By Scout Finch

The dates March 23 – 25 have been circled on my calendar for weeks. They mark the days that the family of Brad Will will be in Oaxaca. My days are full, there is a lot to do, but mentally I am preparing for their fast approaching visit. I never met the Indymedia journalist, I arrived in Oaxaca just days after he was killed, but his death and his family’s visit affect my life in many ways. Of the five witnesses that will be testifying in front of the Federal Attorney General on behalf of the family some are my friends, and another, the only family I have here in Oaxaca. All five of these witnesses are aware of the danger they face in testifying; the events of this past year in Oaxaca have left little doubt as to the danger one faces when speaking out against the State Government. Each witness has been subjected to harassment and intimidation by various government agents; one witness was forced into hiding and their houses are under constant surveillance… yet they are all willing to take the risk now, and they do it in honour and in memory of Brad.

Like I said before, I have never met the Will family, but I am imagining the trauma they will go through during their visit here. Like them, I am a foreigner here in Mexico, like them I come from a place where conceptions and expectations of responsible government, the law and the justice system are different. I come from a country where death isn’t quite so common, where faith isn’t quite as strong, and the everyday horrors that people face in Mexico are merely images we see on the television. Our ability to cope, our ability to understand the death of a child, the death of a son, a daughter, a sister, a brother, are distinct, only because government sanctioned assassinations are anomalies in our countries. Without living in Mexico there is no context for us to understand the system here; a system where corrupt politicians are able to manipulate investigations, and state attorneys build cases around hypotheses aimed only at absolving the state of any wrongdoing.

So I am worried, because at this point, I’m not sure just how much of the state prosecutor’s story Brad’s family believe, or how much, for that matter, they believe the stories in the press. All I know is that they are coming to demand a just and impartial investigation into their son’s murder and to ensure that those responsible for his death are held accountable. I can only continue to hope that the compassion and the integrity their son displayed here in Oaxaca is a reflection of the kind of people they are.

On March 21, we are scheduled to have a private meeting among the witnesses, the family, the lawyers and the translators, before retracing Brad’s last steps from the Calicanto Barricade. When the day finally arrives, we set up the video cameras and the audio equipment under the shadow of 27 black crosses, painted with the names of the 27 fallen activists who have died during the ten-month struggle. In the centre of the room, the cross that reads Bradley Roland Will has two red flowers tied under his name. No one is speaking very much, just sitting quietly on the wooden benches arranged in a semicircle. We wait.

And then the moment finally arrives. Brad’s parents, Kathy and Hardy, along with their eldest son, Craig, walk across the yard accompanied by their lawyer and their translator. Everyone stands and Kathy bursts into tears. Here in front of her stand five people, I’m sure the family have seen their faces a hundred times in videos, on the news, in the newspapers, but now they are here in the flesh, five people who tried to save the life of their son and now stand accused of his murder. I can only imagine the depths of their grief and anger… After a few moments, the Wills recover their composure and those present begin introducing themselves. When it is Hardy’s turn he does not speak. Instead he strides across the room to embrace those who tried to help his son and whispers, ¨Thank-you, thank-you for all you tried to do¨. We all breathe a sigh of relief and the meeting begins. Each witness is meant to recount their experience of the day Brad died and give the family a chance to ask any questions. That’s it. The meeting is scheduled to last two hours. But one thing you learn quickly in Mexico is that nothing ever goes according to plan.

As the witnesses begin to speak, other people start arriving; faces I recognize from the barricades and from the marches; from photographs and from the videos shot on November 2, 20, and 25. These are the people who were on the front lines during the most intense moments of the conflict, and they have all come to pay their respects to the Will family. As the testimonies begin so, too, begin the personal stories about Brad. The respect and love these people have for him is more than evident. Amidst the tears there is laughter, amidst the tears there is warmth, a breaking down of barriers between strangers, between languages and between cultures.

