On the verb "to disappear"

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project © Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project © Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project View all images ↓
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After a life threatening crime wave in the village I was living in, I decided to make a photographic series as a love letter to my family in case I become a victim of the violence lived in Mexico.

My interest in disappearing came after a couple of changes in my life. Not as if I want to run away and disappear, but more about being disturbed by the idea of what could or will disappear, naturally, in our lives - relationships, moments or opportunities, precious objects, health, our identity, and life per se.

To be honest, more than an interest, it's a fear - maybe understandable if you consider a life-threatening organized crime wave where people you were close to were taken, tortured and murdered. I’m talking about second-level blood relatives, neighbors, or even a former patient. Some others didn't appear, not even in the news. But, again, not the fear of the possibility of becoming one more of the 37,000 plus registered disappeared persons in Mexico since 2006, or of the 332,000 victims of murder since the beginning of the XXI century in my both beautiful and dangerous country. Hell, not even afraid of being tortured and dismembered. Just fearful of how my family could be affected by it. Or even more horrified by the idea of them being next in an endless list of people who reached the end of their days under such circumstances. Although I know it's selfish, those official, but undeniably inaccurate, estimated figures are disproportionate compared to a hypothetical number of people who've had to change their lives because of Mexico’s current deathly situation.

Here, after more than a decade of declared conflict, cynically decomposing, invading our everyday lives, where anyone could be targeted or become a victim (as if feeling you or your family being in danger isn't harmful enough), and increased chances of not even having a body to mourn either by forced disappearance, kidnapping or simply by being in the wrong place in the wrong time, deforms our historical, Mexican relationship with death. We're used to grieve our dead ones, but doesn't it feel right to also grieve now our living ones?

This photographic series is a love letter for my family in case something unexpected happens to me; I would like them to come back to this set of images so they can process my loss. It’s sort of a counterphobic behavior; I approach to what I fear, in an attempt to dominate it. And this has allowed me to deal with the fear of disappearance in the healthiest possible way: through acceptance, gratitude, and love.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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On October 15, 2019, I had to quit my job and leave Mecapalapa, located in Pantepec municipality, in the state of Puebla, Mexico - the same place where my grandmother gave birth to my father in 1957. This is a portrait of her when she was approximately 19 years old. Today she's 91, and when she heard about the life threatening situation, she stated her concerns and suggested that I leave town as soon as possible. I had never seen my grandmother cry for my safety. October 16, 2019, State of Mexico, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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I took this bone from my uncle's abandoned house the night I was told they left town because they were threatened by an organized criminal group. I’m pretty sure my uncle, with whom I had a special relationship and haven’t seen or spoken to since, would attempt to make a craftwork with it. That night, I decided to explore a fear I never felt before - the fear of not seeing my family again. 10:19:13 p.m., September 26, 2019, Mecapalapa, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Things are changing in the Sierra Norte de Puebla, commonly referred to as the Huasteca Poblana, a region between the states of Hidalgo and Veracruz, mainly dedicated to farming and livestock. It is also where several important fuel pipelines vulnerable to illegal drilling and fuel theft go through, like the Tuxpan-Azcapotzalco corridor, responsible for much of the fuel distribution to Mexico City. The 2013 reforms to the country's oil sector promoted by former President Enrique Peña Nieto, increased both retail prices and criminal activity related to fuel robbery, locally known as “Huachicol”. October 23, 2018, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Mexico’s President, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who declared in 2019 the “end of the Mexican war on drugs”, decided instead to diminish fuel robbery from PEMEX by organized crime. The change of strategy has consequently led criminal groups, who until then dedicated themselves exclusively to “huachicol”, to turn their heads into other illegal, more violent and directly harmful income sources for society such as extortion, charging protection, kidnapping, assassination, narcotics distribution, and cattle raiding. Locals claim they prefer that criminals steal from Mexico's state oil company, instead of them. October 13, 2019, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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In the whole country, only since the end of 2016 until August 14, 2019, more than 3,000 clandestine mass graves with 4,974 bodies have been found. Bodies or body remains have also been found in the capitals of 18 other states. Self-portrait with Lampropeltis triangulum, common in the Huasteca Poblana. April 4, 2019, Mecapalapa, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Locals mention that it’s not new to witness bodies of unknown people from different localities appearing near or in Pantepec Municipality, but were startled when they found the body of people from their community. One of them, my namesake, was 16 years old and a former patient of mine - he had been referred to a group session for teenagers with substance abuse. October 12, 2019, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Will they be judged and pointed out as irresponsibles "for allowing their son to get involved in such situation"? Portrait of my parents at their home. March 3, 2020, State of Mexico, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Will they be judged and pointed out as irresponsibles "for allowing their son to get involved in such situation"? Portrait of my parents at their home. November 29, 2019, State of Mexico, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Kidnapping is common by Mexican organized crime in order to generate easy income, taking advantage of families’ desperation to see their relatives again, and finance other activities. Reports suggest there are 200 people kidnapped in Mexico every day. Scanned photograph sent to me, from somewhere in Tabasco or Chiapas, Mexico. It was sent to me on July 7, 2017. 

