The miserable minimum wage is violent, pensions are unworthy and inequality is macabre.
Violence is what we live daily, systematic and brutal, what is lived in the populations, what is lived by the most forgotten with this inhuman system.
Inequality became injustice, injustice became indignation.
Indignation is what made Chile rise up and wake up.
That other Chile that passes silently through the city, the one that fills the public transport, the one that works in their homes and the one that attends them in the commerce.
The rage was contained, it was part of our silences, part of our wounds and our fears. We had become accustomed to silence, to conformism, but that time was over and that October 2019 arrived.
While uncertainty settled in our thoughts as a constant scenario, fire gives hope that what we dream of as utopia may be possible.
Fire in the streets, fire in our bodies, fire in our heads and in our veins.
Fire shows us the beauty of disobedience, brings us together in front of its heat, around its light.
We did not know what it was like to feel that anger and joy could coexist in the same place, we did not know how liberating it was to recognize and share resentment. We didn't know that fire was a way to heal our wounds.
We were excited for everything to burn, for everything to disappear in ashes, to melt those frozen hearts consumed by the neoliberal routine.
The fire that was lit was the answer to brutality, to inequality, to police violence, to that Chile that they wanted to show as the jaguar of Latin America, but that ended up being a mirage.