Culture is like the weather in many ways.  We suppose that either one is ordinarily predictable, yet can be frighteningly spontaneous given any set of circumstances.  Both tend to be topics of extremely boring conversation, except when tragic death, destruction and open wounds are involved.  We think we’re observing ‘weather’ when we see snow drifts, hear thunder, or feel all slimy, smelly and sticky in the 96° heat at 92% humidity …  and it may very well be so.. what else would you call it?   Likewise, we see clothing that strikes us as odd, hear a song in a language we don’t know or eat some exotic food, and feel as though we’re experiencing a bit of ‘culture’… perhaps this also is true.   Both, definitely, are something that we can praise or blame for just about anything.

The esteemed anthropologist, however, is quite distinct from the lowly weatherman.  Local nightly news team weather gurus demand our attention far more for their charming personalities than for their ability to predict gusty winds or cold fronts.  We have weather all around us.  By experience we’ve learned to accept the daily forecast with a grain of salt. On the other hand, the anthropologist can often enjoy a far greater margin of error when under public scrutiny.   We’re not immersed in the world of which he speaks.  We have nothing to verify this acclaimed expert of distant cultures beyond his carefully chosen words and images from afar.

But what, really, should we expect to ‘discover’ about Mexico and its citizens, from a distance?

… very little. 

It’s quite common for foreigners visiting or living here to be asked what they think of Mexican culture.  A simple question to answer, one would think.  And should you wish to keep it superficial and polite, perhaps you could mumble some sweet nothing like,  “Oh, I love it!  People are so friendly here and know how to truly enjoy the things in life the rest of us take for granted.”   But if you can pull that one off without the bashful guilt of feeling like some wide-eyed Lisa Simpson type.. not to mention without itching all over, it’s most likely because you either are in fact Lisa Simpson or you’re still in college.. or both.  Naturally, through the lens of ‘higher learning’, a response like this makes such perfect sense.  And to be fair, the question, normally posed as no more than a means of making light conversation, is by no means a call to go jumping into the deep water. 

But just ponder the possibilities… what if you said this:   “Oh, I love Mexican clouds!  When they look like they’re going to rain, the rain really comes.  They’re not so deceptive like the clouds where I’m from…”  How do you imagine the applause for that one?  Surely no one would disagree… and hell, it makes just as brilliant a remark as the other “Oh, I love it…!” one mentioned further above.   I don’t know.. maybe you’re getting a nagging urge to enlighten the poor dumb bastard writing this slop, and interject here that ‘culture’ and ‘clouds’ are two completely unrelated things?  And that in fact culture is far more, ‘complex’, than mere clouds?   If so, I can assure you – you didn’t get it.  But feel free to come back and take a swing at it when you manage to get beyond your college years.

Mexican clouds

The problem with describing culture, especially a very diverse one like here in Mexico, is that it’s next to impossible to draw out in a manner by which another can equally comprehend it.   When explaining to someone what to expect, the best suggestion would be to expect nothing, regardless of however many books they’ve read on the subject.   In the event you decide to head down here, don’t fall into the trap of focusing on what previous fellow outsiders have written..  Far better would be to live here a while, and then pick up the book and see how it coincides with your personal experience. 

How a visitor sees a culture depends far more on the visitor than the culture itself.  The kind of individual you are, what you do wherever you go, and what you do in life are going to be the prism through which you observe anything new.  A person who stays in Mexico a week will leave with a much different impression than one who stays here a year or longer.  One who works will see things differently than one who doesn’t.  Those who speak Spanish will have a distinct experience from those who don’t; one who comes alone from one who arrives with friends or family;  one who comes from a city from another who comes from the countryside… as well as one who stays in a city from another who stays in a small town;  one who’s catholic from one who’s protestant, from one who’s not at all religious;  a person more to the political left from another more to the right; an optimist from a pessimist from a realist;  one who works for the government from one who works in the marketplace;  one who drives a car from one who doesn’t… and so on and so on…

When you read a book about culture.. anywhere..  you’re introduced to a mass of people, all homogenously characterized by the name and perhaps face of one or a handful of individuals that the author crossed paths with.  And that person’s experience becomes, in whatever way it might, your experience… which really is no experience.  Not at all the likely intention of the author, to be sure, though it’s almost always the inevitable outcome.  

However – when you physically enter a new culture, you don’t meet ‘the masses’.  It’s you now, who meets the individuals.   In no longer than it takes to lay down a book, the anecdotal, journalistic and statistical nature of cultural studies vanishes in a realm where the human nature of individuals, within a framework of history, beliefs, politics, economy, language, education, and most importantly, daily necessity, drives the unstoppable evolution of culture.   There’s an extreme divide between reading about a culture, and finding yourself among what in any book is nothing more than ‘them’.   Visitor or not, whether you even realize it or not, you become a part, however significant or microscopic, of your newly discovered culture’s endless, crawling metamorphosis.

Every individual in any society has an influence over the surrounding culture.  From those that most vociferously rebel against whatever the norms may be, to those who feebly bow to every standard without a hint of question.   Culture is determined by individuals, however many million there may be within it.  Most certainly, the culture we live in influences our behavior, but our behavior and individuality are determined by human nature… and our human nature is universal.   Sound too simplistic?  It is.  Or maybe it sounds just plain twisted.  It’s that too.

What’s this got to do with Mexico, you ask?  The same as it does for any country or society.  The healthy development of any culture depends on how many of its individuals are willing to take on and overcome the more unhealthy aspects of our human nature.   

If you saw a philandering Mexican man beat his wife nearly to death after he discovers that she too had the audacity to have slept with someone else, would you just cynically chuckle and say “Ah well, that’s Mexico…”?   Bueno, I don’t see it that way.  I see a three year-old boy that wants to play with the other kids’ hot wheels, but somehow just can’t emotionally cope when any of the kids touch his new Tonka bulldozer.   This is the pathetic child I see.. driven by no more than raw human nature, in the body of a grown man, married for no other reason I can think of than the devil having been bored one slimy, smelly and sticky afternoon in hell.   Only in the body of the grown man, he’s far more dangerous…  leaving the rest of us to face the unfortunate choice between putting up with him or having him put to sleep, as is the only responsible course of action with any rabid dog.

But whatever… this concept of culture is not for loving or hating, respecting or disrespecting.  All of that you do with people.  Some people are friendly, some not.  Some are very culturally sensitive, others couldn’t care less.  Many are dirt poor, and many are quite well-off.  I’ve met many extraordinarily intelligent and resourceful people, and others who are just plain stupid, their supposed education levels not being as much a factor as you might imagine.  Reminds you of the U.S., eh?  …or anywhere else for that matter.  The point is that there is no “Mexicans this, or Mexicans that” kind of analysis that’s going to be really useful to you should you ever decide to come.  You’ll have to ‘discover’ Mexico one person at a time.

It’s a fortunate thing for the weatherman that the Mexican clouds are not so complicated…

A few days ago I received an email from a fellow somewhat mexicanized gringo, who goes by the name “Doc”.  Yep, that’s him there to the left.  We’ve never met face to face, having just thrown comments back and forth at each other’s blogs, but he’s the kind of cabrón you’d love to accompany while out looking to raise hell in some darkened alley or sleazy bar (the ones where the urinals are out in the open and with the seemingly easygoing ugly bastards and their just plain frightful rent-a-women)…  Is that good or bad?  Let’s just say I like the old man.  Go spend a half hour or so at his site and I think you will too… and you’ll most likely come away feeling like you’ve already known him for years..  Anyway, here’s what he presented me with:

I’m asking for your help, bud.

I’m trying to help out a young lady that is in dire need of a helping hand. If you’ll check out my latest blogpost, you’ll see what it’s all about. I’m not asking you to contribute (obviously, if you want to, that would be great, but that’s not what this email is about), but rather to help me get the word out. If you’d be willing to make a blogpost about her situation, and throw it up on some bookmarking sites, I think it could really help. In fact, I’d even do the bookmark uploads for you.

I’ll owe ya a big one, if you could help out on this…

Doc

Well… what do you make of that?  What should one do?  Should I have responded saying that this site deals only in matters concerning daily life in Mexico, and that I’m not interested in converting it into a lonely bulletin board for cheap scams?  Perhaps.  Were it most people other than Doc, I would have.  But I went and read his two (now three) posts, and decided that if he’s so damned tenacious about this as he is, and this girl he’s trying to help is as determined as she is, what harm then is there in spreading the word to the 35 some odd lost souls who stumble their way onto chingodegringolingo every month or so….  

So what’s this all about, then? 

