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Church, Guerrero Negro
Mazatlán Coast
Mazatlán street
Pino Suarez Market in Mazatlán. Huge indoor market where independent vendors sell meat, fruits, vegetables, clothes, random knick knacks, and other things.
Pino Suarez Market, Mazatlán. Pig's head sitting in a bin of meat. As a vegetarian, I was both shocked and intrigued at the openness with which the people in Mexico face their food. Nothing is wasted and not many people can afford to be squeamish. This is quite a difference from the U.S. where we are so used to buying our meat shrink-wrapped in the store and most of us prefer our meat to be ground and disguised so we can't tell where it comes from.
Mazatlán. There are taxis in Mazatlán, but there are also these little golf-cart-type taxis called "pulmonías." This means "heart-attack" in Spanish. A friend of mine told me that supposedly when this business was started, somebody reacted to the idea by saying that people riding in these things would have a heart attack. Then the name stuck. That's the story I heard, anyway.
Mazatlán is one of my favorite cities in Mexico. One reason why is the day I took this photo. Two musicians were walking up the beach, one carrying a CELLO. How often do you see a person carrying a cello on a beach?? (Sigh...) Anyway, musicians on the beach are quite a common sight in more touristy coastal areas. Cellos, however, are more of a rare sight.
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The Cathedral
Mazatlán
There´s a square in Mazatlán flanked by an enormous cathedral. It towers over the square and at night bright floodlights shine up onto its muscular detailed turrets. Inside there are serene white statues of angels and the Virgin Mary and Jesus and other Biblical people. A gigantic Virgin Mary rises at the front of the church with gilded rays emanating from her. Above her is a beautiful mural of God and some Angels, lit with a glowing electric blue. Intricate golden details line the impressive dome ceiling and walls. During the day the sun beams through the numerous stained glass windows throwing rays of colored light on the walls and statues.
In the back of the cathedral there are rows of electronic candles. You can light one and say a prayer by depositing a peso into a little slot. Old women kneel and pray by the candles. The Virgin Mary stands behind the candles once again, her head leaning gently to one side, her hands gracefully outstretched to offer her guidance.
There are donation boxes all over the cathedral, geared to locals and tourists alike. There are signs on them that say thank you for helping with the grand restoration of this cathedral. And, as beautiful as this building is, I just can’t bring myself to drop money in the donation box. It’s not because I’m not Catholic. It’s because... Well, it’s just a building. And wouldn’t all that money be better spent on somehow helping the poverty-stricken masses of this country?
What would Jesus do?
I read once that years ago the Jews didn’t believe in building beautiful, ornate temples. They created simple buildings, because the point of practicing religion is to practice it - not to look at and admire pretty things. I suppose it comes from the whole thing against "false idols" in the Bible. But I think they had a point there.
Whatever religion or spiritual practice you follow, you can practice it anywhere. The church in Guerrero Negro is a plain concrete building with plastic chairs lined up around a central area on the inside. Just a simple cross hangs at the front of the church. And they happened to find a few benches, so they are off to one side lined up next to the plastic chairs. For all its simplicity and character, I think Guerrero Negro´s church is far more beautiful.
On my way out of the grand cathedral in Mazatlán there was an old man standing by the door. His face was lined with hundreds of wrinkles, one eye was drifting and glazed over, and his body was slightly hunched over. He was holding a little plastic cup in front of him. Who knows what his story is... whether he is an alcoholic wandering the streets who has made some bad mistakes or just a sick old man who can’t work and can’t afford to take care of his ailing body. Either way, I didn’t feel like one to judge. That’s where my donation went.
The Taxi
Mexico City
It’s my routine to strike up conversations with taxi drivers. It not only is good Spanish practice, but it also is a way to try to avoid getting robbed by some desperate taxi driver. I lie and say my husband is waiting for me at the hotel, and then let the taxi driver get to know who I am a little bit. If he is considering robbing me, then maybe if he relates to me, it’s less likely he will rob me.
So, I did this with the taxi driver in Mexico City on the way to the bus station. It started out as the typical routine conversation.... "Good morning." "How are you?" "Where are you from?" "Do you like it here?"
We started to talk about Mexico City. He was born here, but he doesn’t like the city. Too much traffic. Too much rushing around. But this is where his job is. I asked about poverty here. He confirmed that, yes, there is a lot of poverty in Mexico City. He said typically a person makes about 40 pesos in one day. That's roughly less than 4 U.S. dollars. I spent more than that on batteries for my headphones this morning.
He said 30 pesos will cover food for the day. Then you only have 10 pesos left. You have to pay the rent, the electricity, take care of your family. What can you do?
The official minimum wage here is Mexico is 42 pesos a day. That’s why so many companies are shutting down plants in the U.S. and moving them here - if you can get away with paying somebody about $4 a day, that’s a great business strategy. Fuck ethics. Fuck any sense of compassion. What if somebody gets sick? How will he pay for the doctor? How will he pay for anything if he is missing work?