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Puebla is one of the 5 leading states where missing people are reported, mostly women and minors. February 22, 2020, Venustiano Carranzo, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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I decided to stay in the house of some relatives where I knew I'd be safer throughout the last three weeks before I quit my job and left town. Still, there was a great sense of paranoia and danger, to the point of deleting messages in case we were captured or interrogated. August 3, 2017 & October 3, 2019, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Things are changing in the Sierra Norte de Puebla, commonly referred to as the Huasteca Poblana, a region between the states of Hidalgo and Veracruz, mainly dedicated to farming and livestock. It is also where several important fuel pipelines vulnerable to illegal drilling and fuel theft go through, like the Tuxpan-Azcapotzalco corridor, responsible for much of the fuel distribution to Mexico City. The 2013 reforms to the country's oil sector promoted by former President Enrique Peña Nieto, increased both retail prices and criminal activity related to fuel robbery, locally known as “Huachicol”. December 15, 2018, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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The outfit I used during my college graduation ceremony. I wonder what would be the last memory of my family in case something happens to me. December 5, 2019, State of Mexico, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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My own, imaginary, set up limbo – the way I’d like to wait for the rest of my family so we can face together whatever happens afterwards. It’s curious how the best time for our family life was when we lived outside Mexico – it is when we were safer and more united. December 6, 2019, State of Mexico, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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The "war on organized crime" declared by former president Felipe Calderón Hinojosa in 2006, after a tumultuous XX century that included several social catastrophes, and 71 years of presidency by a single political party, added visibility to Mexico's government inability to sustain the nation. Employed strategies by current President López Obrador through his so-called Fourth transformation (as a reference to a 4th important period of Mexican history; the other three being the declaration of independence in 1810, the separation of Church and State in 1864, and the Mexican Revolution in 1910) aren’t showing the promised results at the beginning of his tenure. November 20, Mexican Revolution Day, 2019, State of Mexico, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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Puebla is one of 8 states in Mexico that declared in 2018 they didn't find any clandestine mass graves - in fact, the Attorney General of the State of Puebla didn't declare any between January 1, 2006, and April 30, 2019. There were other 7 states that didn't declare any, contradicting Federal or press records. But in 2019, there were 5 mass graves reported, one as close as 3 kilometers away from downtown in the city of Puebla. August 3, 2016, Pantepec, Puebla, Mexico.

© Arturo Velázquez Hernández - Image from the On the verb "to disappear" photography project
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This photographic series is a love letter for my family in case something unexpected happens to me; I would like them to come back to this set of images so they can process my loss in a healthy way and know that I'm alright. This self-portrait appears in my mother’s mobile phone every time I call her; she says she likes it a lot. October 18, 2019, State of Mexico, Mexico.