Consider this likely scenario (we’re gettin’ there, just bear with me):                                                    

You walk into an exceptionally quiet room full of people you know, maybe family.. coworkers possibly.. and after a rather apprehensive glance around this mysterious and melancholic dark cloud of humanity, an uneasy feeling begins to swirl about the depths of your mushy bowels…    You’ve taken your first step into the ‘no smiles’ zone, it seems.  The energy in the air, is.. poignant, to say the least.   It comes at you ominously, like a raging fist in slow motion, mashing its index finger right into that wrinkly skin between the brows and warning – “Not.. a word…!”  …But it’s just.. bizarre, man… no, man… it’s sheer trepidation you’re feeling now, and it’s boiling over and it’s about to just burst.   You simply haven’t a clue.. and the ensuing desperation yearns frantically for release.  Not a word, eh?  Well, words come forth.   They cut through the silence in fact like some.. dull steak knife.. back and forth, through an old cardboard box…  

“Have any of you seen my blasted car keys??  I am SO screwed if they don’t turn up!!!”

While some burning glares dart your way, others squint just a bit more tightly as they continue to stare listlessly at patterns on the carpet or out the window.. but amazingly, the overly solemn quietness prevails.  Completely beside yourself now, a chilling notion sets in, and you wonder in near panic –   “Mercy me.. has everyone else lost their keys too!?”

The woman closest to you moves in a bit closer… hand beside her mouth, palm facing out, as if she has a secret to tell you.  So you lean in and out of her mouth comes the faint whisper:  “It’s cancer… she has cancer..!”   … so quietly you may have to ask yourself if she even spoke at all… but just through her eyes comes gushing the unspeakable horror… And there you are, jaw dropped.. though still with no keys to drop on the floor, frozen..  not an enchanted moment.. absolutely not…

Okay, it may be a bit exaggerated and dramatic, but the point is this:  What is it about cancer that frightens us so?  What moves so many of us to feel that if we even say the word out loud, we’ll unleash some sort of inescapable cancer karma that will sneak out from under the bed at night and do revolting and dreadful things… like yank out every one of our teeth and rearrange them.. or pull our legs from their sockets… or inform us of our pending deaths within the next three, seven or  forty-six weeks?  At the end of the day, just as at the beginning.. and the middle, you either have cancer or you don’t.  Most of us don’t.  But what about those who do?    If we should stop to consider them for a moment, would it be a totally unforgivable sin not to be able to get beyond “Wow.. that sucks..” before going back about our business?  Ugly paragraph, is this not? 

If you want to discover anything good relating to cancer.. well folks, whispering and sugary coated empathy just isn’t going to cut it.  You must examine those who  possess not only the misfortune of a daunting uphill battle, but particularly those with the will to fight it and win it.   

Enter Rachel Hunnicutt-Knight, from Keller, TX.  Here’s another individual you’ll feel like you’ve known for quite some time should you visit her blog.  It’s worth your time to do so.  This woman can tell you all about the ugliness of cancer.. but more importantly she can tell you about life.  Fighting cancer for the third time before the age of 25, she’s decided to take anyone interested on a day to day trip through Chemo-land, and a relentless quest for a perfect bone marrow replacement.  This must be an incredibly expensive operation.  Though she has insurance, just the co-pay comes out to $80,000.  That’s a wee bit more than a tall order, and it may prove to be the toughest part of the whole ordeal.  Then again, it could turn out to be one of her finest successes, years from now.. looking back over a long life.

Doc, being a friend of a friend of her family, was moved.  And so he’s heaved all sorts of support to Rob Jones (the friend of Rachel’s family.. and very likely the next U.S. President), getting the word out on a website that Rob recently put up, Got-Marrow.org, with a paypal account to accept donations.  It’s okay if you believe it’s a scam.. I only suggest you take look at his and Rachel’s sites before accusing me of having been duped.    

Whatever funds she lacks, she makes up for a million times over with a modest but unwavering husband and family, and a few unhesitating friends  -  people who are empowered to help literally through her personal strength, courage, and attitude,  helping make her stronger with every effort they make.   No whispering here.  No terror gushing out through soppy eyelashes.   No bleeding hearts.  Just a job to do.  And it’s a job she aims to finish. 

Even if you are one of these weaklings afraid to mention the word, take a few moments to read her blog.  Even if you find yourself wallowing in apathy, take a few moments to read her blog.   She teaches a lesson about life that no one should ever forget:   Whenever life gets ugly, which it inevitably does for all of us at one time or another, you must make an assessment of whatever you do have that’s good, and put it to hard work.  For Rachel Hunnicutt-Knight, it’s not just a lesson… what’s clear for all of us who have taken the time to get to know her a bit, is that it’s something she’s damn good at!

We’re out here Rachel… and you’re in our prayers.   

Anyone who reads newspapers here or follows political trends likely knows of Sergio Sarmiento.  Sarmiento is a nationally syndicated columnist, economist, and has quite a long history in journalism.  He’s a politically philosophical writing machine, consistently putting out at least five new columns every week.   Some would consider him to be more to the right, others more to the left.. to some it’s not clear.. it all depends on which columns you’ve read… but it really doesn’t matter..  the point is that he’s an individual I’d love to sit down and have a few beers with and duke out some issues.  There are moments I’d like to give the guy a high five and a hug, and others I’d prefer to wring his neck until his face turned a gruesome shade of purple.

Of course I’m going to showcase a sample here of the latter, as will also be the case with the next post, ripping apart his views on the “tenencia”.   Why go cherry picking fights like this?  Because it’s more fun.   Would you really be interested in reading any of this if you thought I was just going to pat him on the back for the following string of paragraphs?  Now, it may turn out here that I’ve got it all wrong.   There’s always far more happening on the political playing field than meets the eye.. especially the eye of an amateur like myself…  But I honestly wouldn’t bother if I didn’t believe I had the upper hand.  Below are a few excerpts from Sergio Sarmiento, expressing his views concerning what he calls ‘the artificially low gas price’ here in Mexico (which isn’t really that low, in fact)..

“We’re spending away the last of the money from the oil bonanza.  But on what? ..you might ask.  On education?  On productive investments?  On infrastructure?  On fighting crime?  On fighting poverty?  No, not on anything that could make any sense in the long run.  We’re using the money we generate from a nonrenewable natural resource to subsidize a growing consumption of gasoline.”  (5-21-2008)

“If a country could really achieve prosperity on subsidies, Mexico would be one of the wealthiest countries in the world.  The reality, however, is exactly the opposite.  While other countries have come from behind to build more prosperous economies, we’ve perpetuated our poverty by giving out subsidies in astronomical quantities.

“We’ve never seen, however, a subsidy so burdensome and harmful as what today is being applied to fuel and energy.  Felipe Calderon himself has calculated that in 2008 alone the government will spend 200 billion pesos – almost 20 billion dollars – on this program.  According to him, the purpose is to combat inflation.  In the end all it will do is stall it a bit.

“This huge portion could be better invested in the construction of the two oil refineries the country so desperately needs, and for many other productive investments that would make us more prosperous and competitive.  But instead, the gasoline subsidy promotes the use of a contaminating fuel, and benefits mostly the least needy.”          (6-4-2008)

“The money that we’re losing, and that we can’t invest in social and economically rentable projects, we’re using to subsidize the consumption of gasoline by the wealthiest 5 percent of the population, the ones who have private vehicles.  Yes, it’s true that public and heavy transport also use fuel.  But the majority of the subsidy is being given to motorists.  Like all populist governments, Felipe Calderon’s is ransacking a company belonging to all Mexicans, including the poor, in order to give money to the wealthiest.”  (4-29-2008)

“Mexico has 138 automobiles for every 1,000 citizens (Nationmaster.com), which are possessed by the richest 10 – 12 percent of the population.”   (6-28-2010)

Hohhhhleeee crapoly, Batman.. where to start???

He does infer one very good point somewhere up there – that subsidizing poverty and failure will only generate more poverty and failure.  It’s one of the most basic characteristics of human nature.  One doesn’t need to be an economist to understand that you should never trust a mediocre worker who says the more money you pay him, the harder he’ll work.  The question here is, who’s paying who?  Who’s subsidizing who?

 “PEMEX is 100% Mexican, belongs to all Mexicans and is for the benefit of all Mexicans”

Since 1938, when the petroleum industry in Mexico was expropriated and nationalized, it’s not certain whether the above expression has ever truly been clarified for people in terms of what it really means.  I sure as hell couldn’t tell you.  One malcontent school of thought sees it in terms of “if it’s ours, why must we pay so bloody much for gasoline?”  Another point of view is “with the money PEMEX brings to the government (partially from exports, and partially through the sale of gasoline throughout Mexico), it can invest in projects that increase the prosperity of all Mexicans”  Sarmiento clearly concurs with the latter:

“What difference does it make – many people ask me – if PEMEX and the government lose money via gasoline sales?  Those who ask such questions demonstrate an absolute lack of awareness of the fact that we Mexicans are the owners of PEMEX and that the federal government is nothing other than an organization established by us in order to administer the resources that we collectively possess.  It’s as if we thought it makes no sense to demand that the administration of the condominium we live in keep it well maintained because we suppose that the administration is the only one that loses out and not us.”  (4-29-2008)

Yeah well, the problem Sergio is that the administration historically has taken our rent money to build and maintain its own condos, while investing no more than minimally necessary for ours not to completely dilapidate and collapse.  When they come around raising the rent, we have to wonder how many of us fools are going to just sit on our hands and take it.

