Culture – Page 20 – Pat the Expat

San Joselito

José Sánchez del Río was a young boy growing up in the small town of Sahuayo, Michoacán, during the early 20th century. This made him an unremarkable character, but for the Cristero rebellion which broke out in 1926, and that’s where his story gets interesting.

The rebellion known in Mexico as La Christiada began when Presidente Plutarco Elías Calles sought to enforce the strong anti-religious (and specifically in 20th century Mexico, anti-Catholic Church) provisions of the 1917 constitution. The Church had been a vocal opponent of the revolution, and the victorious socialist government wrote provisions into that constitution basically separating Church and State. In 1926 however, Presidente Calles took this a step further, instituting fines for wearing a Roman collar in public, sentencing priests who criticized the government to prison for five years, seizing all Church property, closing all religious institutions, and dramatically limiting the number of priests allowed in the country in an attempt to eliminate the Church as a competing power center.

Religiously conservative states like Jalisco and Michoacán went into open revolt against the government, and a guerrilla war went on for three years. Total battle deaths topped 100,000 during the war, a proportional rate about half that of the US civil war. As is often the case in insurgencies both sides engaged in atrocities, and one of the victims was young Josélito.

He repeatedly sought to join his older brothers in the Cristero cause, but he was refused due to only being twelve years old. Eventually he was permitted to join as a flag bearer, then eventually a fighter. During a losing battle near his hometown of Sahuayo, he gave his horse to General Guizar Morfin, who escaped the battlefield while Josélito fought on and was captured.

Side chapel shrine in the Church where he was baptized and held prisoner

Josélito was held in his own village Church, which the government had turned into its military headquarters/prison. For two weeks, he was beaten, forced to watch an execution, and encouraged to renounce his faith. When this failed, his captors tortured him with a machete, then skinned the soles of his feet and forced him to walk to his own execution site, all the while encouraging his apostasy. Next to a shallow grave, he was repeatedly stabbed as he shouted “¡Viva Cristo Rey!” until he was shot in the head.

The way from the Church to where he was executed is memorialized with small silver footprints

The Cristero rebellion ended after a settlement negotiated under the auspices of the US Ambassador to Mexico, Dwight Whitney. Presidente Calles’ stringent laws remained on the books, but were largely unenforced. The Catholic Church and the Mexican federal government came to a modus vivendi which went through periods of resistance and repression that lasted all the way to 1992. In 2016, Pope Francis canonized Josélito.

The memorial where he was exeucted. The plaque has the words he told his mother why he wanted to join the Christeros: “Never before now has it been so easy to win Heaven for yourself!”

Since we were on the south side of the lake near the Jalisco-Michoacán border, it was a short drive to Sahuayo, where we were blest to see San Josélito’s Church/prison, and the site of his execution.

Speaking in Tongue

After two years of Spanish classes (average size: four students and one teacher), two times a week, two hours per class, we seem to have reached a point of intelligibility. That is, after two years of college-level credit, we are able to understand and be understood (mas o menos) when conversing with locals en español. Which is something, and proves very useful around these parts. We now feel comfortable veering off the well-beaten expat path and travelling a little around Mexico, even to those places where a gringo is an unusual thing. More importantly, we can engage in the small conversations which grease the skids of day-to-day life.

Which is not to say we don’t have those momentary freezes when, for example, our gate guard suddenly asks “¿saben la contraseña por la puerta?” which sounds like “¿sabenlacontraseñaporlapuerta?” But we pause, and digest, and then the light goes on, and we respond “¡Si, por supuesto!” Nothing like being fluent, and I would be exaggerating to call us truly conversant, but we are making discernible progress.

Idiomatic expressions just have to be memorized, as is the case with any language. In English we “take a turn,” in Spanish they “give a turn.” In Spanish it “makes hot” and in English it “is hot.” Pronunciation is easier in Spanish, as all the letters have one-and-only-one sound and there are only a few consonants with exceptions. Spanish is very verb-based: verbs in their various tenses and conjugations tell you almost everything you need to know in the sentence. In English we would say “Give it to her.” It is a simple, complete thought, with an implied subject, action verb, and predicate (direct and indirect object…don’t worry, I won’t ask you to diagram the sentence!). While a bit vague, in context it makes complete sense. In Spanish, it would just be “Dáselo.” The form of verb “Dar” tells you it is an imperative command in the present tense, and the “to whom” (se or her) and “what” (lo or it) are just suffixes to the verb. Simple, right?

It gets complicated in the past tense. In English, we mostly use the simple past: I walked. Yes, we could use the more esoteric tenses such as “I was walking…” or “I had walked…” or even “I have been walking…” but really, how often do we use them? In Spanish they have two distinct tenses for the simple past: pasado/preterito and imperfecto. Each has its own rules for use, and different conjugations. The former is for actions already completed (among other causes), while the latter is for actions in process (again, among other things!). So in English I could say “When I walked there, I always walked slowly.” Both are simple past tenses in English and use “walked.” But en espanol, it would be “Cuando caminé allí, siempre caminaba lento. The first use of the verb “to walk” (caminar) is an action from the past already completed, so it is conjugated as preterito. The same verb is used again as a habitual action (the clue is siempre, or always) so it is conjugated as imperfecto. Got it? Yeah, me neither.

