Culture of Paranoia?

I've been "home" in the U.S. for two days, and I can't believe how paranoid everyone here seems. Just watching the Today Show, I just learned that family and friends are the most likely perpetrators of identity theft, so beware of saving your credit card information even on your home computer. You think you're safe at home, but the evil fingers are stretching towards you...they're out to get you and you'd better never let down your guard. As I stood there stirring my three different dairy products into my coffee (because we have choices here other than leche polvo), I couldn't help but mentally sigh in exasperation. Why are we so worried about everything here? Does the Today Show really have nothing better to talk about than the about 2% chance that someone in your family is going to use your credit card to buy a brand spankin' new treadmill 3000? We never worried about that in Mexico...it took a pending drug battle to get people off the streets, and even that only worked for a day. Are Mexicans fearless or are U.S.ens just paranoid? WE can afford the luxury of paranoia because we have nothing real to worry about. At least not here in comfy, decadently unconcerned Lancaster County.

Jaula...

Ella se siente inquieta, agitada. No tiene ganas de sentarla aquí en la cama, ni redactar su tarea. The bottom of her laptop scalds her bare knee as always, but for once instead of cursing her inadequate scrap of metal and plastic, she half smiles in empathy. At least she’s not alone in her brain-boiling catharsis. La computadora esfuerza a alcanzarla mientras ella cambia su idioma espontáneamente y sin razón. No puede pensar en español ni en ingles, porque su ingles se siente veneno, asesinando sus palabras españoles. Ella trata de aplastar el ingles que zumba y vuele fuera de control dentro de su cráneo. Como moscas, las palabras juegan con ella…traviesas y caprichosas, sabiendo perfectamente lo que hacen. A la vez, su español no viene…está atrapado por la otra, encerrado en algún rincón, ocultado en el fondo de su mente. Siente como si fuera una muda, con letra que implora a alejarse de su cabeza y reventar…libre y fluida, sin intentar. Pero no…ella, en su recamara cargada está detenida—aguada y sudorienta sin palabras de ingles ni español. Algún día, le dice ella—Algún día, voy a soñar, pensar, respirar en español. Algún día sí, aunque no sea hoy.

TOQUE DE QUEDA!

Carol!

Have you not heard about the toque de queda in Cuernavaca? I was chatting online with a friend on Thursday night, trying to make plans for this weekend, when she told me that there was a "toque de queda" decreed by the drug cartel. She told me she wasn't going out this weekend and that I shouldn't either. She sent me the notice (I'm attaching it although I'm sure you've already seen it) that the supposed narcos were circulating on the internet. I asked her if it was narcos that wrote it and she said she didn't know, did I believe it? I starting tracking down my other Mexican friends who were online and asking them about it and one of them told me the same thing, that he wasn't going out this weekend either because of the toque de queda. Another friend pointed out to me that the notice specifically said that the narcos were only concerned with fighting amongst themselves, and didn't want to cause any trouble or harm to anyone not involved. I decided to wait and see what developed the next day.

Yesterday morning I woke up and went to school like normal, and by now most of my excitement from the night before had worn off. I don't even think I mentioned anything about it to Rashelle, which goes to show how unconcerned I was. No one at school mentioned it to me, so I figured it was all just a hoax. I ran into my teacher later when I was coming back from the Espiga, and asked her if she had heard anything. She was in the dark about it but told me to wait while she called her husband who knows someone who works for the government. Her husband told her that yes, there was a toque de queda in place for this weekend, that no one should be in the streets after 8 pm, and that there may be people wearing black in the streets, but that was all she knew. By now I had decided to stay in for the night. I met up with Caila and we went to the Fayuca to buy some movies for a movie night sleepover at her house. There, I ran into a friend of mine, Juliana, who sells bootleg DVDs, and before I could even get in a word of greeting, she grabbed my arm and warned me not to go out at night. She told me to be in my house by 7:30, and not to wear black on the streets. She seemed really agitated, and I asked her if she was nervous about it. She told me she didn't know what she was going to do because she only got off work at 8:30 and she was wearing a black T-shirt. I told her to be careful, and asked her how she found out about it. She told me that a mutual acquaintance of ours has a friend who works for the cartel, and she had heard it through the grapevine. By now I was kind of shocked at how much of this was circulating only by word of mouth. I hadn't heard anything from you or Charlie, so I figured you might not even know about it. Hortensia hadn't told me anything either, so I figured it hadn't been in the news. Caila and I had scoped out a newspaper stand to see if we could find anything about it in the papers, and we couldn't find a single article. Granted, we aren't the most proficient Spanish newspaper readers, but I'm sure I would have been able to tell if one of the headlines had mentioned anything about a toque de queda. By now it was about 6 pm, and we were just finishing up making our movie selections when Juliana pops up next to me to tell me that they are closing the stand immediately. We had about ten movies between us and I asked if we had time to preview them. She shook her head but insisted that if there was anything wrong with them I could come back and see her and she'd exchange them. I've known her for a few weeks and trust her enough to let that slide, so I paid for the DVDs and was off. I noticed as I made my way toward the street that many of the stands seemed to be tidying up as if they were about to close as well. We arrived at Caila's apartment at about 6:30, and ran into Chris, her neighbor, a very opinionated history professor on sabbatical. He was just on his way out to a pozole restaurant and didn't seem concerned at all about the impending DOOOOOOOOOOOMMM!!! We were hungry too, and my curiosity was gnawing at me to check out the scene in the centro, so we tagged along with him for dinner. The pozole and the service were amazing...at the end of the meal our mesero brought us our change but then seemed hesitant to leave our table. He turned back to us with something like concern and trepidation blotting his features, and I think what he told us will stick with me longer than any other memory of this experience. He said that as a Mexican, he feels ashamed of what is happening in his country. For forty-two years, he has lived in Cuernavaca and nothing like this has ever plagued his city before. He seemed very determined that we should know that this isn't the Cuernavaca he knows and loves...that this is an aberration and an abomination. With that, he bid us goodbye and urged us to take care on our way home, as people were already starting to evacuate the streets.

