dia de La Candelaria (Candlemas) on February 2nd... Mexicans just love weird ass excuses to throw parties.

(you could stop here, if your liver demands it and youre close to dying of Cirrhosis or if youre a savage you could celebrate ol' Lupe's real name: Guadalupe Reyes Candelaria)

February 2nd. Dia de La Candelaria. People drink hot chocolate, canela spiked with tequila (piquete), and eat a shitload of Tamales. Morning is for church and religious processions in honor of la Virgen de la Candelaria and the nighttime is for music, dancing, partying, fireworks and excessive drinking.

The goal of this Marathon is to drink every day. From Dec 12 to Jan 6th, or Feb 2nd if your liver and kidneys dont fail on you. No this doesnt involve running or exercize, you can stop sweating now.

Enjoy! Good Luck!

Reunion at the Morgue

Francisco boarded a passenger bus on Sunday morning in Mexico City. He was to be reunited with his brother who he hadnt seen in 20 years.

His brother Rafael's family had recently contacted him and persuaded him to visit the family's home in Guaymas, Sonora, in the north. Francisco happily agreed and told his wife of the plan. She was happy as well and agreed to accompany her husband on the trip up north.

The bus ride was uneventful. But tragedy and death awaited the couple. In the state of Sinaloa, right over the Nayarit border, a tanker truck crossed the center divide and smashed head on into the passenger bus.

Francisco and his wife had no chance. They were seated in seats 3 and 4. The two, along with 30 other passengers perished that night in a horrifying accident between the cities of Mazatlan, Sinaloa and Acaponeta, Nayarit.


At the Guaymas Bus Station, Francisco and his sons awaited his brother and uncle's visit. The bus never arrived.

Francisco inquired at the desk and he was given the grim news: The bus had suffered an accident outside Mazatlan, Sinaloa. He was devastated.

Their family reunion would be at the Mazatlan morgue. He identified his brothers corpse, among the rows of bodies from the wreck. The man he hadnt seen in 2o years. The surprise he expected, turned into horrible tragedy.

Francisco Fajardo Barajas' dream of seeing his brother Rafael was left, shattered and destroyed, along with his life, on the side of a road in Sinaloa.

My Life (if i was a Russian Thug)

This is a drawing of my life insipired by Russian jail tattoos. Each drawing represents a title, or a an event in a persons life. Decipher them all and win a prize! Dasvidanya Komrades!

"El Maco" And His Guns

In 1966, Jalisco state was shocked at a burst of violence in a remote corner of the state. What happened in hills surrounding the ranch of La Atrevida shocked many, such violence was unheard of.

Six Mexican Federal Judicial Police Officers were ambushed and killed in the woods. One by one, sniped by an armed farmer who refused a federal order from Guadalajara to turn in his assault rifle. One of those agents was the first husband of my cousins tia, who left behind a 1 year old daughter.

"El Maco" was a rugged mountain man. People were scared of him but he kept to himself. He owned a rifle, several handguns and a his beloved assault rifle which he used for hunting on occasions. This didnt sit well with authorities.

On January 30th , 1966, Five Policia Rural del Estado agents were sent from Guadalajara to the town of Guachinango to provide security for the Fiestas celebrated in honor of the Virgin of la Candelaria, her day being February 2nd. On that day they told El Maco to relinquish his guns, but he refused.

"Captain, If you want to disarm me, you better make sure im dead first" was El Maco's response.

Several miles down the road in La Atrevida, the Judicial Police officers went to arrest El Maco. El Maco already lay in wait, among the bushes and trees surrounding the ranch.

Witnesses say he lay hidden in a deep ravine and with his telescope he opened fire on the Judiciales once he had them in view. One by one he sniped them in the head with incredible aim. The rest of the Judiciales fired back and repelled the agression but all their bullets missed him.

Six Judiciales lay dead and El Maco fled.

Since its been so long since the ambush at La Atrevida happened, people made stuff up about the event and rumors abound.

The end of this story had a crazy but unlikely twist. El Maco was never arrested, but rather being the "brave" campesino that he was, he placed his rifle into a burlap bag and he went to the Judicial Police Headquarters in Guadalajara and turned himself in.

"I am El Maco, im the man who killed all those Judiciales in La Atrevida".

Rather than arrest him, the Federal Judicial Police force in Guadalajara offered him a job. A man with such balls and good aim, they needed him on their side.

The Official Version of events was as followed.

Seven Judicial Police Officers from Guadalajara but stationed in the village of Atenguillo, down the road from Guachinango, went to the town of San Martin Hidalgo, near Ameca to collect their pay. There they received the order to head to Guachinango to provide security for the annual fiesta.

