Guns

I’m far away from the tragedy of Norway, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. It was a horrible massacre and a terrorist attack which should never have happened. But it did.

We know something about shootings in Finland too: the school shootings in Jokela 2007 and in Kauhajoki 2008. Every Finn will certainly remember the horrific moments of these tragedies. Innocent students and teachers murdered – for what?

We all agreed that something has to be done. But what? That’s where no one agrees.

The former Finnish prime minister Matti  Vanhanen demands changes in gun laws in Finland: a claim that has been made by others before. To make it more difficult to get a license for a gun, and forbid certain automatic guns all together.

But does that really change anything? For me it sounds like an easy way out. Something needs to be done, so let’s change the law, that’s what politicians know how to do. But is the problem really the guns that exist?

Guns cannot shoot by themselves. Guns cannot load themselves. Guns don’t kill people. People kill people. If we don’t fix the actual problem, changing the gun laws will not change anything; except make the life of hunters and sports shooters more difficult. And we have a lot of them in Finland: people who are law-obedient citizens, but happen to work, compete or otherwise hobby guns. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Breivik did not shoot all those people just because he happened to have access to a gun. If a person is set on doing something that terrible, he or she will do it one way or the other. A gun is only means to a goal. If you don’t have a gun, you think of something else.

Besides, gun laws only affect legal guns. Nowadays pretty much anyone can get a hold of an illegal gun even in Finland.

My question is what went wrong in our society so that a person can get so angry at the world he wants to massacre innocent people, teenagers, students, teachers?

And what can be done?

"No law ever prevented a crime"

- Author unknown

Dying for Truth

I’m sorry I haven’t written anything since I got out of the hospital – I’ve been too busy doing everything I wanted to do in Mexico. I went scuba diving, jetskiing, wrote an article about getting sick on a vacation, went up to a small town in the mountains, tried some awesome seafood.

So I’ve been enjoying myself. Finally! But I haven’t totally forgotten journalism or the sad reality here in Mexico.

Yesterday a female crime reporter and columnist Yolanda Ordaz de la Cruz was found murdered in the city of Veracruz. Headcount for murdered journalists since 2000 has risen to 77; 23 have gone missing since 2003.

“Ordaz was one of those journalists who were exposed to danger because of their reporting speciality. At the same time, a link to organized crime obviously cannot be excluded in a state where three feared gangs, the Zetas, the Gulf Cartel and Michoacán’s La Familia, operate. And it is hard not to link Ordaz’s murder with that of her colleague, López, whose columns may have upset certain officials,” says Reporters without Borders.

Ordaz is the seventh murdered journalist in Mexico this year. In June her colleague Noel Lopez Olguin was found dead after been missing for three months.

I find myself speechless. I have the utmost respect for these brave journalists, who risked their lives for the truth. No one should ever have to die because of truth. The truth is our right, the right of the people. Journalists in Europe working in safe offices with safe subjects and have no idea what the reality can be. But don’t get me wrong: all journalists should be able to work in a safe office, write about the truth and at the end of the day, go home to their families with no fear of being threatened, kidnapped or killed. Or even worse; fear that something would happen to their loved ones.

It’s so easy to forget what happens to hundreds of journalists every year when you don’t have to face it every day. And who am I to say, anyway? I’m in Mexico, yes, but I have nothing in common with these brave reporters: except maybe passion for journalism and thirst for truth. But I can’t count myself as one of them: I wouldn’t dare to put myself in their league.

Reporters without Borders is working hard to protect journalists, trying to establish different programs and raise awareness. But is it helping? Can we see a future where every single journalist can work without fear?

I do not think so. And I find it absolutely remarkable that despite the fact they might be tortured or killed, many journalists keep going. They are not stopping. They have a higher calling.

I do not want to die because of my job, but I do envy these journalists: they have a deep passion that I want to share with them. Hopefully one day we can all share it – and be safe.

"Journalism can never be silent: that is its greatest virtue and its greatest fault. I must speak, and speak immediately, while the echoes of wonder, the claims of triumph and the signs of horror are still in the air."

-Henry Anatole Grunwald

Going Home

I’m looking at the mountains of Sierra Madre. I can see them from my window at the hospital. It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.

My doctor said I can go home today.

I’m smiling, yet I have tears in my eyes. Is it really over? Am I really well again?

Of course I will have to eat antibiotics for another week, and probably take some pain medication. But I can go home.

I’ve been sick almost two weeks now. That’s half of my vacation in Mexico. From life’s perspective it’s a really short period of time. But when you are really sick, the concept of time changes. When you sweat in high fever, tossing and turning in your bed, feeling pain all over your body, minutes seem to last hours and hours seem to last forever. Or when you’ve been on the verge of unconsciousness for a day, it feels like you just closed your eyes five minutes ago.