Sure enough, the trek down Galeana seemed like a different scene entirely, as if we were all actors in a play who had changed costume for the second act. The kiosk was practically deserted...for a Friday when usually there is not an empty seat to be found, it was eerie to see only about twenty people lounging anxiously on the benches. They seemed not quite certain whether they were just relaxing in the kiosk or participating in an act of defiance against the most dangerous/powerful forces in the city. I suspected that in about an hour, even these last few brave stragglers would be safely en casa. The bus stop on the corner of Galeana and Hidalgo seemed particularly congested, and amidst the crowd, three police officers huddled together against the glass of the shoe shop. Chris told us not to make eye contact with them, that they were antsy and nervous. As I tried to inadvertently catch a peek at their faces, I couldn't help pitying them. I've always felt a certain aversion and reproach towards the police here, but tonight they seemed less menacing and more like vulnerable young soldiers about to do battle with an enemy that none of them could see...two of them didn't look much older than me, and I couldn't imagine what they must have been feeling.

We continued down Galeana and took a left at the alley full of bars which would usually be
hopping at this time on a Friday. Instead, most of the overhead doors were pulled down and tightly sealed against any mischief that might dare to unfold. We finally made it back to the apartment, where we bid farewell to Chris who was turning in for the night. We still had about 15 minutes before 8 and since the little shop across the street was already closed early, we took a quick trip up to the Oxxo on Humbolt. The convenience store was bustling, probably because it was the only enterprise that had ventured to stay open. As Caila and I waited in line with our arms full of munchies, we noticed a indifferent looking man sporting a black t-shirt standing in line next to us. Caila and I exchanged knowing glances...probably more out of a need for vindication than any concrete evidence did we simultaneously decide that this was a gun-toting narco. Okay, maybe there was no evidence of any weapon on him...but I think the electric calm before the storm was turning us into thrill seekers. We paid, and I warned the cashier to take care since the shop wasn't closing until 1 am. He didn't seem too worried. With that, we were off, and safely interred ourselves for the night behind the white walls of Caila's apartment building. Neither of us felt like sleeping, and we spent hours watching chick flicks and trying to piece together the bits of information we could glean from the internet about the toque de queda. We finally crashed at about 2 am, without a hint of anything out of the ordinary occuring nearby.

We woke up this morning and eagerly embarked on an internet search to see what had unfolded overnight. Surprisingly not much. I don't know what we were expecting to find...notices of dismembered bodies dappling the zocalo, or news of a victor on this would-be battlefield...? It occured to me as I was sitting comfortably in my pajamas on Caila's fuzzy carpet that I was playing--I was having fun with this. It didn't scare me, it thrilled me. And I could afford this feeling because I am leaving in a week. If this is the calm before the storm, I won't have to bear it...I'll be thousands of miles away. I began to chastise myself, but then I realized that it's no use feeling guilty. Remorse won't cork this avalanche...what will be will be.

There are people here that I care about now. I get to leave, but those who remain...well, what about them? This isn't a game for them...this is life. This is reality.

