Today on my way to teach in Xantún I passed a funeral procession – what appeared to be the entire town on foot – carrying  a casket.  I arrived at the school early and by 3 o’clock only three students had arrived.  The teacher informed me that the brother of one of our students had died, that the students were heading to the church, that he was going to take the rest of the students in his van, and would I be willing to accompany them.  I said of course, and we went to the large Catholic church in the plaza in Toto.  The church was packed – I found standing room in the back with some of my students – and the service, which was also being held for an older, unrelated, woman who had recently died, was very peaceful.

After the service, a few hundred of us followed the procession from the church to the cemetery.  I asked around and was told that the brother was 18-years-old and that on Tuesday he was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered.  Yesterday his body was found in the same place that another young man was found decapitated a month ago.  Allegedly, no one knows the motive or the murderers.  At the cemetery the family screamed and sobbed.  The father was so drunk he could not stand without the support of at least two or three other men.  He wept and screamed uncontrollably, the only intelligible words being “mi hijo, mi hijo.”  Needless to say, it was a pretty unbearable scene.  Venders took advantage of the crowd to hawk peanuts and cotton candy.