In fact, neither of the two views above is valid, nor will they ever be at any point in the near future.  Mexico, even if the government wished to, cannot provide super cheap gasoline.  It hasn’t enough refineries to keep up with demand.  And regardless of the efficiency of those it does have, nearly half of all gasoline sold in Mexico is imported from the outside.  Sergio’s point of view holds just as little water, because as administration after administration has shown, apart from the crippling corruption within PEMEX, there’s no interest nor therefore any real initiative in the proper investment of PEMEX funds to work for the prosperity of Mexico. If there were, there would already exist a sufficient number of efficient refineries, not to mention a far greater acceleration of prosperity.

When he talks about PEMEX losing billions of pesos, he’s referring to the gas price.  For the last two or three years, starting way back when oil passed $100 and was nearing $150 per barrel, one of his biggest complaints against the Calderon administration has been its decision to maintain gas prices artificially low, supposedly to keep down inflation.. In fact, back in April of 2008, while in the U.S. the average national price was anywhere between $4 – $5 per gallon, here in Mexico we were paying about 7.15 pesos per liter.  At the time we were right at 11 pesos to the dollar, which came out to equal $2.45 (U.S.) per gallon. He predicted that if and when the barrel price should fall, which it most certainly did, there were going to be some nasty chickens coming home to roost, and that government would hardly have any money for anything.  Hence, the panic that the Calderon administration was recklessly favoring the less needy.  Of course, that’s going by a certain man’s definition of the term “less needy”.

The idea that only the wealthiest 10 – 12 percent of Mexicans possess automobiles is hopelessly absurd, and far beneath the intelligence of a man as much in the know as Sergio Sarmiento.  But evidently, that’s what he believes.  Only rich people have cars.  If it were anything close to true, he might be a bit closer to hitting the mark, but not much.  I can agree with him that the rich don’t lack cars.  But to suggest that 85 – 90% of the Mexican population doesn’t possess, much less benefit from the use of cars, comes dangerously close to pure academic ineptitude.  To go on to suggest that therefore we less fortunate would be economically in the clear from any hike in gas prices, and only enjoy the benefits of higher waves of wealth distribution, is nothing less than a cry for help  to have some common sense mercilessly beaten into you.

Nonetheless, Sergio’s and other coinciding arguments eventually won the day, sort of.  After a government price freeze that lasted nearly a year, gasoline finally took on a continually gradual increase.  The current price as of this week in July of 2010 is 8.36 pesos per liter (not bad, actually, considering that Sergio believes it should have been 14.00 from two years back).  At the current rate of roughly 13 pesos to the dollar, it’s equal to the same as two years ago – $2.45 (U.S.) per gallon, which actually is pretty close to the U.S. national average at the moment.  This however, is mere coincidence.  Gasoline in Mexico is not a market commodity.  The market does not determine the gas price here.  The government does.  And should government defend its decision to raise prices in order to keep up with the world market, what should we expect if again the barrel price suddenly drops, leading to lower gasoline prices throughout the market?  Bueno, call me cynical, but I think it would be foolish to expect Mexico to follow suit.

Add to that the fact that $2.45 is but 5% of the American minimum wage daily income.  The 32 pesos it takes to buy the same gallon of gas is over 60% of the Mexican minimum wage daily income.  Sarmiento may be sadly mistaken about only rich people having cars, but if the price here in Mexico continues to rise, his ridiculous assessment will become more and more accurate.  And this would be good for the poor?  This would be good for the economy?

Are we to understand then that this idea that “PEMEX belongs to all Mexicans for the benefit of all Mexicans” means essentially that it’s a government tool for the redistribution of Mexican wealth (formula = rich people guzzle gas, the proceeds which then are redistributed to bloated government salaries)?  If so, the gas price is nothing more than pure tax (that the government has not to lift even a finger to collect).  What Sergio calls a $20 billion subsidy, I would better see as a tax cut for any Mexican that benefits from gas consuming transportation… which is far, far more than the 10 – 12 percent that he believes doesn’t deserve it.  Sergio refers to it as a ransacking of a government enterprise established as a source for Mexican prosperity.  I say it allows the private sector to advance uninhibited by extremely high gas prices, therefore employing more people and thus increasing their purchase power, also less inhibited by skyrocketing gasoline prices, allowing us to see how this intent at prosperity compares to whatever triumph the government can claim.

Is it not the case that government failure has for far too long been subsidized by the contributions of the Mexican people?

Economies grow because some people sense what others want and need, and move to meet that demand.   Demand increases and is more successfully met when the ability for people to obtain what they need and want increases.  That ability to obtain increases whenever it becomes more feasible for any person to get from any point A to any point B.  To be sure, a dependable and efficient public transportation system can help.  But does Sarmiento really assume that 85 – 90% of Mexicans simply don’t need to go anywhere beyond the reach of public transportation or would never have any wish to move themselves about on their own terms?  If so, he’s truly not living in the same Mexico as I.

More, below here, of Mexico’s “cream of the crop”, according to Sergio Sarmiento…

Got it?

Therapeutic for nearly all small minded intellectuals is “cutting the gringo down to size”.  Be it here in Mexico or elsewhere.. even in the U.S., the contrived disgust over how little the gringos know about their neighbors and the rest of the world is all too common an encounter.  If you’re a sensitive gringo living abroad, this can be a difficult burden to bear.. and may leave you running for cover within the safe haven of the self critical gringo.  Sadly, should you decide upon this roly-poly type of maneuver, you won’t likely see that you’ve successfully brought the image of the stupid gringo full circle.  Self criticism in any situation, other than in front of a mirror, is not only uninspiring…  it’s simply ‘not chingón’. 

One of the most common fireballs that many Mexicans, among other latinos, like to lob at the gringo is the latter’s claim to the term ‘American’.  “The arrogance!!”  “We’re all Americans!”  “Why can’t the gringos wrap their heads around the fact that their country is not the center of the universe?”  But don’t let all the huffing and puffing get to you..  If they can so convincingly pretend that they care about it, you can at least fake a spiritless yawn while responding  “No mames, cabrón, are all of your passions in life as shortsighted as that one?”

That might be enough in itself, but some will persist.  And what can you do?  If you have to, spell it out for them. Explain how silly such a concern appears to be, next to bigger and far more important concerns, like the problem with those dunces who believe the new millennium began in 2000 instead of 2001 and the emotional stress they cause for the rest of us who know the real truth.   

The following is a small sample of other little sucker punches you could land on the soft groin area of whoever’s whiny intellect you’re up against.  It´s a little quiz of 10 or 12 some odd questions loosely calculated to work out in your favor.  But by all means, feel free to tear these marvelously witty points apart or trounce them with whatever smart-ass commentary occurs to you.  When you consider the caliber of the sort of argument we’re working with here, it´s quite clear that the prize is hardly worth anyone’s most gallant effort.

How to tell whether or not you believe the term “American” really applies to you.

If you were to go to India and speak to someone who said she had family in America, would you truly respond “Oh really?  Where exactly.. in Chile?..  Guatemala?? … Peru perhaps?”

If a forklift driver in Moscow with nothing more than a high school education reads that “only in America can a dockworker with nothing more than a high school education earn 50 grand a year and if he works hard enough start and run his own business…” , do you seriously believe he’s just as likely to pack his bags for Venezuela or Mexico as he is for the U.S.?

If you were to ask a gringo why he’s chosen to live in Mexico for however long, and he replied that he’s here to pursue the Mexican dream, would you not get upset? ..assuming that he’s poking fun at Mexicans? .. so pitifully sad and despondent as such an assumption would be (it’s happened to me on more than one occasion)…  What if he said he’s here to pursue the American dream?  Would you not consider him simply deranged??

When you hear the term “American Dream”.. or “America is the land of opportunity” do you just shake your head and say – “Those silly, sheltered and naive gringos..”?

When you think of the film, “An American Werewolf in London”, do you envision a mad crazed Mexican scaling the walls of Big Ben?

When chatting with friends and acquaintances and someone says “Americans are so stupid”.. do you get angry and defensive?… or do you join right in because obviously they’re not talking about you?

When James Brown sings “Living in America”, do you suppose he could likely be referring to the Andes.. or maybe Central America?  Does it bother you that he doesn’t mention Zacatecas or Jalisco?

When someone tells you they saw another someone burning the American flag… do you become very concerned and respond “Which one… the one with the leaf? ..but they’re so peaceful..”?

