BY Andrea Horcasitas Martínez
This reflection couldn’t have come at a better time. It arrives after the World Cup ended in Mexico City, the city where I work and live, and one of the three host cities in Mexico. This massive event, layered on top of the work we already do day to day, pushed us to the limit, broke our spirit, and left us severely burned out.
Working with grave human rights violations carries a permanent emotional cost. We work alongside families of missing persons in Mexico, accompanying search brigades, honoring memory, and pushing forward advocacy around the identification of human remains, the discovery of clandestine graves, and the denunciation of impunity.
Before the World Cup, we were used to sweeping this emotional cost under the rug and treating it as simply part of what it means to do this work. The World Cup changed that. It became impossible to pile anything else on. The rug was already overflowing with fatigue, with difficult and complex emotions, and with the trauma of the symbolic and collective violence the event brought with it.
During the World Cup, we had originally planned to do only the minimum necessary work so we could take part in the protests organized by families of the missing. That plan proved impossible. Instead, we ended up with a heavier workload and an accelerated rhythm — planning marches, organizing football matches (“cascaritas”), and keeping office hours, all at once. When you’re in the eye of the storm, it’s hard to realize you’re drowning. Our wake-up call came in the form of a police encirclement: during a protest with the families on one of Mexico City’s main avenues, we were surrounded, beaten, and verbally threatened by police. That same week, we were back in the office — there was a deadline.
Afterwards, we were forced to acknowledge that emotions need space and trauma needs recognition. Without hard conversations, pauses to reflect, and space to recognize what we are feeling, it’s impossible to do the work we do. We also need to be able to share what we need and ask for support from the rest of the team.
The World Cup did not create the emotional cost of this work, but it made it impossible to keep ignoring. It also showed us how difficult it is to maintain a horizontal structure in moments of extreme fatigue and doubt.
Horizontal structures need energy, patience, and a willingness to support them. In moments of crisis, they become compromised. These are some of the thoughts I have been reflecting on.
Horizontality is harder to sustain in moments of crisis.
Horizontality doesn’t mean everyone has to do the same things or hold the same responsibilities. We are all wired differently, have different skills and abilities, and we come from different experiences and backgrounds. Horizontality means dividing the workload according to people’s abilities, while leaving room to grow and learn other skills necessary for the work we do.
It also means decisions are taken collectively, and responsibility is divided collectively, though not necessarily equally. Some team members have higher workloads or are responsible for more things, both inside and outside the team. In moments of extreme fatigue and doubt. However, it is easier to fall back into rigid verticality and have others make decisions for us, be the responsible ones, and take the blame for the team’s errors.
Horizontality is not only about sharing the recognition for the work we do, but also sharing the cost of our errors. It means remaining aware of one another and understanding that our actions and decisions affect the rest of the team.
Self-care is not enough; we need to work towards collective care.
Setting limits, being aware of personal emotional costs, and taking time off are all important. However, if care stays at the individual level, it won’t do much to sustain the work in the long term. The World Cup forced us to confront this. If one team member cannot rest without putting the work at risk, or if the workload leaves no room to pause, self-care alone is not enough.
Care needs to be understood collectively. Team members need to support one another so that everyone can take time off without feeling guilty or putting the work at risk. The workload must be distributed in a way that allows rest to be possible. Taking time to rest means people can return with a better headspace and greater emotional bandwidth.
Care requires hard conversations.
The World Cup also forced us to recognize the emotions we had been sweeping under the rug. That recognition was not easy.
Many of us have been taught that conflict is bad. We may stay silent when we have been hurt or when we disagree because we hope the problem will go away. But silence doesn’t help horizontal structures. Conflict and disagreement can actually help us identify what’s not working in a team.
When people point out something they don’t agree with, or name something that has hurt them with empathy, hard conversations can become a practice of care. They allow us to take responsibility for things we have done that hurt other team members, often without realizing it, and to repair the damage. So, care is not about avoiding conflict but about recognizing our faults and doing something in response.
When working with extreme violence such as enforced disappearance, we need to be especially aware of how the work affects us emotionally and mentally. What we do every day carries an emotional and mental toll. It hurts. It can bring out the worst in us, and it may continue to affect us in ways we have not yet discovered. For this reason, we need to be disciplined in how we divide the workload and care for one another, individually and collectively. Otherwise, our well-being risks becoming the currency that allows us to sustain the work over the long term.
I am still a long way from getting there, but I’m no longer willing to ignore the warning signs. The World Cup was the wake-up call I needed. This reflection is a promise to do better for myself, for the incredible women I work with, and for the people we accompany.