When I haven’t clearly seen the foreground, I cannot focus on the background. How can I see what is happening ahead before seeing the people standing shoulder to shoulder with me?

The most tangible feeling I can read from those hands and gazes is expectation—an expectation mixed with a kind of wonder and questioning. The one closest to me, from whom I see absolutely nothing except the shape of their clothes, tells me the same. A hand that has taken refuge on that young, fragile tree says the same: that we are uncertain and waiting. We have gathered around, assembled in a circle, locked eyes with one another, and are waiting for something to happen. In such an event, sometimes the movement of one person transforms the statement “we are waiting to find out what will happen” into “we have come to decide what will happen.”

I don’t understand what exactly is happening at the center of this human field. I cannot discern which exact event among the countless occurrences of the 1979 Revolution has brought us together, nor do I know what the shock and questioning looks have to do with that vehicle and the seemingly armed man. But I know that even a report from the center of the field will not answer my questions. I stand eye to eye and side by side with my companions, who, like me, do not know where this will lead or what the outcome of their actions will be, and I take comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this struggle.