If your company placed you in charge of entertaining an important business client, and for some reason she expresses a craving for American food.. are you really going to take her out for tacos?  or menudo?  or the local Argentinean joint?

Americans settle back in their easy chairs each fall to watch Monday Night Football.  Note that no one there refers to it as Monday Night American Football.  Who then uses the term “American football”?  It sure as hell isn’t the gringos.  Just for the misguided pleasure of watching it dribble out of your mouth, explain to me why you call it “American” football.

If a country or several countries openly declare war on America and all Americans, do you think that Mexico, or any country in Central or South America is therefore in the crosshairs and should gear up to meet the threat?

Mexico is a sovereign state.  So is Ecuador.. and Brazil… and son on… When you read that the population of the United States of America is roughly 300 million.. do you think to yourself  “Gosh. and 100 million of them are in Mexico alone!  Go Mexico!!”?

Of course, we all recoil at the blind arrogance of gringos who think that America is the United States.. when clearly the U.S. is but one country among many throughout America.   Do you forgive the gringos then, when they don’t realize that there are indeed 32 states in Mexico, united within a federal government?  After all, among all the American countries, there’s just one United States… or do we just have no rightful claim to that one either?

Now the point here… is obviously not to show off any superior sharpness or brilliance you may possess over the average fearless, pestering attacker of gringos you might encounter.  Rather, it’s to show just how dull and dippity dumb the issue is in the first place.   It also serves as a fine alternative to the pathetic cowering that too often happens when confronted with accusations of being one the most arrogant fools on the planet, just ‘cause you’re American.   Don’t take it too seriously.  Just show that you’ve got a pair.  Here in Mexico, we have nothing close to a perfect country, but most Mexicans I know will leap to the defense of their nationality at virtually any affront placed in their way.  I’ve learned in my time here that there’s far more respect to go around for any gringo that knows to do the same.

I like dirt… I like the gritty feeling you get when the wind picks up and blows it all around you and in your face… it makes me feel alive.  I’m not averse to cleanliness.  It’s just that “the finer things in life”, as most would consider them, simply don’t allure me.  When I see a man, helplessly constrained within his delicate dress shirt and choking tie, in his shiny Mercedes leaving his lifeless vacuum of a cubicle at the office, only then to have scrape his little bar of gold on wheels over the 20 some odd speed bumps and 59 potholes on his way to some overcrowded gym.. envy is just not a word that comes to mind.   At the end of the day, will it really matter that he eats at far fancier restaurants and knows how to properly hold his knife and fork?   I prefer food that I can eat with my hands.  Greasy is fine.  The junkier and unhealthier the better… and sometimes I don’t even wash beforehand, much less after.   I’m not a complete pig.. I do use napkins, or a paper towel… and other tissuey, papers…  maybe my cultural background is a bit lacking.. Yep.  So what?

So what, if I genuinely look forward to a trip to Wal-Mart (only to find that they have no frisbees, and that in fact these wondrous discs of endless afternoon joy are not even an inventory item)?   But allow me to go a step further down this worm trail of cultural destitution.. for if I can find underwear even cheaper at a flea market, not to mention in a more desirable condition than what I already possess.. I should think it even better.  Many indeed, are the fond memories I cherish of the flea market.. that unsung hero of stiff necked frugality and thrifty hearts…  sparkling gem of impoverished marketing ingenuity…  Wonderful as I remember it , however, it beckons not even the faintest longing for home.  Here, they’ve been working the same concept, but even better, since all the way back to the Aztec Empire.

  Diego Rivera fresco – “La Gran Tenochtitlan”, depicting accounts by Hernán Cortés and Bernal Diaz del Castillo upon first entering the ‘capital’ of the Aztec Empire, what is today Mexico City.   The Aztecs called this style of market “tianquiztli”, which I get into here below… after wandering aimlessly for the two long paragraphs above……

The Mexico I know just wouldn’t be what it is without its own version of bargain consumer carnivalism, known as the tianguis (no, not “TIEangwes”… try this: “teeANgueez”).   Like a good flea market in the states, a trip through a tianguis always promises an anthropological adventure of sorts.   What makes the tianguis distinct from the flea market is that it’s not cooped up in a big ‘for rent’ building across the parking lot from the local bowling alley.  They’re almost always outside, under tarps to block the sun and the rain (and insulate the suffocating heat inside).  They always occur on one designated day of the week, some two days, and quite often set up in the middle of the street, spanning a distance from one to in some cases a staggering 20 blocks or more.   Los tianguis are simply a part of everyday life here in Mexico… though it doesn’t mean, necessarily, that you haven’t “experienced Mexico” if you’ve never been to one.  After all, it’s quite possible to live in the U.S. for many years having never gone for barbeque or to Taco Bell… but can you really call that “living”?

As early as 5:00 am on the designated day, the tianguistas begin arriving to set up shop…  each little booth is a contraption of bars and rods, with which vendors can establish their perimeter, tie down the overhead tarp, hang merchandise, and set up makeshift tables also to display whatever item that maybe at least someone out there will want.  By late afternoon, they’re torn back down again, loaded up, and ready to haul wherever… usually to another tianguis in a different location the next day.  When they’re gone, the area looks like a disaster zone… but city workers come in and generally make a fairly prompt cleanup.  Of course, these fine cleaner uppers get paid at most a modest sliver (perhaps as much as 8 pesos per hour) of what the city collects from each tianguista (about 8 – 10 pesos per square meter) to set up shop on city property.

On any given day there are several of these markets throughout the city.  While all similar in concept, there’s a wide variety regarding what each specializes in.  Some, for example, are strictly clothes.  Others are mainly produce and miscellaneous foods.  There’s one I know of that deals more in perfumes, makeup and accessories… Some are dedicated to used cars.. others to new and used tools and equipment… some have all of the above.

The tianguis “Cultural”, somewhat contrary to its name, deals with everything counter culture.  People that just don’t fit in anywhere abound here.  Metalheads, emos, hippies, punks…  one booth sells death metal shirts, the next has hindu.. I don’t know.. stuff, followed by the communist table, with all its pathetic literature about a perfect world – where all of us are good workers.. but somehow don’t have to pay for anything… but somehow work anyway… whatever.. surely they’re far more talented with that sort of math than I…  Neighboring close by are the Huicholes with their distinctly colorful arts and crafts.  Then there’s the vampire station, baking there.. in the sun.. next to the tattoo artists, who can also do dreadlocks, and so on and so on…  

For over two years I had been half-ass searching for a simple black T-shirt with the “Opeth” logo on it.  No problem finding it here.  70 pesos.  Now it’s practically the only shirt I ever wear… sad, really…  unless you’re me.  I’m as happy as a communist with a Stalin sized beer belly.   Now I want to find one with the “Star Wars” logo on it, but in the naco Mexican version that says “Estar Guars”.   No one can realize all of their dreams at once, however.  Poverty = one shirt at a time… however long that time may be.

There are books galore on virtually any subject, not to mention a wide, wide selection of pirated music and movies.  Movie and music piracy seems to be considered a birthright.  It’s success is a testament to the fact that there is indeed a huge market of people willing to forgo their insistence on quality if indeed the price is right.. 10 pesos is about right.  How many times are you really going to watch the bloody thing anyway?   However, if the tianguis had to be shut down for a day because some movie was going to be filmed at the same location, would the pirate vendors be upset about it?  (if you don’t know, just answer ‘yes’ and move on..)  Lots of wild stuff.. every Saturday..  

The tianguis in Tonalá occurs every Thursday and Sunday.  Specializing in pottery, furniture, and everything for home decor from little nic-nacs to large artistic fixtures, it sprouts up all along a business district that on any other day looks like a ghost town.  More tourist-friendly than the rest, it’s far lovelier than Wal-Mart, though far less air conditioned.  I bought something there once… but I don’t remember what it was.  It’s great for those businesses established there, because of the consumer traffic that the tianguis brings.   But you need to learn how to politely shove people around.  Otherwise you’ll stay planted in one spot all day.  It’s okay to do it.. just little baby shoves.

The Baratillo, where on Sundays you can find absolutely everything under the sun, literally…  is one of the largest street tianguis around.  I´m not sure exactly how large.. but if I were told that it spanned to the moon and back, I wouldn’t question it.  You’ll stumble upon anything from pets to little piles of barbie shoes.. from motorcycles to stray drill bits.. guitars, machetes, antique cameras.. whatever.. from blue jeans to blue berries to deep fried fish heads…  It seems the only items on earth not found there are simply those that    – I – would be looking for:  a simple lamp post… or one of those big plastic clips for putting away your potato chips once they’ve been opened.  And what about that stupid frisbee I’ve been searching all over frickin town for?   Maybe it only exists in my imagination from some bizarre dream or something I had as a kid.. I don’t know.  Have you ever actually purchased one?