The night of January 29th, 1966, they spent the night in Ameca and would head to Guachinango the next morning. A few miles before reaching the dirt road that led to the town off the main highway, right near La Atrevida ranch, they saw several men walking who were visibly armed.

The Judicial Police officers stopped their truck in order to question the men as to why they were armed and if they had permits for their weapons. One of the men fled into the woods and the other 3 men tried to run as well but were stopped by one of the Police Officers.

The men claimed they were hunters from Guadalajara spending a day in the country. They had no permits. They claimed the man who fled was a peasant farmer they had encountered on their journey and who had volunteered to guide them and show them where the good spots for hunting were, the man being an avid hunter and excellent marksman himself.

The other Judiciales went in pursuit of the man and were met with gunfire. El Maco, hiding in small ravine and protected by shruberry, picked off the Agents one by one with his powerful rifle and his incredible aim.

Five agents were killed on the spot. The Comandante of the Judiciales, Sgt. Jose Magana was badly wounded but managed to flag down a passing motorist whom he ordered to take him to the hospital in Guadalajara. He died later that night while undergoing surgery. The sole survivor was Agent Limon whom had stayed behind with the three men in custody.

El Maco turned himself in to the Judicial Police Headquarters in Guadalajara, and his fate after that was unknown.

My Dad and Candelario Ramos

One very first time my mother met my fathers family back during Christmastime 1983, she was embarrased beyond belief one particular night.

You see, my dad's brother, my tio Angel, had a black Trans Am. He also liked to drink a lot. So he was a typical 80's dude, drinking and driving his Trans Am really fast up and down Calle Constitucion which was Ameca's main street.

Pretty soon an Ameca municipal police truck tried to pull him over. Tio Angel decided he really didnt want to go to jail so he stepped on it. So he drove up and down Constitucion and by the house all the time the Police truck was behind him.

He finally pulled over and the cops arrested his drunk ass.

My father was also drunk. Upon hearing his brother was arrested he thought he was gonna go kick the asses of every single municipal cop at La Presidencia (Town Hall). Angry and running on beer and machismo he goes up to La Presidencia and to the jail where he is met by Ameca's police chief, Comandante Candelario Ramos.

"Hijo de tu chingada madre, quitate o te quito cabron! Deja salir a mi hermano" my dad, in a drunken angry slur yells at Comandante Ramos.

Ramos tells my dad to calm down but that his brother needs to sleep it off in the drunk tank. My dad is advised to calm down as well or he will be thrown in jail as well. My dad continues to be beligerent so he is arrested.

My dad was lucky. Unknown to him Comandante Candelario Ramos is a bad ass. He was an ex pistolero and hitman. He had a reputation for beating the shit out of people when he worked as a bodyguard for Jalisco state governor and Ameca native Flavio Romero de Velasco. Soon he became an agent for Mexico's Directorate of Federal Security, a shady organization with ties to organized crime. He was then made Comandante of Ameca.

On this night, Comandante Ramos is polite and understanding. He tells my dad to take off his jewelry but my dad snaps back "take it off me, you asshole".

"Fine keep your jewelry" says Ramos.

My mother when she finds out hes in jail, is now crying and embarrased. My dad is by this time asleep on a bench in the cell.

Comandante Ramos politely explains to her that he will be released in the morning. My mom asks if she can deliver him orange juice she bought him at the market, Ramos says yes.

By morning my dad my tio Angel are let free. They dont get their asses beat by Ramos and his men for being drunk assholes who talk too much shit, by some miracle.

2 years later Comandante Ramos is accused of participating the the kidnapping and murder of Agent Enrique Camarena of the DEA in Guadalajara.

Famous Sinaloa drug kingpin Ernesto Fonseca Carrillo, a mastermind of Camarena's murder is found to be hiding in Ramos' luxury villa in Puerto Vallarta on April 9, 1985. Comandante Ramos is imprisoned with his friend, marijuana kingpin Rafael Caro Quintero but Ramos is free on lack of evidence in the crime.

On July 13, 1989, Comandante Ramos is driving his truck to Guadalajara when he is rear ended by a truck. He pulls over to inspect the damage and a young man descends the truck.

The young man pulls out a .9 millimeter handgun and shoots Ramos twice in the face and drives off. He was Jose de Jesus Uribe, the son of a man Ramos had killed 20 years previous when he was a hitman for the well known Zuno Arce family of Jalisco.

His shady past had finally caught up with him. Comandante Candelario Ramos, famous pistolero and Comandante of the Federal Judicial Police, friend of drug kingpins and Army Generals, died shot twice in the face on the side of a lonely road in Tequila, Jalisco.

His AR 15 was in the backseat. He never had time to use it.

Famous and Ruthless Comandante Candelario Ramos lies dead on the Guadalajara-Ameca Hwy on July 13, 1989.