Tag Archive | Tamara Hernández Heras

Police academy attacked near Atocha station in Madrid

From Indymedia Madrid:

April 5, 2010

Early Saturday morning, the entrance to a training facility for police and other servants of the state was attacked with stones. As long as they continue to imprison and beat us, as long as they exist, they will be thrashed. We attacked this academy with ease. Every one of us can spread revolt. Let’s attack all those who defend the state, who protect the dominators and their laws in order to keep the state functioning. Let’s stop the destruction of the Earth, let’s stop this barbarism. Let’s leave defensive strategy behind and begin the attack.

For Tamara, for all the imprisoned comrades, for the caged and tortured animals!

—Wild Earth

Communiqué from J.C. Rico on the release of M. Pinteño and A. Casellas

From Tokata:

March 26, 2010

Today I found out that Manuel Pinteño and Amadeu Casellas are FREE. Personally, even though I’ve never met them, this news fills me with joy. Yet it hasn’t pushed me into a state of euphoria. The fascist, thieving, oppressor state hasn’t given these comrades a gift. On the contrary, it has “stolen” the best years of their lives. And in dealing with these two people, as well as with comrade Joaquín Garcés, it has completely crossed the threshold of IT’S OWN existing laws regarding sentencing terms.

I’m not just happy for Manuel and Amadeu. I’m also happy for their families and loved ones, because this atrocious ordeal is over for them as well. But on the other hand, it saddens me to be reminded each day that the prison/murder industry inexorably continues to function at full throttle, leaving behind a stream of death, suffering, torture, and insanity. This fact should lead us neither to complacency nor to the delusion that “the system works just fine; it has its flaws, but it works.” That’s not the case. Nothing can be said to work when the very reasons for its existence, the principles that regulate its operation, are based on inequality and crime.

Therefore, I want to express my delight at the release of these two comrades, but I again want to repeat that while a single prisoner exists, while a single prison/living hell exists, while the State exists, we will continue to be “cannon fodder” for the death industry.

For this very reason, I insist on fire to the system. I’m calling for an increase in actions against it on an international level, not through “days of struggle,” but through permanent war all over the planet. We will always find one another there. Only through violent confrontation will we manage to Free ourselves from all their gallows, from all their executioners, from wholesale legalized murder. The rest is . . . I’m refraining from judgments so as not to hurt others’ feelings.

Free Tamara.

From Valdemoro prison slaughterhouse, isolation block.

—Juan Carlos Rico Rodríguez

Attack on police academy in Madrid

From Klinamen via Indymedia Madrid:

March 24, 2010

On the night of February 28, we found ourselves compelled to attack a police academy on Paseo de las Delicias near Plaza Ana la Beata. We say we found ourselves compelled, because it’s clear to our conscience that we are in the midst of a hidden social war.

We won’t stay still while the state’s dogs arbitrarily arrest, torture, imprison, and harass us.

We joyfully learned of the attacks carried out by comrades in struggle on New Year’s Eve. That’s the way to do it. The more you try to repress us, the more often you will find us there to tell you that there will be a price to pay for all the harm you cause.

We want to stress that we must lose our fear and attack these bastards. We aren’t super-activists/militants. We’re normal people, and if we can do it, so can you.

With this action, we want to remember the comrades recently abducted by this shitty system: anarchist comrade Tamara, and Galician comrades Xurxo y Oscar.

From the other side of the wall: Letter #2 from Tamara

From Punto de Fuga via Tokata:

February 11, 2010

These letters sent from inside the gray, cold prison of Brians are an attempt to return, in some way, all the warmth and affection to those who, with their support and solidarity, have managed to kill the everyday loneliness and routine concealed by imprisonment; to those who are giving me so much strength and vitality right now, and crossing the barrier that separates us to make sure I never lose the feeling of freedom; to all those who are showing how a simple pen and paper can restore one’s hope and desire to keep fighting; to all those who are struggling against the business of torture, punishment, and repression represented by prisons.

And to all of you . . . what can I tell you that you don’t already know? How struggle is repressed? How voices are walled in? How their filthy laws control our lives?

I could tell you how, on December 15, 2009, before the sun went down, a group of Civil Guards entered my home, took whatever they wanted, and abducted me.

I could try to explain what I felt while listening to cries of pain and fear from a jail cell in a police station.

I could pass along the experiences that some prisoners have shared with me, in which they speak of humiliation, of torture, of helplessness, of solitude.

I could talk about what I’ve been able to observe from this side of the wall, like how the “Penitentiary Business” profits from the people it captures, and how they call this “reinsertion” (strange word).

I could illustrate, with some events I’ve been able to witness during this month-and-a-half without freedom, how the prison health system functions, how methadone and other legal drugs are its best methods of control, and how very little people’s health and lives matter.

I could talk about the sadness I feel in the mornings, when I hear so many say “one day less” instead of “one more day.”

I could tell you that, behind these walls, people are being isolated and destroyed.

But . . . all this rings a bell, right? We’ve heard it all before, we’ve been through it all, it’s all happened to others many times, we know all about it. We know that we find ourselves inside an unjust system that sentences us to a “non-life” in which the false idea of “well-being” blinds and condemns people, in which work shackles us, their laws control us, and prison represses and punishes us.

I refuse to fall victim to all this, and even now I don’t feel like one. I want to be and always will be their “problem.” And that’s why what I really want to get across with these words is the desire for us to keep fighting, to not surrender, to continue coping, to try—at least—to breathe freely and feel alive.

I think of you and I feel alive, free, and strong, and that’s why your solidarity has managed to be stronger than the bars of their cells.

For that reason, this letter is addressed to all those who—every day—make the struggle worthwhile, to all the people being held captive in these Death Camps, to all those struggling inside and outside the prisons.

Accept this sisterly embrace, filled with Freedom and rebellion.


- Tamara (January 26, 2010)

From the other side of the wall: Letter #1 from Tamara

From Punto de Fuga via Tokata:

February 11, 2010

Note from TIOJ: This particular letter was riddled with ellipses, which we assume indicated where the prison censors did their foul business. For the sake of readability, we’ve omitted the ellipses from our translation.

I’m fine, considering the circumstances. It’s now been more than a month since they arrested me, with all the commotion that involved, and I prefer to remember it as a bad dream.

In spite of everything, I can tell you that it didn’t make me fall apart, and I’ve been―and still am―strong enough and itching to keep up the fight. And that’s thanks to you, to all of you out there. Because you have kept me in mind all this time, I have never felt alone, and I think that’s very important to someone in jail. It makes me feel really fortunate because, in truth, the worst thing here is loneliness, which amplifies the desperation, the humiliation, the helplessness, and the fear. That’s why I find myself obliged to be cheerful and to pass along all my good cheer. Because here it’s very easy to be in the yard and find yourself crying to someone for (apparently) no particular reason.

The truth is that right now I find myself somewhat lost and isolated even though I know you’re out there, despite the matter of the confiscation of my letters. But these fucking walls are sometimes very strong, and they prevent me from clearly seeing the reality on the outside (although I can more or less imagine it).

I feel that the best solidarity is to continue the struggle. That’s why I think that, if there is a campaign for me, it must have continuity and a real undercurrent that helps strengthen the anti-prison struggle. Otherwise, it makes no sense to me, and I don’t want other efforts to grind to a halt on my account. Besides, I’m more calm now. Reflecting on what I can, I intend to find a way to keep fighting from this side of the wall.


- Tamara (January 23, 2010)


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