There is actually a darker side to the frolic and festive bliss that the tianguis represents for so many of us.. besides the fact that you’ll get no special discount should you happen to come across your stolen laptop and try to buy it back.  This Baratillo, for instance, being the street tianguis it is, is a gargantuan pavement devouring monster, slicing right through one of the oldest and most highly populated residential districts in the city. 

Most of the residents that live along this street certainly don’t consider it a blessing in any way.  Most bothersome for them is that they have to park their cars sometimes 9 or 10 blocks away the night before, if they plan on using it the next day.  A friend of mine who has to do this found her car the next morning with the window bashed out.  Of course she had not left anything valuable in it..  but the little pukes had to get in to pop the hood so they could make off with the battery, which might bring as much as 200 meagerly pesos on the black market.  Sure, it could just as easily happen parked right at her doorstep, but at least that’s within a baseball bat’s reach.  Anyone who parks on the street in front of their own home will receive an angry beating on their door at 5:30 am instructing them to get it the hell out of the way.  And I dare you to ask them what they think of the cleanup afterwards.  We also shouldn’t kid ourselves about the city, which makes good money off it, perhaps compensating them for the inconvenience.  After all, the street is city property.  The residents only own the houses alongside it.  And the bruising their property values take as a result is entirely their problem.

None of this really gives you a good excuse not to go.. if anything just to get out of the house and do something.  Find people that sell things that interest you, talk to them.. make connections.  Rub your sweaty belly with other people’s sweaty bellies trying to go the opposite direction in very tight pathways.  Get some tejuino to wash down those fish heads and tripa tacos.  I don’t recall if you’ll find any of that Frida Kahlo crap that outsiders seem so fascinated with..  you might just have to settle for a thong that says “kiss me” all over it.  Whatever you might discover, you’ll find the tianguis to be a great place to get some dirt in your face and feel alive, and briefly get into the grit of everyday city culture.  Enjoy.   

I’m often asked what I think about the sociopolitical pustule that’s been festering around this new immigration law in Arizona.  What a dreadful question.  Having still not heard nor read even one well thought-out answer after all this time is hardly inspiring.  Even less encouraging has been the distraught and panic-stricken gibberish regarding the whole bloody thing… pathetic.   So why anyone down here, or anywhere, would care to read even one more self centered, logically corrupted presumption by some unassuming gringo like myself concerning this one in particular of mankind’s many blunders is beyond me.    And yet, here I find myself.. looking for two of my shiniest pennies to flick into this ever tinkling fountain of intellectual boobery. 

… nothing more than.. feelings…..

Though we humans are blessed with the power of emotion, our feelings nonetheless are what bring out the idiot within us… and trust me, folks.. arguing immigration with anything other than feelings gets one nowhere.  Sound political philosophy finds no more reception in this debate than it would with a bunch of screamin’ kids in a room full of bouncing balls.   The issue of Arizona, and likely several other U.S. states here in the near future presents a political battleground of  emotional wills that this writer possesses a particular distaste for.   So when asked down here about my feelings concerning the current fiasco,  I try to appear as disinterested as I can.  There are so many things I could say to just disappear into the chattery mist… like – “Hang on, I gotta run to the restroom..”, or.. maybe I could ask not to be bothered because I’m thinking about the latest Chivas debacle.  But sometimes I slip up and.. say something that’s actually answerable, like “What about it?”…

“Well, don’t you think it’s unfair?

See what happens?   It’s like walkin’ straight into a frickin’ wall with a big sign on it that says “Hey dumbass, this is a frickin’ wall!”   So…..?  ..after a deep sigh and a brief, resigned contemplation of the word ‘fair’ – a word that no one I’ve ever met, including myself, knows how to expertly manage –  the best I can come up with is something not so friendly sounding:  “What’s fair got to do with it?”   The following silence as one contemplates that I’m no easy affirmative for supposedly such a unanimously accepted notion – and therefore making me most likely a nazi sympathizer –  can be anything from unnerving to exceptionally charming.   But the question is posed more out of boredom than a mean spirit. 

This ‘fair’ game, however, can be quite a dandy.   Sometimes I just say that I don’t have enough information to know how fair it is… But that one doesn’t sell itself so easily either… “What do you mean!?”, they say, “don’t you watch the news?”  So I tell them that what I mean is that I would need to see how Mexico deals with the illegal immigration of five million of China’s finest over the course of 15 or 20 years, and observe how congruent their reaction to that would be with how they generally feel about Arizona right now.  Only then might we be able to truly hash out the conditions of fair.

The question of why have an immigration policy in the first place is one completely lost on any individual that has a one dimensional egocentric view of human and civil rights.  These are the kind of individuals that seem especially receptive to employers, political parties and candidates, and politically driven media and lobbyists for whom immigration policy is also a hindrance (or in the case of Arizona, perhaps a blessing) to their own aspirations.  So many exploitable people so willing to be economically and politically exploited should never be kept from anyone who could benefit from their exploitation.  That’s just unfair for everyone.   So the question of “why”, concerning existing policy, unenforced because of the aforementioned, is buried deep, and very difficult to bring to the surface free from protest and fucktarded accusations of racism, bigotry, and redneck nativism.

So when my Mexican friends and acquaintances down here ask me why the people of Arizona, or wherever else in the U.S. are so intolerant and racist, I don’t bother with gringos that they don’t understand, given their lack of knowledge about life in the U.S.  I stick with the more familiar:  Mexicans, and Mexico.  For example, if I’m lectured to contemplate the economic contributions that illegal immigrants make to the U.S., it’s perfectly fine.  Hell, if I wanted to engage in my own tunnel vision, I could point out that I never would have learned Spanish in Kansas without the camaraderie of many an illegal; you know.. the ones from the generic can of flavorless arguments  -  real people with real lives and real passions to make a better life.  That I would selflessly defend the integrity of any one of them (well… maybe not a couple of them) is simply not the point.   But I do demand that in return the Mexican contemplate the economic contributions that roughly five million Chinese  illegals could provide to Mexico.

Five million Chinese is less than one half of one percent of China’s population.  Over twenty times that percentage of Mexicans have emigrated to the U.S.  So surely Mexico could absorb these five million.  They would gladly do the work that Mexicans are not willing to do.  They’d clean the trash off city streets and highways for 20 pesos per 12 hour day.. a lot more than they can make back home.  They’d paint over, again and again, the clumsy and stupid looking graffiti left by niño cockroaches that would just assume piss on their own country’s flag if only they were bright enough to identify it.  Lupita used to charge 80 pesos to clean your house.. now the little Chinese girl, whatever her name is, will do it even better for just 40 pesos.  Chinese youth will actually walk through neighborhoods and offer to wash your car for just 10 pesos, and leave it sparkling.   These guys’ll do roadwork at night, fixing potholes and doing surface work and not demand special benefits for it.  Even if they wanted to they couldn’t – they don’t speak Spanish.  Beyond that , their legal status prevents them from organizing, which for employers is a godsend.   Furthermore they could all do your plumbing and babysitting, because the little you  can get away with paying is, again, much more than they would ever earn in China.  Mexico would soon have to ask itself what it would ever do without these pinches chinos and chinitas.. and who cares that they’re illegal, or that neither  the local, state, nor federal government is doing anything about it.  They’re just hardworking people trying to make a better life.. and making our own easier and more pleasant in the process.

And so I ask the Mexican – “Do you really think you and your fellow Mexicans are going to see it this way?   ..or are you going to lay it out for me that it’s not simply a factor of economics?  ..that there are social, cultural, and political factors as well, most of which would rub an ordinary Mexican the wrong way…”

Would Mexico show the U.S. how it should be done, and be the antithesis to the intolerance of their northern neighbors?  Would they welcome these Chinese immigrants  –  China’s poor, destitute, and uneducated  –  and work to accommodate them in every way, regardless of their legal status?  When these Chinese, because of their enormous numbers, stick together and therefore don’t learn Spanish, and ‘discover’ personal or political strength only among those they consider to be ‘their own’ .. are the Mexicans going to make an extra effort to reach out to them?  Will this involve setting up Chinese speaking schools, giving priority to those seeking public service positions who speak both Spanish and Chinese, and capitalizing on all of the above with announcements and visual aids in both languages? 

Will Mexicans not be concerned about these Chinese, who after years of living under the oppression of a one child only law, suddenly go hog-wild in their new found freedom in Mexico and start having on average four or five kids, regardless of the obvious hardship in taking care of them?  Talk about a population explosion.   Will Mexican politicians resist using this growing demographic as nothing more than a political tool to generate votes by promising to tend to ‘their interests’?  Or will these Chinese actually demand that Mexican politicians start taking note of their growing ‘political power’?  Will the Mexican citizens be marching right at their side, arm in arm?   ..or will they be scratching their heads wondering if the next election will actually be decided by a small political ‘block’ of Chinese dolts who fall for the same political trickery that Mexicans themselves have spent the last 80 years trying to overcome?