Mi Vida Mexicana...

Vine
Palabras en mano
Sueños en otro
Para descubrirte—sí
¿Sabías lo que ibas a revelar?
¿Sabías que a mi te expondrías?
¿Y así mi misma también?
Me derretiría en ti
Me perdería, me romperías
Ya sabía
Eso creí
Y sí, aquí estoy rota por ti
Por tu sol hirviendo la piel
Por tus piedras despedazando las pies
Por tu aire secando la lengua
Sí, me has desangrado
Busca cada gota—¿Hay más?
¡Sí, quítatelas!
No las voy a reclamar—no
Nunca jamás
Ya sabes que son tuyos—
Mi sangre y mi ser

Voluntad...

The other day I was sitting in Starbucks with Rashelle and somehow we fell on the topic of big business (perhaps our location was what prompted this discussion :P). I often get frustrated when talking about the banality of big cooperations in Latin America. It strikes a chord in me when people speak of capitalism as if it is some evil entity that takes advantage of the poor. I will be the first to admit that capitalism has its faults...obviously to have the rich, there will always be the poor to support them. However, I would just like to pick a bone right not that has been irritating me for a while. We look at big business and often blame the problems of Latin America on such things as foreign investment which takes capital out of the country, etc. For me, big businesses are not the problem. Well, perhaps they are the problem, I just hate when people blame "corperations" for doing what corporations do. Businesses, at least in my opinion, are like machines...their purpose is to make a profit in whatever way possible. It's the point of their existence, it's integral to their being. We can complain and point fingers and say that big business takes advantage of/exploits/deprives lower classes/destroys small businesses, etc, but I feel that to some extent that's similar to accusing a wall of being a wall. You don't stand there and complain that a wall is tall/flat/hard/impenetrable, because the wall doesn't care. And why should it? It's goal as a wall is to to keep some things out and others in--it wouldn't be true to its nature if it didn't do this. Or perhaps, less abstractly, it's like accusing a leopard of killing and eating smaller animals. You don't stand there and tell a leapard not to be hungry. Of course it's going to look for food and eat other animals; that's it's nature. It's most primal goal is to survive. You can point your finger all you want, but that's not going to turn a leopard into a guinea pig. It's pointless to accuse something of being what it is. It just is. Businesses have a purpose: to maximize profits, of course they're going to behave accordingly, whether it means creating banana republics or investing in maquiladoras because the labor is cheaper.

On the other hand, if we look at big business not as a machine or as an entity, but as a conglomeration of people with agency and free will and autonomy, then maybe we can start asking for accountability. Because really, who is responsible for the welfare of humans but humans themselves? Sure, businesses are organisms with goals, but these impersonal, faceless businesses are made up of people with names and faces and "voluntad." What is the point of humanity if we don't feel some sense of accountability and empathy towards others?

Lluvia

I sit here in a house that has almost become a home to me...just in the past few weeks have I crept out of my room and ventured down into the rest of the casa. Inch by inch, it's opened up to me. I remember when I first came here and was afraid to bring my laptop down into the kitchen to work, and when I felt I needed a reason to visit any part of the house other than my bedroom. Now here I sit, the last one at the kitchen table, reveling in the solitude, in the dutiful ticking of the clock that Jodi left as a gift to us, in the patient dripping of the rain spent on the patio, in my belly full of chapata and lindor balls and cafe soluble. This country is in me now...in my belly, in my skin, in my mind, and my soul. This family is in my heart. Almost my family. Almost my house. Almost my trampoline. Almost my kitchen table and my pan dulce and my green plastic water glass and my yellow porcelain mug that I suspect was "borrowed" from Cemanahuac. Almost my Lucky and my Daisy. Almost my sisters, almost my mother. No, perhaps not just almost.

Ennui

Pegajoso
Entre mis dedos
Debo lavarlos, pero
El azúcar me ha hecho floja
Lánguida
Sólo queda la mitad del postre
Manchando la pura blancura del plato
Ahora
Llega ella
Pero no me sobresalta
Se ha unido con el paisaje, y es
Nada
De interés
Como indios bailando en el zócalo
O murallas ancianas
Agotadas
Ella, con sus chucherías inútiles
Me insiste comprar algo
Mientras sus ojos me piden otra cosa
No puedo reconocer la-
La que quisiera entender
¿En dónde podría empezar?
No lo sé
Por eso, he aprendido ignorancia
Soy la poeta aguada
Apática
Suspirando “!Que triste!” y,
Quitando la mosca del plato
Sigo engullendo mi pastel