Another human rights violation (Testimony)

QUEREMOS VER LIBRE A
JUAN CARLOS LUIS MENDOZA
y demás presos políticos de Oaxaca
El pasado 25 de noviembre del 2006, JUAN CARLOS LUIS MENDOZA, como otros hombres y mujeres fueron
detenidos, torturados y violados sus derechos humanos; actualmente 60 siguen presos.
Enviamos el testimonio de JUAN CARLOS LUIS MENDOZA, quien nos da a conocer lo que vivió…
La información va en inglés.
GRACIAS POR DIFUNDIRLO.
SUS ACCIONES FAVOR DE MANDAR A:
FELIPE DE JESÚS CALDERÓN HINOJOSA
Residencia Oficial de los Pinos Casa Miguel Alemán
Col. San Miguel Chapultepec, C.P. 11850, México DF
Tel: +52 (55) 27891100 y Fax: +52 (55) 52772376
felipe.calderon@ presidencia. gob.mx
Lic. Francisco Javier Ramírez Acuña ,
Secretario de Gobernación,
Bucareli 99, 1er. piso, Col. Juárez,
Cuauhtémoc, México D.F., C.P. 06600, México,
Fax: +52 (55) 5093 3414
No email, please send fax.
Lic. Eduardo Medina-Mora Icaza,
Procurador General de la República
Av. Paseo de la Reforma #211-213 Cuauhtémoc. México D.F., C.P. 06500
To send emails online: http://www.pgr. gob.mx/index. asp
Dr. José Luis Soberanes Fernández. Presidente de la Comisión Nacional de Derechos Humanos
Periférico Sur 3469, Col. San Jerónimo Lídice, CP 10200, México, D.F.
Tel: 631 00 40, 6 81 81 25
Fax: 56 81 84 90
Lada sin costo: 01 800 00 869
correo@fmdh. cndh.org. mx
GRACIAS POR SU SOLIDARIDAD Y APOYO.
Comisión de seguimiento
Oaxaca de Juárez al 08 de marzo, 2007

Cereso Tanivet, Tlacolula, Oaxaca
My name is Juan Carlos Luis Mendoza. Native of Ensenada, Northern Baja California, born to a Oaxacan father and other from the state of Michoacán. This is my testimony of the events that occurred on November 25, 2006 up untiloday, which have affected and continue to affect my person physically as well as psychologically, and that also affect
my family and closest friends. The government is violating all of the rights that they themselves assure you that you have.


I arrived to the city of Oaxaca on November 1
st
to do the preparatory errands for my matrimonial union with my
fiancé, Mariela García Salas, native of Oaxaca City. Five days later I found a job in a computation center called CCS.
On November 25
th
, I was headed toward the center of town with my fiancé around 4pm, with the intention of buying
her a pair of pants. After this, we were heading toward Jardín Consatti, but upon arrival we realized that there was
no market today and we decided to return to her mother’s house to talk about the wedding date and plans. We
decided to walk to Santo Domingo Church, and from there, to Periférico Street. Arriving at Santo Domingo, we saw a
large mass of people heading toward us, as if they were running from something, and we realized that it was a
confrontation. They were elements of the PFP (Federal Preventative Police) that were attacking these persons when
they reached us. We got caught in the middle of the rumble and we started to recognize the smell of tear gas, which
began to suffocate us. Hardly being able to breath, trying to get out of there, it was impossible to see how because
of the gas and our eyes were all teary, and breathing became more difficult. Noticing the situation that we were in,
two nurses arrived and asked us what we were doing there, and we told them that we were just passing by. They
told us to get out of there and gave us something to cover our mouths. When we were leaving, the PFP was now
almost on top of us, and I told my wife to run. As I turned around, there were already three of them. I wanted to
run, but they grabbed my shirt and pulled me to the ground. They began to hit me hard. After beating me, they told
me to get up and get out of there. I stood up and tried to leave, but I saw that they were going to hit me again, so I
ran, but there was no exit, everything was closed off by the PFP. The only place that I could go w as to the church