When a Mexican man stops at a light, and to his right stops a Chinese man with a beautiful Mexican girl sitting right next him, and his stereo blasting out some Chinese circus music that sounds more like some twisted nightmare played in reverse… will he embrace and celebrate the new diversity flourishing in his community?  When the light finally turns green, and still no one can go because two Chinese women have decided to casually cross at the indicated moment, taking all the precious time they might ever need.. will the Mexican man teach us all a lesson about tolerance?  After all, in China, the pedestrian always has the right of way… or at least that’s what the Chinese here tend to insist.  When illegal Chinese gain a reputation for being let off the hook for almost any infraction because the cops don’t want to deal with the untaggable paperwork, and deporting them is a federal matter,  will Mexicans rejoice in that at least someone gets to stick it to those bastard officials?

We gringos insist, as indeed it often truly seems,  that in Mexico laws are written almost for the sole purpose of being broken.  However even when the streets are packed with parked cars and everyone might spend 40 minutes searching for a space, no one will ever park in front of a driveway or vehicle entrance to ones house or business.  It’s almost as if Mexicans hold this sacred, and it’s a good thing.  But what will happen when the Chinese, who come from a culture that shuns private property, start parking in these spaces, and worse yet, laugh about how the Mexicans are so polite for leaving them exclusive spaces… only to pretend later,  when confronted,  that they didn’t know….

And so on and so on…..

At the end of it all, I’ll ask my Mexican friends how much of this they and other ‘average Mexican citizens’  -  those who are not politicians, employers, or media people  -  will be able to take before deciding that enough is enough…  Or will they open their hearts and realize that their racism and bigotry only lead everyone to despair, and therefore embrace the Chinese like brothers and sisters, who in turn of course refuse to do the same? .. because after all.. they didn’t arrive here to become Mexicans.   It’s just as dreadful a question for the Mexican to have to ponder as it is for Americans living in Arizona or whatever other state.  Some will argue that it’s not a fair question to ask, or that it’s not the same…  but it doesn’t matter.   The answer is quite clearly all around us. 

Just for fun, ask these guys above how cool they’d be with the below.. rumbling peacefully down Lopez Mateos in Guadalajara or Reforma in Mexico City…..

It’s commonly read from afar that Mexicans are very religious.. it’s about as equally common, after having been here a while, to conclude the exact opposite.   A reckless and foolhardy criticism of Mexicans?  Not at all the intention.  A sense of superior devotion on the part of the writer over that of Mexicans??  Getting colder.  It’s more a simple point regarding culturally driven perceptions.  What often happens is that as outsiders, we come in and make the familiar rounds, through some Aztec or Mayan ruins, to some of the most prominent Catholic landmarks, wandering about and appraising their architectural and graphic splendor…  and as we settle ourselves into our tranquil, vacational spheres, any reflection that occupies us is likely limited to how much history has passed in front of those impressive gigantic wooden doors at the cathedral’s entrance.  In the end we go back home cherishing the images we picked up in our travels, and later, when we once again pick up the literature on Mexico, it all seems to coincide. 

And why not?  Mexican society and culture exudes religious symbolism.. from street names and birth names to imagery in public and private establishments; holidays and festivities in honor of saints and virgins, sometimes attracting literally millions.. just ask any Guadalajara native.. anywhere.. about October 12 and the ‘Virgen de Zapopan’.  In February, small towns celebrating the Candelaria torment the living dead, clanging church bells and quaking with thousands of thunder flash fireworks (little.. anti-aircraft look’n bastards) simultaneously going off around midnight and 6 am for days on end.  From Ash Wednesday to Easter, hardly a food vendor in the entire city will sell any meat besides seafood on Fridays.  Very few are the homes throughout all of Mexico that do not display the image of the ‘Virgen de Guadalupe’.  Cathedrals, basilicas, sanctuaries and expiatories are outnumbered only by the devotees who make the cross sign whenever they pass by one.. At first glance, it is indeed hard to escape the perception that Mexicans, generally speaking, are people of profound faith….

So what gives? 

Well… composing any worthwhile reading in this modern era regarding the concept of religion seems futile to say the least.  Getting through a discussion on the subject without snaggin’ your britches on any one of thousands of brainmushing clichés is an endeavor that I’ve come to think should be reserved only for those who think far too much for their own good.  To aspire to outsmart religion, or at any rate to be the man who feels he’s above it all is no more appealing to me than being the one who’s so hopelessly buried in it that the light burning in his soul never actually merges with the light of day.  Neither of these two types have much to offer in terms of discussion.   But in a free-thinking society there is virtually no coherent consensus on what religion is, and even less so in trying to define a simple adjective like “religious”.

It should be supposed that this word “religious” (and for the sake of brevity, let’s just stick to Christianity for the entirety of this post) refers to a deep faith in and intense devotion to a) God – the Father, b) the teachings of Jesus Christ – the Son, and c) the teachings of primarily the New Testament of the Holy Bible, a compilation of accounts concerning the life, teachings, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and other letters written either about or by his apostles who, filled with the power of the Holy Spirit, continued to spread the message of God’s purpose and gift of salvation through Jesus Christ.

Wow… I wonder if I could make a living marketing nutshells like that one?   Or maybe I’m diving too deep into this?  Perhaps the word “religious” simply means living by the golden rule, and never cursing at, defacing, or urinating on religious symbols.. or never cursing in general.. much less wasting our lives away pondering such trifling questions as to who, and on what date in history and under what circumstances was it decided that the use of the work ‘fuck’ was officially to be the mark of a wallowing infectious sinner.  Perhaps “religious” means somehow making babies without ever having actually seen real live male or female genitalia, much less touched it with any extension of our own bodies except with the other.. ‘thingy .. down there’… and etcetera, and etc… and whatever else our dopey minds can come up with…

In the Christian world, most of us are more than familiar with this tedious, half-baked approach to godliness.  Indeed, a large portion of “believers” are seen as, if not actually are, no more than adherents to a long list of philosophically cheap or bankrupt superstitions with no more divine origin than a toy from a cereal box.   But to assume that any religion is born so shallow, or has always been meant to defy rational thought and behavior  -  is to be equally as shallow in your understanding of how history, politics, culture, and religion go together within the complex framework of human nature.   No religion in the world, no matter Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Communism or any other, can escape the dilution of its original purpose imposed by such an unavoidable and unending clash of human factors.  Roman Catholicism, rather than by any means being an exception to this, is a most exemplary case in point… and its Spanish turned Mexican version even more acutely so.

While North America was first colonized primarily by the English seeking to escape the Church (that it wasn’t officially Roman Catholic by that time makes no difference to the point being made here), the Spanish had already been colonizing Central and South America with motive to enrich the Church via the region’s wealth in silver and gold.  This is significant.  It means that the conquered natives of the central and the south, who themselves were very “religious”, were, by decree,  not to be exterminated, but “converted”…  Why?  Bueno.. you think the Spaniards were willing to dig that crap out of the ground themselves?  Evidently, slavery is okay as long as your master can convince you that your suffering on earth earns you greater rewards in heaven.   Just how the Church managed to pull off such a massive conversion is one you should research on your own.. I’m likely in enough hot water already as it is.  But even to this day, few are the households throughout the republic that don’t bear reference to it.. as it remains a centerpiece of religious devotion here.   One thing is assuredly clear:  It’s got nothing to do with the origins of Christianity.

To subtract this from Mexican history is a forfeiture of valid discussion on contemporary Mexican politics, culture, and society  -  which, despite the flavor of this post, I’m proud to be a part of, even if no more than as a long term visitor.   Mexico’s greatest triumph and hope is its wealth of citizens who willingly and proudly confront the struggle to better themselves, their families, their neighborhoods and society at large, and possess the intelligence and heart to make it happen.  Believe me.  I’ve been here long enough to know firsthand.    And it cannot be denied that religion has played a role in the nurture of these qualities.  The things these people are up against, however  -  the poverty, the high crime rates, the literally choking corruption, and worst, the gut-wrenching reciprocity between the tramplers and those who somehow believe they can wring out a drop of inner peace for their acceptance of being trampled  -  are rooted also in the very power structures imposed so harshly upon Mexican society over the centuries in order to keep it “religious”… in order to keep Mexico’s greatest asset, its people, unconditionally devoted to the Church.

People here, like people anywhere, don’t generally appreciate any discussion or gesture that seems to scrutinize the very foundation of the tree that bears the fruit of their daily or weekly religious practices (so much for avoiding clichés).  What’s upsetting to people in these situations is that they cannot explain, nor therefore defend, the foundation of their beliefs any more effectively than an apple can defend the tree on which it hangs from people with chainsaws.

