It’s been a decade since 43 students disappeared in Mexico. Their parents still fight for answers

TIXTLA, México (news agencies) — Clemente Rodríguez has been documenting the long search for his missing son with tattoos.

First, it was an ink drawing of a turtle — a symbol of 19-year-old Christian Rodríguez’s school — with a smaller turtle on its shell. Then, an image of Mexico’s patron saint, the Virgin of Guadalupe, accompanied by the number 43. Later, a tiger for strength and a dove for hope.

“How else is my son going to know that I have been looking for him?” asked Rodríguez. To the heartbroken father, the body art is evidence that he never stopped searching — proof he could perhaps one day show to his boy.

On Sept. 26, 2014, Christian Rodríguez, a tall boy who loved to folk dance and had just enrolled in a teachers college in the southern state of Guerrero, disappeared along with 42 classmates. Every year since, on the 26th of each month, Clemente Rodríguez, his wife, Luz María Telumbre, and other families meet at the Rural Normal School at Ayotzinapa and take a long bus ride to the capital, Mexico City, to demand answers.

They will do so again next week, on the 10th anniversary of their sons’ disappearance.

“It is hard, very hard,” Clemente Rodríguez said.

Rodríguez and the other parents are not alone. The 43 students are among more than 115,000 people still reported as missing in Mexico, a reflection of numerous unresolved crimes in a country where human rights activists say violence, corruption and impunity have long been the norm.

Over the years, authorities have offered different explanations. The previous administration of President Enrique Peña Nieto said that the students were attacked by security forces linked to a local drug cartel, and that the bodies were then turned over to organized crime figures, who burned their bodies in a dump and threw their ashes in a river. A bone fragment of one of the students was later found in the river.

President Andrés Manuel López Obrador’s administration confirmed the source of the attack. But the current justice department — along with the Interamerican Commission on Human Rights and a Truth Commission formed specifically to investigate the students’ disappearance — refuted the story about the incineration of the bodies in a dump. They accused top former officials of planting the bone fragment in the river to suit their narrative. They also unearthed clues in a different location, including bone fragments from one of Christian’s feet.

But the families still don’t have any solid answers about what happened to the students. For his part, Clemente Rodríguez is far from convinced that his son is dead.

Not long after the students disappeared, parents took matters into their own hands, charging into remote, often gang-controlled mountain towns to search for their children. They encountered others who had been displaced by violence. Fear was everywhere.

“When I left the house, I never knew if I would come back alive,” Rodríguez said.

During the search, Christina Bautista, the 49-year-old mother of missing student Benjamin Ascencio, says strangers told her they’d been searching for a son for three years or a daughter for five. She had thought it would be a matter of weeks.

“I couldn’t take it, I took off running,” she said. “How could there be so many disappeared?”

Dozens of bodies were found, but not those of their children.

A decade of fighting to keep the case alive has turned the parents’ lives inside out. Before his son’s disappearance, Rodríguez sold jugs of water from the back of his pickup and tended a small menagerie of animals in the town of Tixtla, not far from the school. Telumbre sold handmade tortillas cooked over a wood fire.

When the students vanished, however, they dropped everything. Parents sold or abandoned their animals, left fields untended and entrusted grandparents with the care of other children.

Rodríguez, 56, has since managed to partially reassemble his clutch of livestock and has planted some corn on the family’s plot of land. The family’s main income, however, comes from homemade crafts sold on trips to Mexico City: mats woven from reeds; bottles of an uncle’s locally brewed mezcal decorated with twine and colorful tiger faces; and cloth napkins embroidered by Telumbre.

Sometimes the stocky, soft-spoken Rodríguez visits his land to think or to release his anger and sadness. “I start to cry, let it all go,” he said.

Parents also find solace at the Rural Normal School at Ayotzinapa.