It is this phenomenon that is Brad’s legacy. His ability as a foreigner to, in one short month, win the hearts of an entire movement. He won peoples’ trust and their respect, and, over and over again, this morning I hear testaments to his strength, his courage, his professionalism, and above all else, his humanity, his humility and his solidarity. And then it is the family’s turn to speak, but by now all formalities have been cast aside. Kathy thanks everyone for being there. She acknowledges the danger the witnesses face and she promises to help them in any way she can. They have travelled a long way, she says, and more than meetings with government officials and chief prosecutors, these are the people she has come to Oaxaca to meet, because these are the people who ensured that her son did not die alone. She is so grateful to these people, she explains, because in the darkest days of their grief the one comforting thought she and her family had was that Brad died surrounded by love, in the arms of his friends, in the arms of the people he had come to Oaxaca to fight for.

And then it is time to go. The Press is waiting and members of APPO and VOCAL and others from the barricades have organized a march to accompany the family on the difficult journey through the streets of Santa Lucia. The Media close in, desperate for the classic shot of the grieving parents and to record the perfect 15 second sound bite that will make the 10:30 news. Once they’ve got it, they disappear and we continue on through the streets. Brad’s mom is telling childhood stories about her son to the translators, people are holding up their words of support on florescent coloured posters and they are chanting ¨Brad no Murió, Ulises lo Mató¨ (Brad didn’t die, Ulises killed him).

We walk together, 27 black crosses leading the way. And although the tensions of the morning have dissipated, everyone is aware that we are walking in a dangerous neighbourhood, a PRI stronghold and the marchers are vulnerable. Two police motorcycles have been spotted on either side of us, just close enough for us to know they are there, but we continue on. Kathy, Hardy and Craig want to lay flowers at the site where Brad fell but when we arrive we find that the cross and the vigil that marks the spot have been stolen sometime earlier in the morning. It has happened before, but no one guessed that it could happen today. The march pauses briefly and then as we turn the corner nearing the end of our walk, two municipal police pickups appear before us. There are at least 8 officers, some are carrying high-powered rifles. As we watch them try and detain a middle-aged man fear turns to anger and members of the independent media move in. With cameras, and microphones shoved in their faces the police quickly release the man and defend their presence on the street by saying that they are there to protect the children getting out of school for the day. There is nothing more to do. This form of intimidation is nothing new and we return once again to the family, determined to continue on with the day’s events.

When we arrive back at the house, we learn that Brad’s parents and his brother Craig have cancelled their next press conference. They want to stay to have more time with those who have risked the journey into Santa Lucia to meet them. Brad’s mom is presented with her son’s missing tennis shoe – the only personal belonging that had not been returned to the family after his death. It had been placed on his shrine here in Oaxaca and then safeguarded until the day his friends could return it to his parents in person. But it is not only Brad’s friends who have arrived to speak with Kathy, Hardy and Craig. Widows and mothers of the other dead activists are here too and they begin their introductions by acknowledging their shared pain and loss. As the women hug one widow says simply, ¨You are a part of our family now.¨

This pain cuts across all cultural barriers, it crosses all borders. But as Kathy sits with these proud, strong women, the differences between them are also clear. While the Will’s are in Mexico fighting for a federal investigation into their son’s murder, these women know that there is little chance that anyone will investigate the assassinations of their husbands and sons. To date not one other case has been opened. ¨How sad, ¨ says one widow, ¨that it takes a foreigner to die before anyone will pay attention to the injustices we face¨.

It is a feeling I have been struggling with for some time. Because although the Will family has tirelessly and emphatically stated in each and every press conference that they are not only demanding justice for their son, but also for all the dead, the disappeared and the tortured, I wonder just how many people know the names Emilio Alonso Fabian, Jose Alberto Lopez Bernal, Fidel Sanchez Garcia, and Esteban Zurita Lopez - the other victims assassinated here in the city the very same week. Why did it take the death of an American journalist before anyone paid attention? But I banish those thoughts for another day because I find it more inspiring to watch these women exchange hugs and tears and e-mail addresses, and when the day finally ends, I feel nothing but gratitude for having witnessed such a powerful reunion.

The next day, we wake up early and all the warm feelings of the day before seem far away. Today we enter into the belly of the beast; today the five witnesses will testify in front of the Federal Attorney General. We arrive before 9:00am and meet with Brad’s family once again. The 27 crosses stand against the green steel fence that encloses the federal building in San Bartolo, Coyotepec. There are about 50 people here to support the witnesses and continue their demands for justice in the other 26 cases using flags and banners, words and a hunger strike to pressure the government and to attract media attention. For this, they are subjected to a day of intimidation tactics taken straight out of some Hollywood movie. There are police operatives walking around, helicopters flying overhead, police in civilian clothing driving up and down the dead end street.

