Oh, Mexico...

Given that every breath exhaled by a North American about Mexico these days comes loaded with warnings, fears of flues, drugs, violence, and danger, I think it's time to find some new words to be define the subject. Words like beauty, tranquility, kindness, and joviality. And of course, normal words. Giant messes and paragraphs and pages of words. Words for 109 million people. Some of the kids I met there begged me to declare publicly that people are just the same everywhere, which is true, to an extent I suppose. But we are attached both to our roots and to our exact and individual present: it isn't always a global world.

Oh Mexico, you crossroads of indigenous, colonial, religious, ceremonial, modern, revolutionary histories. You combination of forgotten lore, neglect, treasure, reverence, and celebration. It's impossible to imagine the wealth and depth of history in this country, both old and new. As present as modern capitalism and economics may be, as evident as the paths of domination and exploitation, immigration and poverty might be, within it all is a constant reinvention and reliving of what in means to be Mexican, to be in Mexico. And then each kilometer is different, geographically, economically, culturally. It's amazing: you drive for 5 minutes and everything changes, jungle to forest, forest to desert, and you suddenly look around and crane your neck to find out when and where the change happened, the cactus appeared, disappeared, but you can't tell- you've dropped clear into another region. So of course, no generalizations. But still. It's all happening to everyone, at once, this living in the world thing, you know? We must be able to say something about it.

And so yes, I've seen evidence of health concerns, military men, fears of police, the presence of poverty. But. For starters: swine flue? No one follows the instructions on the signs not to shake hands or kiss hello, everyone is still walking, talking and living. But then Carlos can't get a tetanus shot anywhere in Monterrey. But then folks die every month from preventable diseases. But then Mexicans in the US are dying in the desert by federal decree. Some things to consider, some things more dire than swine flue, perhaps, to those who live here. The military men only manifested on the state borders, where they looked for drugs headed north. The local police were much more problematic and exploitative. As per usual, the local problems are the worst. But even they are not interpreted as something horrific here. Just a part of the day, a part of the discussion over beers and tortillas.

The most stunning thing about the poverty here is that it is largely rural and not dire, comparatively speaking, which is to say, no one is outright starving or terribly ill or suffering, for the most part. The kind of poverty in action here is older. We stayed with these families, we talked with them, and really it seemed enviable. This lifestyle of tranquility, living with your family, working with your family, working hard but working in order to live together. Oh, cultural relativity. This is not to say that there is not poverty in Mexico. Of course there is urban poverty, desert poverty, the struggle to live. But to me it's more important to remember that what's worst is oppression, exploitation, suffering, fragmentation, and sadness. Thus material poverty should not necessarily be our primary target. Being able to eat until you're overweight and relax until you're obese, buy whatever you want and work overtime does not seem like a right we need to fight for abroad. Their lives may already be better than ours. The work that needs to be done has to do with empowerment more than development, justice more than food. And sadly the legacy and current practice of injustice, in Mexico as across Latin America, across the world, will be harder to fight. When you can't throw money at something, can't pick up a gun against it, where do you begin?

Mexico's cultural and historical memory is strong, despite what urban folks might tell you. Their cities are full of art and practices in remembrance of an indigenous past about which they are still proud of and outraged by. The rural areas keep up their ties to their heritage, to thousands of years of traditions and stories of a hundred different ancient societies. The Mayas are not the only history remembered. And the revolutions are still memorialized and interpreted on a yearly basis, through ceremony and celebration. It is the economic side of this country which seems so silently, invisibly turbulent these days. Under the sheen of neoliberal policy and practice rages a war of perceptions, lived experiences, rejection, embrace, and reinvention. As the rest of Latin America sways left and begins to redefine itself, invent new words for itself, grow and transform, it will be interesting to see where Mexico's roots will lead it. Somehow this trip has made me more optimistic. These people I have met are so strong, so full of their lands and stories, I feel somehow that despite the great oppressive forces of our times, there is power in their hands. And something good will come of it.