Does an apple know when its tree has fallen, or does it just languish and rot?  Does a religious follower, a living human with infinitely more potential than an apple, know when his or her religious activities no longer connect with the root that brought them into existence?  If so, is there any solution?  For an individual, perhaps.  For a society, one must conclude it to be far from likely. 

Some of us don’t believe that God exists, and some of us do.  That both might be true is scientifically absurd.  If there is no God, then despite all the good the Church has represented in the world (I’m quite conscious of the subjectivity of the claim), its entire foundation is based on false belief at best… and at worst a blatant and sinister lie.  However, if there is a God, then what a sad irony it is to observe the history of the Church and inevitably have to wonder, and dubiously so, how the hell the damned thing figures into any equation regarding the relationship between God and Man.

Christianity is not based on belief in God per se.  It’s founded more specifically on the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and a faith not only in his philosophical teachings and fulfillment of prophecies, but more importantly in that he really was the son of God, as well as God in the flesh, and that his sacrifice, if one believes in ‘Him’, forgives all of one’s transgressions committed against the will of God and grants eternal life.  One has not to be a believer to acknowledge this origin of Christianity.   The same Paul that the Roman Catholic Church deems a Saint pointed out that upon nothing more than this factor alone does Christianity even exist (1 Cor. 15. 12-19). 

Now how’s all that for scientifically absurd?  However, it should not be overlooked that while the realm of nature seems infinitely vast, the field of science is quite restricted to within whatever its boundaries are.  To assume that there exists nothing beyond simple nature is just philosophically dull.  But even duller is the inability, among believers and non-believers alike,  to see that the Church, in all of its pitifully pompous political hierarchy, is neither God incarnate, nor vicariously Jesus Christ, nor some bloody gatekeeper of the Holy Spirit.

The Church would have its followers believe that to be excommunicated is to lose your salvation.. that whatever one might do to offend or betray the Church is therefore an offence to or betrayal of God.. that to question the authority of the Church is to question God…  Few, if anyone, considers that the very foundation of Christianity is a culmination of the rejection of Jesus Christ by the priests and authorities of his own religion, who were no more or less fallible than any alive today.

A famous quote, some say made by Porfirio Díaz over a century ago, goes something along the lines of “Poor Mexico.. so far from God, and so close to the United States.”  It’s a sentiment that many here possess to this day… which leads one naturally to ask – Why, in a society as religious as Mexico, do so many feel that their very nation is so far from God?  Has God forsaken Mexico?   That’s kind of a ridiculous question, I suppose.   It’s not so silly to point out, however, that blind devotion to Church doctrine and its pathetic patchwork of mandates will never serve to usher any soul to God’s good graces.

The endless gawking, the sweaty palms due to relentless camera clutching, the countless moments of desperation for not knowing the language, the completely warranted distrust of all taxi drivers, the vacation outfits that somehow look so impressive at the shopping mall,  but in reality look just as ridiculous in any foreign country as they obviously do at home.. especially when trekking through a cathedral snapping photos, during a frickin wedding no less… and on and on and shamelessly on…   Who finds even the smallest delight in the idea of being a tourist? 

A reaffirming “not I” is the usual response from foreigners who have been around long enough to dirty themselves up a bit, or at least possess the slightest mental scope to observe beyond the perimeter of the friends or family they’re travelling with.  For the rest, the question invites a typical hapless blank stare. 

Many of these latter, who in their own country are quite sharper than average and could dump a whole heap of questions on this writer that would leave him in just as equal a stupor, resent the somewhat crass inquiry.   As one woman very bluntly assured me,  “We tourists pump enough change into this pathetic economy I believe to warrant us to take photos, and demand that waiters, tour guides, and hotel workers speak English… not to mention do as we wish without burden of giving a damn about what anyone else thinks.”

…. Crimeny..  who would’ve known there to be such flame throwing vitriol under that silly sunblockin’ floppy headpiece.. complete with the dashing bow-tied baby blue ribbon?  Ideally, there may be a long list of overplayed comebacks I could have grabbed for.  On the other, more pragmatic hand, her point was as undeniable as it was unfortunate, regardless of the irritating air of superiority with which she made it.  Deciding that perhaps a bit of empathy for her own lack thereof was in order, I offered to buy her a delicious corn on the cob from the stand next to us… which prompted yet another dumbfounded blank stare.  Sometimes I’m just unstoppable like that.. a whirlwind of unassuming logic..  a juggernaut of brilliantly pointless inconsistencies.

Snapping back to reality, she promtly rejected my randomly calculated act of kindness, and then we awkwardly parted ways.   Who wants to place bets on her feelings about the illegal immigrants in the U.S., who, not even so ironically, often defend their integrity with arguments quite similar to her very own?  Así es, wey…  We naturally want the world to become simpler to understand the more we learn about it…. and, it just doesn’t.. while those that haven’t learned a damn thing always reassure themselves safely within the impenetrable stronghold of their unchallenged convictions….  Whatever.  Other times we simply want to forget about all that crap, and just relax and wallow in whatever some travel agency back home promised us. 

And in all honesty, what’s wrong with that?  Besides the fact that the ocean is the ocean and the sand is the sand wherever the hell one flies to… and Señor Frog’s is Señor Frog’s… and that it just seems bizarre that people would come back home from some little party strip in Vallarta and talk about how they’ve been to Mexico, and bore all their friends with the one about how two of Antonio Banderas’s cousins played acoustic guitar for them all night while they ate nachos with real live jalapeños and drank Coronas ….  what’s the big deal?  There’s no law stating that cheap thrills have to be equally inexpensive. 

Sooner or later one wakes up and realizes that none of it is any big deal whatsoever.  All of us somehow find ourselves meddling in something that others find reason to look down upon.  And what are we supposed to do?  Avoid traveling?  Bow our heads in shame??  The pleasant spirited woman mentioned above understood that doing so would in no way result in even one ounce of redemption more.

I go to McDonald’s once, maybe twice a month (I’d go a lot more if I had any money).  I love McDonald’s.  And though I feel a bit embarassed for those hopeless purists who cast an evil eye on my affection for gringo fast food chains, I’m far more concerned with my quarter-pounder and not getting ketchupy pickle on my chin than in setting the quibblers straight.  But then there’s also the fact that when I walk into such a place here in Guadalajara, no one switches to English to take my order.  It gives me the opportunity to show that I’m just one of the rest, and belong, in a certain sense.  That’s good.  I like that.  It’s not the kind of opportunity I’d likely get so easily in Puerto Vallarta, Cabos, or Cancun.  

Talk about cheap thrills…. 

Every now and.. whenever, you’ll see a little story in the paper about someone having gotten splattered like a sandwich bag full of rotten tomatoes on some busy street or freeway.  In many of these reports you’ll find a reference to the pedestrian bridge nearby that wasn’t used by the victim (Oct. 15 / Feb. 19 / Feb. 18).  Sometimes the reporter tries to get a little jab in.. something like –  “you see what happens?”  or  “this is exactly why the city hesitates diverting funds for building more of these… no one uses them anyway.”  Often in these incidents, the driver just keeps on truckin away and disappears into the night.. or the clouds, or somewhere… hit and run..  the most abysmal grade of wretched…  

However  -  when you learn that here the driver is guilty until proven innocent, and the star witness is now roadkill (like he would ever have admitted fault anyway), and no one else is going to stick around to testify that the victim appeared out of nowhere like some damned suicidal stupid deer… even the most principled among us must seriously question the merit in doing the right thing and staying there at the scene of such a pointless and toxic casualty.. being as ruinous to the innocent driver as it tends to be. **

For both drivers and those walking it in such a densely populated city as Guadalajara, pedestrian bridges are not only a nice thing to have around – they’re absolutely essential.  And it’s safe to say that most pedestrians use them.  Those that don’t, however, are often accused of being brainless twerps and senselessly risking their lives… which I think is a bit unfair an accusation (yes, I’ve treaded the pavement myself on occasion).  True enough, if one hasn’t even the slightest judgement capacity, or doesn’t pay attention, or just gets desperate and goes for it, hoping that cars will automatically slow down on his behalf…  we’re obviously not referring to the best of human potential.   Although.. the organs of the tenderized cadaver might be of excellent use to someone else. 

But there are other reasons that people opt not to use them.  Some people are afraid of getting mugged at night or in the pre-dawn hours, as it makes for a good place to corner someone.. others are very nervous about the rickety structure (not that I could take the latter very seriously, especially considering the alternative).. Sometimes the bridge is just too far away from where the person needs to cross.

It’s not because of the climbing.  The fact that one must first go up, which invovles a little extra physical exertion in order to cross, is not the reason.. after all, if someone can’t even do that, how are they going to possibly fathom sprinting across the highway? 

