Letter from Mexico

A reader sent me an e-mail recently. “If things are so bad, why are you there? Surely there must be something good happening. Why don’t you write about it?”
Me? A nattering nabob of negativism? Surely not … I started reading my recent “Letters”, and—much to my horror—I don’t seem to have been much of a booster; anyone who felt as I wrote would have to be really into self-punishment for staying here. So how is it I persist?

First, I accept the ugly part. The government is corrupt, arbitrary and vicious. Schools —especially Universities—don’t teach (it’s different in places like the universities of Guadalajara, Monterrey, and the national University (UNAM). Sidewalks and roadways fall apart from shoddy construction. The President’s wife is acting more and more like Imelda Marcos (she has a big wardrobe habit, and a thirst for power)—although, under public pressure, she did agree late in July to donate $30,000 worth of her wardrobe to “the needy”.

Students buy their degrees. There are more and more uniformed armed men and women on the street every week; large sums of money get spent on dubious “public works” projects that have no budget and cannot account for expenditures. The graffiti is some of the most amateur and the most destructive I’ve ever seen.

Next, there is the corollary: anarchy (in the bad sense of the word)—or, in Oaxaca’s case near-anarchy—for how else would you describe a country in which there are lots of laws, which are only sporadically enforced (I reject “chaos”: it hasn’t gotten nearly that bad yet)—provides me with a lot of room for self-directed behavior, such as running the red light alongside that smoking diesel bus that is doing likewise, since there is no traffic coming, and therefore no point in waiting for the light to change; or ignoring the permitting process, which is usually slow and senseless, by doing your construction at night and on weekends, when the inspectors are at home or in the cantina.

Then there is the knowledge that I am not on my own in the moral swamp: my outrage— and my feeling of helplessness—is shared with almost every Mexican that I know. The latest exposé of corruption, the latest political murder, the latest captured kidnapper who turns out to be a police captain, are met with a shrug of the shoulders: that’s life, amigo … Still, almost nobody leaves because of moral indignation, political disgust or philosophical nausea. They leave because they can’t make a living here (and those who are a little better off, because they can’t make as good a living).

At the same time, there is a shared sense that some change has occurred, and will occur. In 2000, the impossible happened, and the 71-year rule of the PRI party, often described as a “perfect dictatorship,” was broken by opposition presidential candidate Vicente Fox. Elections, while still corrupt, are a bit more transparent. When peasant leaders are killed or jailed to remove them from public life, the hue and cry is a little louder and a little longer, and some do get released more quickly. The press is freer; and some fugitive organizers who went into hiding in the ‘70s are now serving as Mexico City council-members.

While it’s hard to get enthusiastic about politics there are certainly politicians that hold out some promise for the future.

Letting Mexicans living abroad vote in hometown and presidential elections— providing a real infrastructure can be cobbled together—could make an enormous difference as hundreds of thousands of paisanos exposed to the more open process in El Norte will cast their absentee ballots starting next year.

Then, there is the sweetness. The kindness and decency of our Mexican neighbors; the infrequency of crying children; the colors, music, food and mild weather of a semi-tropical climate. We have just gotten through a two-week crush of visitors for an annual dance festival celebrating Guelaguetza. Guelaguetza comes from the same sort of tradition as Potlatch: a reminder that some have too much, while others have too little; and a celebration of the sharing that happens as a result —an act that is honored more in the breach than in the moment, but still, we’re talking a thousands-of-years-old tradition about which every school kid in the land is taught. Surely, there is some social value there.

Of course, there are other components to my choice of subjects: bad news sells, as heartwarming and charming stories do not; the bad news is all over the place and easy to pick up on; the bad news often illustrates the complex cultural and historical context that we all need in order to better understand what is going on this side of the Rio Bravo; and by understanding the shortcomings and failures of Mexico’s attempts at democracy we may be better equipped to understand the shortcomings and failures on your side of the Rio Grande.