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door where the stairs were. There were many people there yelling that they not beat us, but they did not listen, and
I, pushed up against the door, saw how all of the others screamed every time they hit them. Then, all of the sudden,
a bunch of the PFP came toward us and began to fire tear gas bombs directly at our bodies. The bombs opened right
under us, and came directly to our mouths and noses. There was nowhere to go. I felt as if I was going to faint, and
at that moment I felt like it was the end and I asked God to care for my fiancé and my family…
One of the PFP members grabbed me by the neck, threw me to the floor and among several of them, they beat me.
But in that moment, in my head I only thought of God, and that He help me to get out of this alive and that my fiancé
was safe. And only by thinking of that, none of the beatings hurt me, and I only thought of that. Then, they dragged
me to the Zócalo. There were women, children, and others by my side and they keep beating them, continuously.
Arriving at the Zócalo, they threw us on the ground in front of a hotel. We were one on top of another like people
that die in battles that are just thrown away like trash. The ones that were on bottom began to suffocate because of
the weight on top of them. Many of them said things to us like, “now you’re screwed, this is what happens to you for
being trouble-makers, bring gasoline to light them on fire, you idiots are here fighting with Flavio Sosa content in his
house.” When they realized that the ones on the bottom couldn’t take it any longer they began to pick us up one by
one. They put us in rows, thrown face down on the ground. All of this happened in about two hours. And they
asked us, “Where are you from? What’s your name? Where do you live?” After this, they picked me up and took me
to a Ram pick-up truck and threw me in the bed along with another eight people, and four others sat down. During
the trip, they would stop and hit us and ask us our names. Several times they held the cannon of an M16 to me and
used it to hit me hard in the temples, from the time they took us from the Zócalo until arriving at our destination.
Upon arrival, they took us inside and sat us down on the floor and asked us our names again and they began to take
us inside the jail with our heads down. Before going into the cell, they hit me three times in the stomach. They took
our shoes, and I tried to sleep, but the cold, the beatings, and all that happened to me would not allow me to rest.
The next day, Sunday, November 26
th
, I asked them to let me make a telephone call because it is my right, and they
only said tomorrow afternoon, tomorrow afternoon. That same Sunday, at about 3 or 4 pm, they fed us, and at night
the public ministry arrived and took our statements, along with someone from the state human rights office. And
then they gave us a blanket. On Monday, November 27
th
, at about 5:15 in the morning, they woke us up, took our
blankets off us, and cuffed us with some plastic tape. They told me to get on a Military Torthon with many more
people. Without knowing where we were going, we realized that we were going to the city’s airport. Upon arrival
there, you could hear an airplane running. When they took us off, they lined us up, and they put metal handcuffs on
us, on top of the plastic cuffs that we already had on. The chained the arms and legs of some. All of this seemed
like it was to transfer drug traffickers and highly dangerous people. There were a lot of journalists there, who did not
stop taking photos and videos. Someone took me by the back and led me to the plane and told me, in a very strong
tone, to yell my name. He put me on the plane and told me to keep my head down because if I looked up they were
going to beat me. I did not know where we were going, but I was preparing myself for what was to come. The flight
lasted about two hours. When we arrived, all crouched over like we were, they told us to get off. Getting off, they
made us go through the same procedure of yelling our names and ages. A very tall man quickly twisted my hand
behind my back and brought me over to a truck, threw me in, and checked me over. He put me in the truck, sat me
down looking at the floor and told me, “If you turn to look up, or if you move, I’ll hit you.” The time that it took from
here to get to the penitentiary where they were taking us was about an hour and a half. Arriving, the truck stopped
and you could hear the women screaming as if they were being tortured, and they said to us, “Hahaha, if that’s the
women, imagine what you’re gonna get for all your trouble-making. ” While this went on, inside the truck they were
hitting us in the temples, in the back, sides, and sometimes kicking us in the face. Upon entering, they threw us to
the ground and told us not to move. They revised out one by one. They made us take all of our clothes off and do
sit-ups. After revising us, they gave us some brown clothes, and brought us to a room where they shaved our heads
and made us shave our faces, with the same razor. Then they took our personal information, and took pictures of us
from the front and the side. Then, they took our fingerprints and more information. Then they took us to our cells
where there was one bed with three heavy blankets as a mattress, a table and a bench. They threw us in like dogs,
three per cell. They space was very small, but we accommodated ourselves as best we could. At that moment, a
guard came to tell us that we were to line up every time a guard came, with our heads down and that if we did not
do it, then we would be punished. The same guard told us that we were in the Federal Prison, El Rincón of Tepic,
Nayarit. Every day, we were locked up inside, without being able to go out, and without being able to sleep because
they passed by every 20 minutes during the night. They made visits very difficult. Being there was very stressful.
Many cried, suffered, and they remained quiet realizing that they could not do anything. On December 23
rd
, in the
middle of the night they got us up. They made us get all of our things and they took us to the exit. They revised us,
they transferred us back here again, and this is where I remain today, in the prison of Tlacolula.
Signed, Juan Carlos Luis Mendoza.

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