UT Essay Prompt B: Choose an issue of importance to you-the issue could be personal, school related, local, political, or international in scope-and write an essay in which you explain the significance of that issue to yourself, your family, your community, or your generation.
Ahhhhh ._. help me.
It's 8 p.m.; it's time for America to tune in to CNN and watch Anderson Cooper. It's another AC360 special, "The War Next Door." People across the country helplessly watch as they catch a glimpse into the unspeakable tragedy happening in Mexico. Twitter feeds explode with comments on how the border should be closed so the violence doesn't spill over. It's Mexico's problem, not ours. It's 9 p.m.; it's time to change the channel. While millions of Americans go on about their night, my family I and millions of Mexican's like me are left in tears. That's my country burning in the horrors of war. That's my home.
Near the end of 2006, President Felipe Calderon declared war on the drug cartels that were corrupting Mexico. The horror that has grown from that can never be fully captured in words. Initially, the plague of violence was contained in several important states far away from my family's home in Guanajuato so we only saw the war on the front page or on the news. Over the course of the years, however, we realized that we weren't safe either. Random checkpoints on the highway for drugs and weapons became routine. Seeing military caravans with hundreds of soldiers going off into battle became routine. Going to Mexico used to be a fun and exciting time of the year that we looked forward to, but we began hearing more and more horror stories of encounters with drug cartel members from close family members. We became scared. I became scared. Whenever my dad drives down to Mexico on his own, I pray day and night hoping nothing happens to him going through the border region. I pray so my mom isn't left alone. I pray so I can see my dad again.
America's ravenous appetite to get high fuels the war that everyday has sisters crying over their brother who was just assassinated in front of her eyes. Everyday a mother sobs and screams to the Virgen de Guadalupe, "Why?" when she is told by municipal police that her son was found dead in the desert. The full force of the Mexican military has not been able to quell the viciousness of the war that makes Mexico look more like Fallujah every day. My father and I are left feeling helpless because, frankly, there is nothing we can really do.
This year though, we had hope. It was election season in Mexico and we made it our mission to see that the National Action Party, or PAN, did not keep control of the presidency for another six years. The candidate for PAN vowed to keep the same strategy for fighting the cartels that President Calderon initiated six long years ago. My father and I knew that, even though our town had not been directly affected, another six years of fighting would push the fighting into our town. In the months and weeks leading up to the election, my father and I worked to convince as many people we could to not vote for PAN, not our of past party loyalties, but because Mexico couldn't take six more years of war and sixty thousand more murdered Mexicans. My father made it a point for me to remain civil and, if someone disagreed, to respect their view and not let politics join the drug war on the list of things that divided us as Mexicans.
The PAN lost the presidency, but blood hasn't stopped flowing. My family's fear hasn't done away. My dad still cries when he sees his childhood home being flooded with drugs. I still can't forget the fear I saw in a Mexican infantryman's eyes when his Army caravan passed my car and headed for the border. He is probably dead now, another casualty in a silent war. One day this war will come to an end, but it won't be tomorrow, or the next day. All we can do is hope the new administration begins to bring the war to an end. My father raised me to love a Mexico that was peaceful. I could walk across town to see my abuelita and have homemade chicken and rice soup without my parents fearing I would be kidnapped. That's the Mexico I was raised with. That's the Mexico I grew to love. I will do my part to make sure that, one day, my children can say the same thing.
Ahhhhh ._. help me.
It's 8 p.m.; it's time for America to tune in to CNN and watch Anderson Cooper. It's another AC360 special, "The War Next Door." People across the country helplessly watch as they catch a glimpse into the unspeakable tragedy happening in Mexico. Twitter feeds explode with comments on how the border should be closed so the violence doesn't spill over. It's Mexico's problem, not ours. It's 9 p.m.; it's time to change the channel. While millions of Americans go on about their night, my family I and millions of Mexican's like me are left in tears. That's my country burning in the horrors of war. That's my home.
Near the end of 2006, President Felipe Calderon declared war on the drug cartels that were corrupting Mexico. The horror that has grown from that can never be fully captured in words. Initially, the plague of violence was contained in several important states far away from my family's home in Guanajuato so we only saw the war on the front page or on the news. Over the course of the years, however, we realized that we weren't safe either. Random checkpoints on the highway for drugs and weapons became routine. Seeing military caravans with hundreds of soldiers going off into battle became routine. Going to Mexico used to be a fun and exciting time of the year that we looked forward to, but we began hearing more and more horror stories of encounters with drug cartel members from close family members. We became scared. I became scared. Whenever my dad drives down to Mexico on his own, I pray day and night hoping nothing happens to him going through the border region. I pray so my mom isn't left alone. I pray so I can see my dad again.
America's ravenous appetite to get high fuels the war that everyday has sisters crying over their brother who was just assassinated in front of her eyes. Everyday a mother sobs and screams to the Virgen de Guadalupe, "Why?" when she is told by municipal police that her son was found dead in the desert. The full force of the Mexican military has not been able to quell the viciousness of the war that makes Mexico look more like Fallujah every day. My father and I are left feeling helpless because, frankly, there is nothing we can really do.
This year though, we had hope. It was election season in Mexico and we made it our mission to see that the National Action Party, or PAN, did not keep control of the presidency for another six years. The candidate for PAN vowed to keep the same strategy for fighting the cartels that President Calderon initiated six long years ago. My father and I knew that, even though our town had not been directly affected, another six years of fighting would push the fighting into our town. In the months and weeks leading up to the election, my father and I worked to convince as many people we could to not vote for PAN, not our of past party loyalties, but because Mexico couldn't take six more years of war and sixty thousand more murdered Mexicans. My father made it a point for me to remain civil and, if someone disagreed, to respect their view and not let politics join the drug war on the list of things that divided us as Mexicans.
The PAN lost the presidency, but blood hasn't stopped flowing. My family's fear hasn't done away. My dad still cries when he sees his childhood home being flooded with drugs. I still can't forget the fear I saw in a Mexican infantryman's eyes when his Army caravan passed my car and headed for the border. He is probably dead now, another casualty in a silent war. One day this war will come to an end, but it won't be tomorrow, or the next day. All we can do is hope the new administration begins to bring the war to an end. My father raised me to love a Mexico that was peaceful. I could walk across town to see my abuelita and have homemade chicken and rice soup without my parents fearing I would be kidnapped. That's the Mexico I was raised with. That's the Mexico I grew to love. I will do my part to make sure that, one day, my children can say the same thing.