I used to have to walk and take busses and cross bridges all over town.  The following is a scenario based on my own real experiences:

Wake up at five a.m., you need to be at work by 7.  It’s not that far away, maybe six km.  Not that you can’t walk it.. it’s just that upon arriving an hour later, why you would even bother to shower becomes a perfectly reasonable question.  You can catch the bus about one km away at the periférico (a highway that rings (almost) around the city), but you’ll have to cross it in order to get on one headed in the direction you need to go.  Prudent as you are, you leave your house at six, with every intention of reaching work sometime within the next hour.. you might arrive half hour early, or maybe just in the nick of time.. it’s all unpredictable when you’re counting on the bus. 

Upon arriving at the highway, you make your way to the pedestrian bridge.  A simple stairway up would be most practical and make things so easy.  But there isn’t one.  It’s a handicapped accessible zigzag zigzag construction.. two zigs and two zags, each about 20 meters in length… so, automatically another 80 meters to walk before even getting to cross… then another 80 meters when you get to the other side.  Of course, this is nothing significant in and of itself.. what harm is a little cardio going to do?. 

The problem occurs when, as you’re making your way up and around this maze of slants you notice a bus with your route# stopping there at the point you’re so close to you could practically reach out and touch it, and yet you’re so far from reaching it… the bus stops just long enough to let a couple on, a few off… before belching its way on down the road .. while you’re just barely reaching the plank to cross… meanwhile you look down at the highway you’re passing over and see two guys running across with plenty of clearance, and they’re already to the other side just as you reach the other side of the catwalk… and guess what?  They’re getting on a second bus with your route# that has just stopped… which you also will not catch because dammit, you still have another 80 meters of pinballing your way back down to do…

Finally you reach the promised land.. a tiny strip of dirt, gravel and garbage… and await the next bus that could arrive any second.. or minute.. or minutes… or maybe tens of minutes… yes, exactly 34 minutes later finally one arrives… and it passes right on by… practically bursting with passengers packed in like sardines.. all of whom, like yourself, had been waiting for half hour somewhere else up the road.   Finally, a minute or two later arrives another, also beyond max occupancy.. but it stops about 10 meters ahead and you make a starving dog dash to be first at the door..   Imagine how many just like yourself have shown up in that 30 minutes…

And now it’s a free for all.. everyone piling on near the entrance just trying to get even a fingertip to make contact with the vehicle, as if to officially claim their place in this, well.. call it anything but a line.  An older woman who’s not going to make it on before you shoots you this “have you no shame, young man?” scowl…  but she sees when you look her back with the frankest “nope” expression, that you ain’t buyin it.  There are moments when circumstance simply has no business bowing to chivalry.  Would she have awarded you even the slightest gesture of gratitude had you wavered?  I can answer that for you in case you’re not sure.

In the bumpy, jolting moments of suffocating calm that follow (not that calm is bad, but you are indeed literally suffocating), you wonder about those two guys you saw hustling across the freeway some 40 minutes earlier.  Where do you suppose they’ve made it to by now?  It’s now 7:10.. you sure as hell didn’t make it to work on time.

Nice, eh?  You think you’re not going to contemplate racing across the freeway next time?  Well, let me tell you what’ll probably happen if you do.  You’ll wait…. and wait.. for that opening that just never shows itself over a period within which you could have crossed the bloody zigzaggin pedestrian marvel above you surely five times over.   Always puts a cynical smile on my face thinking about it… I’m such an optimist.  Some bastards truly never get lucky, though.  But don’t get desperate.. you see, that’s when things get dangerous.

** A couple of interesting points I discovered while writing this:

If you are a driver involved in a freeway splattering, and you stop like a responsible driver should do at the scene  -  although the police will take you to jail, if you have insurance (liability or full coverage, but make sure and check your policy), and called them to the scene and they could determine your innocence, they’ll bail you out of jail as part of the coverage.  How about that?

Evidently, a state law went into effect about a year ago that automatically determines the victim guilty if the splattering takes place near a pedestrian bridge.

Well that’s all good, but… what about the horses??

From abroad, we somehow discover two days of supposed significance in Mexico – 5 de Mayo and Day of the Dead.  The first, in terms of modern cultural relevance, warrants  no more mention than already given here.. and about the second so much has been written that you could literally read yourself to death with it.  There’s so much literature on the subject  in fact that it’s difficult for the gringo or European to escape the idea that Mexicans adore death and openly welcome it.  But I haven’t met anyone that fits that profile where I live.  Death is just as dreadful a topic here as anywhere else.  And that one Day of the Dead, fascinating to the foreigner as it may be, each year comes and goes as swiftly as the moon passes over from dusk to the next morning. 

I have yet to experience the inevitable misfortune of witnessing a funeral here (the two or three weddings I’ve been to I don’t suppose really count).  But a friend of mine has.  She mentioned that it was quite different than any she’d attended in the UK.  Yep.. that’s where she’s from.  Maybe you can silently read this in your best imaginary Margaret Thatcher sensual tone of voice (and then tell me about wishing for death!!).  But don’t hold it against her – we have no control over where we are born, and even less over where we go when we die.  You may find yourself knocking on her door to borrow a cup of sugar in the afterlife.

My first experience of a Mexican funeral was a close-hearted one. My boyfriend’s grandmother had died.  He went to the wake, and his family then asked me to come to the funeral.  Out of respect, I did not refuse.  It was a truly different experience.

We first had to attend the funeral home, where there were many people mourning the loss of a devoted grandmother.  The silence was incredible.  People praying with their rosary beads, people trying to control their emotions, a room of silence. Outside the room was an eating area, I was amazed to see people laughing, and talking about the past.

There was a man who worked at the funeral home who was gay, and many of the women were laughing also at this as the man was trying to touch the men.  In a macho considered society, the men were acting very quickly to the man, sometimes I suppose you need some humour in a time of much sorrow.

I met his uncles, aunts, and other family who found it hard to cope and to talk.  Sometimes I wonder if the words “lo siento” are good words to use, in any language, at such a point in time as the death of a loved one.  When you say those words, and give a hug of support you can feel the emotions of pure, deep sorrow. Even for the men, it was hard for them to keep it together, and control their emotions….

Some people were sleeping next to the casket, for respect of this cherished woman who had now left them, leaving only the good memories behind.

The children are those who don’t fully comprehend what death is.  Some of the questions were:

“Why is gran sleeping?”

“Why won’t she talk to me?”

“Why is everybody crying?”

Such questions are never asked at the right time.

I remember the father saying, “Your gran is with God, and with the angels,” and I remember seeing the child’s reaction – pure silence and staring wide eyes.  I feel the child quickly realised her gran would never come back……………

It was finally time for the devoted gran to be lain to rest.  Everyone helped get the flowers, and put their gran in the funeral car. Everyone else got onto the bus.

Never in my life have I felt and seen so much silence.  All you could hear was one baby crying, the mother quickly trying to calm her.

Being a foreigner at the funeral made me stand out, many people trying to ask me questions, but many people deciding not to. Otherwise, as I was told, it would be disrespecting the death of their loved one.

We finally arrived at the cemetery, a huge cemetery.  In the UK, we don’t have big extravagant cemeteries.  Here there were houses, tombs, etc.

The walk was long, on a hot humid day. Every section we passed, the Marachis would ask if we wished for them to play at the burial site. The family agreed to this at the final point.  Upon reaching the site, the casket was rested on top of the tomb, where the family members could pass by and say their final goodbyes.                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

The Mariachis began to play.  As they passed by, the screams of the women left an impression that will never leave me. They were haunted screams.  In the UK people cry, but this was something quite different.  So much sadness, one woman fainted, and many more were deeply ridden with sorrow for this devoted and beloved gran…..

Children then had their chance to say goodbye.  The shock on their faces was incredible.  They all realized they would not see their gran again, some of them running away crying, finding it too hard to cope with mortality.

The casket was then lowered into the tomb. Many others began crying.  All the men were wearing sunglasses, although most you could tell were crying.  But being a machista, one considers it a weakness to cry in front of the women, so it does not surprise me most of the men wore sunglasses.

The shocking part for me was, once inside the tomb, cement slabs were placed on top of the casket, and you heard the bang of these cement slabs, almost as if they were being thrown down.  For me, it represented such a stark finality, a harsh pang of recurring realisation that their gran had now left them.  It just seemed a bit distressing, observing how people put the slabs on top of the casket in front of the mourning family, while surely they are still coping with the loss of a loved one.

In the end, I understood more clearly. The reason they cement the casket in is so that it is ready for the next burial, as each tomb or grave can hold up to 6 people.

The silence was so grave when it all was finished.  Children shocked, now aware that death is a part of life.  Death makes us all think about the choices we make in life, maybe good choices or bad choices, but a funeral still reminds us never take life for granted.  For me the experience was a good experience.  It made me understand the care and consideration that Mexicans have for the death of a loved one, but also how important family is to the Mexican people.