I want to thank everybody who has been thinking about me, praying for me, sending me messages or writing on my Facebook, commenting on my posts and pictures. My last blog post was the most read post ever, so that shows me that people do care. You have helped me to smile through this time. I’ve learned that kind words, smiles and caring touches can really make a huge difference in one’s life.

Staying in the hospital gave me a lot of time to think. About life, what is important to me, what to be thankful for. And I’ve realized that I have absolutely nothing to complain about. There are a lot of people who spend most of their lifetime in a hospital; or people who are seriously sick but never receive hospital care or medication.

I’m lucky in so many ways and humbled by the fact that I’ve done nothing to deserve it. And I’m thankful for this experience I had, how it made me view my life in a different way.

But today. Today I’m going home.

"Ollaanko enkeleitä toisillemme, siipiesi suojaan saanko painaa pään? Jos oomme enkeleitä toisillemme, saamme rakkautemme kestämään."

- Jope Ruonansuu, "Enkeleitä toisillemme"

Behind the hospital curtains

I watch a nurse whose name I don’t know to put an IV in my vain. I answer a bunch of questions about my age, religion, place of birth and known diseases (none). I’ve never spend a night in a hospital before, and never would I ever have guessed my first one would be in Mexico.

That was 34 hours ago. I’m sitting in my room, in San Javier Marina Hospital, Puerto Vallarta, typing. Yes, I have my own room; I also have bathroom with shower and TV (the TV is not in the bathroom). I order my breakfasts, lunches and dinners from a menu. I’ve talked to a nutritionist who works here, I’ve talked customer representative who wanted to know if I have any complaints. Only one: the fact that I’m still sick.

It’s almost like staying in a hotel, except that I’m attached to a rack of tubes, bags of drugs and a monitor; and instead of spa treatment and massages I have to pee in a cup and I wear a gown. I start to think that I’m in one of the episodes of House. At this point I wouldn’t mind a self-centered, strongly sarcastic and ego-centric doctor, if he would just know how to actually make me better.

Right about now I’m also very happy about my insurance, which covers the costs of this private hospital. Otherwise I would have had to go to a public one, where I would be queuing with hundred and something other patients, sharing a room (or the hallway) with bunch of others. Although my nurse Alex, who also works at the public hospital, told me that people there are very humble and it’s rewarding to work there. I’m sure I would hear many touching life stories there. Here I mainly talk to myself.

I’m forced to sharpen my crappy Spanish, though. Some of the staff don't speak English. Si, yo tengo mucho dolor. No, no necesito pipi ahora. Me gusta comer pescado. Si, yo se que me parezco a la mierda.

But in the end there is only one thing that has really kept me sane during these long, long days of sickness. And that is the man, who faithfully has been helping me with every single small thing, checking my temperature, feeding me when I’m too tired to eat, forcing me to drink when he knows I’m dehydrating, and brushing my teeth when I have difficulties using my right hand because of the IV.

He skipped work to stay with me yesterday, smuggled me dinner when I missed mine here and slept the night on a couch (and not a comfortable one) next to my bed. It is only his jokes, which make me laugh even if in pain, and sincere caring that has made me feel really happy to be here, no matter the circumstances.

Therefore, dear friends and readers, do not worry for me. For I have all the attention and care I need to get well.


"Patients sometimes get better. You have no idea why, but unless you give a reason, they won't pay you."
-Dr. Gregory House

Sleepless in Mexico

The dawn is almost here, but I have not been able to sleep for hours. In fact I am writing this blog in high fever, so no guarantees of the quality.


What was supposed to be simple infection cured by antibiotics has turned out to be endless visits to hospitals, meeting with different doctors and specialists, changing drugs and antibiotics. I am now taking some antibiotics as shots straight into the vain. I take drugs that are supposed to help with fever and pain: they do neither. Instead I get side effects like rash and weird tingling in my muscles.


I don't sleep at night. I toss and turn and try to deal with fever. Usually in the morning I fall asleep for couple of hours.


This is not how I was planning to spend my vacation in Mexico. Oh no, I was supposed to tan at the beach, to learn how to surf, eat tacos (to be honest, I have done that) and enjoy myself. Well, it's just as fun to try to guess what kind of side effects I'm having yet again from new drugs I have to take, and how much money I eventually end up paying for them (I have a hint: a lot!).


And so far the doctors have absolutely no idea which bacteria is causing my infection. Isn't this exciting?