We watch members of AFI patrolling the front entrance; they pass through the gate periodically to take our pictures and videotape us. Throughout the day a number of unmarked cars park in front of us, reminding us that there is always a price to pay for inconformity. But perhaps the most frustrating aspect of the day is the constant delays from inside the Attorney General’s office. By four o’clock, only one witness has finished testifying and everyone is nervous. At one point the witnesses ask the Wills’ lawyer to seek some kind of protection for them and for those outside, but the family is all but powerless to do much. The two parties talk and once again those testifying agree to enter the building. I ask one of them why. Why are you risking your lives? And he simply replies, because it is the right thing to do and it is our way to pay homage to our friend and our brother. It is a sentiment shared by all who have come with their cards and their flowers, their poems and their stories of an idealistic activist who gave his life trying to give voice to their cause.

When the last witness exits the building, it is 11:00pm and we quietly make our way home, weary from the 15 hours of surveillance and press conferences. The Wills are tired too but they are jubilant. Eleven cases, including that of their son, have been taken out of the hands of the state attorney. In the press conference, they reiterate that the state hypothesis that Brad was shot at close range by protesters and then shot again in transit to the red cross was ¨ridiculous, false, without substance, biased and unconvincing¨ and repeated their conviction that state attorney Lizbeth Caña Cadeza acted in bad faith, altering evidence in order to clear the state of any responsibility and to protect government paramilitary assassins. Kathy and Hardy have cancelled their flight in order to watch the beginnings of the Federal investigation into their son’s death, an investigation they hope will finally lead to justice. The witnesses have been subpoenaed to be back at the scene of the crime tomorrow.

And so the Federal investigation begins at 11:00am on the 23rd of March. Men and women in white lab coats begin stretching yellow ribbon across the infamous streets of Santa Lucia del Camino. They plan to re-enact the events of October 27, 2006 step by step, measurement by measurement. The people supporting the family and the witnesses are here once again and the Press has arrived on schedule. The show begins and I can only sit and wait. I make mental notes of the photographers I have never seen before, faces in the crowd that I do not recognize and I sit with Brad’s mom as she takes out the family photographs she has been carrying around with her since the day she arrived in Mexico.

There are pictures of family vacations, ski trips, weddings, pictures of Brad with his nieces and nephews – he looks like a typical American boy from a typical middle-class American family, if not for the fact that in nearly every picture he can be seen wearing a T-shirt supporting some social movement or another. It is hard to miss the red left fist blazoned across his chest.

I am distracted from the volunteers carrying a man down the street, a man the size and stature of Brad Will, because a little girl has approached us with a card she has made for Brad’s mom. It is a picture with flowers and a sun and it says; ¨Brad was a friend of APPO¨, and I watch Kathy change from a grieving mother into a role she knows well, a grade school teacher from Illinois. Suddenly it is easy to imagine Brad’s life growing up.

It is clear that at the end of the day, Kathy and Hardy are hopeful. Their faith that this new investigation will finally bring justice for their son is more than evident. In their final press conference they thank the people of Oaxaca for all the support they have shown and Kathy once again demands witness protection for all those who risked their lives to testify yesterday. And then we are off to share one last meal before Brad’s parents head back to Mexico City.

There is nothing quite like the feeling you get sitting at a long table surrounded by friends, tortillas and mole. In three short days there is no denying the bond that has formed among the people here. The sadness and loss is temporarily pushed aside and we laugh over shared experiences. What is also clear is that the Wills are not going to go home and forget the people of Oaxaca. They want to continue their fight until justice has been served- not only for their son but for the people he dedicated his life to help.

If you log on the Bradwill.org you will find that a foundation has been set up in his name. Its mission is to support and contribute to non-violent groups dedicated to the advancement of underserved people and communities throughout the world. I think it is a testament as to how the Will family sees the people of Oaxaca and of their dedication to further their son’s vision of making this world a better place.

And for my part, I leave this experience feeling privileged to have met this brave and loving family and to have shared in the stories of an independent journalist and poet who helped bring the world’s attention to a grassroots struggle for freedom and democracy in Oaxaca.