The taxi driver told me that minimum wage in the U.S. is a lot of money for people down here. Imagine - you can make $5.25 PER HOUR! That’s more than you make in a whole day here! You work eight hours.... hell, that’s more than 40 dollars! Imagine that!
He explained to me that in his particular job he would have to work 16 to 18 hours in order to make $40. I thought long and hard about that, because at my freelance job back home, I make $40 PER HOUR. Looking at it from that vantage point reaches right inside your chest and twists your heart around. There are not a whole lot of things that will strike you that way. It makes you feel guilty - guilty for being in such a position of affluence, guilty for ever complaining about your working conditions. It makes you feel sad for humanity. It makes you feel angry and helpless.
So imagine how angry and helpless somebody who makes $4 a day must feel. No wonder people like me get robbed.
I was quiet for a long time, thinking about all this as we darted through the traffic. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted to fix everything right then and there, but I couldn’t. So I just told him, "I wish the economy could be changed. I wish it could be better. This country is so beautiful, and that’s so sad."
He replied, "Thank you. But the government here is very corrupt." And he explained how hard it is to change things when there’s so much corruption. Yeah, I’ve been there. The United States is like that too.
We arrived at the bus station. I wanted to give him a big tip, but I was conflicted about it. I had $10 for the cab ride, and then a few big bills - $20 and $50. (I’m translating pesos to dollars here.) I tried to think about how to tip him, and about whether he would even have change. (Often they don’t.) And then all these bus station workers were coming at me asking questions. "Where are you going?" "Do you need help with your bags?" The taxi driver got my bags out of the trunk. I gave him my $10, and before I could say anything, he gave me a little yellow fruit.
"What is it?" I asked. He told me the name of the fruit, but I forgot.
"It’s a gift," he said. "Have a safe journey." I said thank you, and he got in his cab and drove away.
And I really, really wish I had tipped him.
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Brothers and Sisters
Oaxaca City
There are many elderly people begging in the streets of Oaxaca City. It’s bad enough that there are people begging at all, but the number of them who are elderly, women, and children just breaks your heart. A new friend of mine I’d met in Oaxaca discussed this with me - how it’s so sad that you can’t give to them all, and yet how do you decide which ones to give to? How is one person more worthy of a donation than another? Just because she happened to be sitting closer to the direction you were coming from? It's a sad game of chance, and that’s aside from even considering which ones of them may be lying about being poor at all.
We were walking in front of one of Oaxaca City’s many beautiful, grand cathedrals when a frail old man approached us. He had wrinkles as deep as canyons carved across his face and hands and one eye was glazed over with a ghostly layer of white. He asked us for change, and both of us had completely run out. We only had larger bills on us, so we said no. And he begged us please - he was hungry.
Nearby was a cluster of ice cream stands. I suggested we walk over there together and we could buy him some food. He was very fond of this idea, and he took us both by the arm and walked with us - him in the middle. He was very happy to have two companions, and seemed quite proud. I forgot his name (I’m so horrible with names), but I remember his age. He said he was 105 years old! Granted, he was likely exaggerating, but he clearly was not far from that age either way.
He sat down with us at a little table and we ordered him some frozen treat that was new to me - it was like a slushy made of some local fruit I’d never heard of. It was dark brown and very sweet. Before he ate it, he took a spoonful of it and insisted that I eat some. He held the spoon up in front of my face until I took a bite.
He so strangely reminded me of my grandpa, who is 97 years old and who used to spoon feed me when I was a little girl. In fact, he had many of the same mannerisms - the same goofy smile, the same sense of humor that gave him great pleasure when we all started feeding each other with our separate spoons. In a parallel world, he and my grandpa could have been friends. We finished our desserts and said goodbye to the old man. It was difficult, because he was really enjoying the company, but we had other plans.
Many of the poor people in the states of Oaxaca and Chiapas are indigenous people, who have a long history of having their land stolen and being discriminated against, much like the Native Americans in the U.S. Except that it’s just more visible here. The indigenous population is large in this area, and tourists buying handicrafts or just giving money are a great source of income for them, so they are all over the streets here. An older, conservative Mexican woman once told me that some of them are actually well off and they lie about being poor; that they actually make more money than I do. But this is the same sort of rhetoric I hear about poor people in the U.S. If this is so, why aren’t the children in school? Why do the children have dirty clothes? Why do the women have bad teeth? And even if this is true for some of them, it surely is not the majority. I’d rather be ripped off a few times than not give at all.
The day before I ate frozen fruit with the old man, I saw President Vicente Fox speak in Oaxaca City. It was something I sort of stumbled into. There were riot police in the street decked out in their full gear - shields, helmets, and guns. And then long lines of people leading up to a popular historic museum. I asked someone what was going on, and they told me that Fox was in town. And I thought, Why not go see him? I got in line with a bunch of Mexican women, but the security wouldn’t let me in. I was a tourist, and they assumed I just wanted to see the museum. I said, "But President Fox is here, right? I just want to see him." And after politely asking four or five times, they finally gave in and let me enter. I was the ONLY tourist inside there.