Today I am supposed to get final results of my tests. Let's hope that clears things out. Because if I am yet again just prescribed new drugs, I am going to do some serious damage. And if you don't hear from me for a while, I'm probably hallucinating in a Mexican hospital or arrested in a Mexican jail for destroying a hospital. 


"A hospital is no place to be sick"
-Samuel Goldwin

Fever in Mexico

I have been trying to think hard what to write about Mexico. It has been said that to write well you have to write what you truly know. I could write more about drug wars and violence: I could write about corruption and political issues.

But I have not really experienced any of that since I’ve been here. I’m on the west coast, in a more touristic beach city with surfers and scuba divers: life is quite different here. Only thing I’ve noticed so far is the police, who carry automatic weapons you could never ever see regular officers carry in Europe.

But I don’t really want to write about the guns of the police.

I have a better topic in mind. And this is definitely about personal experience.

People who know me would say I’m very independent: I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been around, I’ve done this and that, whatever life throws at me, I’ll survive. Well Mexico taught me that sometimes you need someone, and it’s okay to need help. Because only when you are helpless and vulnerable you can truly receive – and understand - kindness from another person.

Yesterday morning I felt unbelievably bad, thinking first I’d had too much sun, deciding to stay in bed. Around afternoon I had high fever, unable to get out of bed at all, unable really to even sit. I felt seriously dehydrated as well, but couldn’t get up to drink.

I had no understanding of time. I felt like floating, maybe outside my body, being somewhere else. And it was right then, when a friend came to check up on me. I could not even raise my head to say hello: I had absolutely no strength left in me.

He got me Gatorade and some other Mexican stuff for dehydration, forced me to drink, and basically fed me little bit of food, although I was not able to eat more than three bites. Feeling how hot I was he insisted taking me to hospital, which I refused couple of times: it’s just a fever, I said.

Finally at midnight, being in severe pain, my condition was bad enough for me to admit I needed to see a doctor. My friend drove me to emergency care in the middle of the night. He made sure I got the best treatment, helped me fill out the papers and talked to the doctor.

It was nothing deadly: an infection that only required antibiotics. But without my friend I would probably still be in my bed, unable to get up, unable to drink, hallucinating in high fever.

I know what you are thinking: that’s very sweet, but not really anything special. Quite frankly, any friend would do the same. True. I’m not so much touched by what he did; I’m touched by the devotion and sincerity he did it with. I have never received such innocent and sincere kindness and caring from anyone (except my parents). It truly touched my heart. 

Nobody likes to be helpless. Nobody likes to be unable to take care of themselves. But maybe sometimes we need to be helpless in order to learn something: about life, about fellow humans… about love.

"Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see."

-Mark Twain

No to drugs

Mexico is one of the most dangerous countries for media in the western hemisphere, says the website of Reporters without Borders.


I stare at the statistics. 71 journalists murdered in Mexico after 2000. Many disappeared. None of the murders or disappearances has ever been solved, no one has even been arrested or tried.


Mexico seems to be a dangerous country for journalists - matching even for Columbia and Libya. And that is where I'm going to be tomorrow. Chilling.


The reason for all the danger is obvious: drug cartels. Cartels fight against each other and against the government; even though corruption is high, Mexico's official policy is to tackle the drug problem. Unfortunately it seems like a lost cause.


More than 36 000 people have been killed in the drug wars since 2006. Cartels especially target police officers: either work for us or die. Juarez, city on the northern border, is one of the most dangerous places in the world. Children grow up with violence: it's rare to find an eight-year-old who hasn't witnessed murder. 

It's a tragic world with no end in sight. It is definitely not a problem Mexico can solve by themselves: United States is hugely involved since the guns the cartels use are bought from the States and most of the drugs end up in the American market. A random guy in California buying weed for weekend might think he is not harming anyone, but that is not the whole truth. Buying any kind of illegal drug, even weed, supports drug cartels and violence involved in the business. Mexican cartels have long dominated marijuana market in the States and it serves huge junk of their profits.


Back in the 70s and 80s Columbia used to be the biggest cocaine producer and smuggler in the Americas: now they have lost the competition to Mexicans. Mexican cartels have gained power and have started to smuggle drugs also to Europe and Australia.


While countries all over the world continue to fight drugs domestically, it's not nearly enough. The problems lie much deeper. Wider international co-operation is needed. Countries like Mexico, Columbia and Afghanistan can not overcome this by themselves: it is just not going to happen, because while the roots of the problems are there, the money comes elsewhere.


Solving the drug problem is international responsibility.


Everyone can make a difference. Lighting up marijuana joint supports drug violence. Say no to drugs.


"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
-Martin Luther King Jr.