Citizens, government workers, farmers groups, indigenous groups, women’s groups, and important looking people in suits filled a large open area within the museum. Video cameras lined one part of the wall near a long stage with a podium. President Fox entered through a doorway near where I was standing. He followed a path lined with metal hand rails through the middle of the audience. People crowded against the railings and shook his hand.
President Fox has a deep, booming, commanding voice. He was wearing a simple dress shirt with jeans, which was maybe his attempt to relate to the common man. Oddly enough, like an expert politician, he said a lot of things that I fully agree with. He spoke of an initiative to have universal health care and insurance for every Mexican citizen, and specifically referred to the elderly and the children who are in the streets. He even spoke of the importance of indigenous rights. I wonder what Mr. Fox’s stance is on better wages, since that’s part of the whole problem of poverty here. And if he supports indigenous rights so much, why doesn’t he start an initiative to give the indigenous Mayans of Chiapas and Oaxaca their autonomy and more protection from exploitation?
When was the last time he had to pass by a dozen poor old women begging in the street in one day? How much does he really relate to the common man? Clearly, he had a lot of supporters in that room. Does he truly want to make an effort to change the system, or does he just like to talk a lot so people chant supportively for him? I can guess, but I really don’t know. Mexicans would have a much better idea. Many Mexicans here have told me that they don’t like Fox, and that he has not followed through on his promises to change the corrupt system here. Sounds like my country.
Many of the local Mexicans in Oaxaca City post resistance flyers all over the place. There’s even one group of hotel workers striking; they have been on strike for almost two years. They sit in front of one of the nice hotels on the main square and have shifts, so they are there 24 hours a day. There are flyers here and there throughout the city demanding indigenous rights, calling for boycotts against large corporations, and speaking out against biotech foods. One of the flyers advertised a series of screenings about various Latin American revolutions. I decided to go.
The first one I attended was a film about the civil war in Guatemala. It was extremely sad, and was based on a true story about a woman and her family who were driven from their land in Guatemala by the army. The army would just rampage these little villages searching for supporters of the guerrilla. But they would indiscriminately torture and kill innocent people, burn their houses, and trash their land. No wonder so many people joined the guerrilla. (These are the kinds of activities the U.S. trains Latin American soldiers to do at the School of the Americas in our very own Fort Benning, Georgia. It still goes on today - our tax dollars at work. Check out http://www.soaw.org/new/ if you’re curious.)
There was a discussion after the film. A man sitting next to me spoke very eloquently and emotionally about the killing of innocents in Guatemala as well in other places. He referred to the war in Iraq too. His voice broke and he was moved to tears. He said, "Animals kill for hunger. People kill for.... I don’t know... because they are sick."
In Latin American culture with all its machismo you don’t expect to see a grown man weep. That sort of thing can rip your heart right out of your chest! I was sad for him, but I also felt a little less alone, because I feel the same emotions about all the violence that goes on in this world.
He was at the screening the next night too. I talked to him a little, and it turns out he is from Guatemala, and that’s why the film about Guatemala affected him so deeply. This screening was about Cuba, and afterwards I decided to talk, since I was probably the only gringa there that I could tell. I said that there are many in the U.S. who support the war in Iraq and various other wars we’ve participated in in Latin America, but there are also many of us who speak out against this. There are many of us who protest and who are trying to change our government. I said I was sorry for all the atrocities my government has done. But I also said that finding myself in a room full of people who believe in peace the same way I do all the way down here in Oaxaca gave me great hope. They applauded me. Then the man from Guatemala raised his hand and told me, "We understand that the government is different than the people of your country. You are a beautiful sister." I felt like I had found home in that little room.
As David Rovics says, "We are everywhere."
But life is a very complicated thing. There are the poor indigenous, the hotel strikers, the people begging in the streets, the tourists, the activists, the government officials, the soldiers, and a system that is broken in some way. But all of these people who play a role are all human beings, and they all want the same thing - love and happiness. And I can't think of the corrupt government as this abstract nebulous evil thing that's out to get us. It's made up of human beings too. I saw it when I took a picture of the scary looking riot police in the street in Oaxaca City. When I asked them politely if I could take their picture, they smiled. Some of them shook their heads and looked shy and embarrassed. Some of them were a bit flattered, but felt a little silly posing for a photo. Could these people shoot me, really? If I really stood here and talked to them, face to face, like a sister, could they? Do they want the 105 year old man to starve in the street? Do they want the indigenous peoples' homes to burn down? I don’t believe they do. They don’t want to kill people – they shoot because that’s just what they’re trained to do.
Maybe I’m naive, but I really believe that there is a way to reach out to people on that human level. I believe we can find some kind of common ground, and then educate each other, and search for a solution that’s just and peaceful for everyone. In fact, I feel that’s the only way. It’s absolutely necessary. We need to be able to see everybody as our brothers and sisters before we can truly find peace. |
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