Native Spanish-speakers move flawlessly between the two tenses. If you were telling a story about things you did and how you felt at the time, the former would be preterito and latter imperfecto. It is as natural to them as the difference between right/write/rite is to an English-speaker. Depending on the context, you just know which one is…right.

One of the nice things about butchering Spanish among the Mexican people is they seem genuinely pleased you’re trying (apologies to my French friends, but this does not apply en francais!). If you use preterito when you should use imperfecto (or vice versa), they may correct you, but they will understand and nod and keep the conversation going…oftentimes with them speaking flawless English and you hacking away at español!

Climate changes

Take it easy, there, this is NOT a political post. I do smile every time I hear the phrase “climate change.” It’s such a self-evident truism: climate is a dynamic process, so it always is changing. Yet climate change as a slogan is so much better than global warming, which captured very little of what environmentalists were worried about. Anyway…

We are in the final month or so of our annual climate change. The dry season, which began around October, should end by June. The coming of the rains is attested to by the sounds of the rain-birds, which we hear clearly now throughout the day. The rain-birds are actually annual cicadas, and the buzz the males emit sounds distinctly like static on an analogue AM radio (only those of a certain age will even understand this reference). It is loudest in the early morning and early evening, or maybe that is just when other noises are absent so I notice it. Local legend is that the sound of the rain-birds indicates the rain will come in six weeks. We’ll see…probably about as accurate as forecasting winter on a rodent’s shadow.

We live in a high desert plateau, so one should not be surprised to find it dry. But because water is plentiful from the lake, we have abundant flora befitting our latitude (Hawaii) , if not our altitude (Denver). During the dry season, the mountains (which are of course not irrigated) turn brown.

It is hard to describe just how dry it gets here during the seven or eight months of the dry season. We had a few rain drops fall in December and January, probably because of El Niño (more on him later), but other than that, nada. Large dust piles build up alongside the roads, and work crews come out and shovel them up, otherwise they create mini dust storms as you drive by. Oh, and they would be a mud hazard once the rains do come.

It is so dry that the crop stubble from the last harvest does not decompose in the fields, so the farmers take to burning it. Of course, open field fires and a dry season beget uncontrolled burns in the mountains. One just crawled up the far side (nearer to Guadalajara) of the Sierra above Ajijic and is over-topping the peak as I write.

View from the Walmart parking lot shows the spread.

Not to worry, as there is a lot of terrain between the fire and most lakeside developments. Part of the tragedy of the extreme destruction during California’s wildfires is that the cost of land has pushed development ever further into the woods and canyons (also, buyers like to be among nature). Those same places used to burn with very little consequence; now they burn homes, livelihoods, lives. Something similar happens in Florida with sinkholes. The more development spreads atop a limestone peninsula, the greater likelihood a sinkhole will swallow a home. Here we have a few villas or small developments climbing the mountainside, but most development is concentrated nearer the lake, with adequate room to make fire-breaks, if necessary. Yet development continues apace, and views from up the mountainside are spectacular, so…

Meanwhile, the temperature has climbed to the low 90’s under an intense tropical sun. The snowbirds have migrated home NOB, and many full-time residents have taken trips, as this is the ideal time to avoid the “worst” weather we have. Planning a getaway so as to return for the cooler, more lush rainy season is an art form. Some don’t realize it may be even more difficult this year, because of El Niño.

This weather pattern (officially the El Niño/Southern Oscillation or ENSO) is caused by surface water temperature changes in the Pacific Ocean, and when it (or its obverse, La Niña) happens, it results in major weather pattern changes. Climatologists confirmed El Niño for 2019, which resulted in a cooler, wetter winter here: remember those odd rainy days in December, and the run on firewood in January?

You can see that the most severe El Niño weather changes do not affect central Mexico, but we are close to the colder/wetter conditions for winter, and warmer/drier conditions for summer. Luckily, 2019’s El Niño is a mild or “weak” one, so the effects should be lessened for all. But locally we might expect a delayed or reduced rainy season.

Why are these weather patterns named El Niño and La Niña, literally the boy and the girl in Spanish? The warmer surface water temperature in the Pacific was first noticed by South American fishermen, who also noted it always began in December. While el niño means the boy, the capitalized version refers only to one specific boy, appearing also in December: the Christ Child. La Niña became the title for the opposite condition.

More than you probably wanted to know, but if it rains on your Polynesian vacation trip this summer, remember, I warned you the climate was changing!

Trips to the vet

An entry on the continuing sage of everyday life as an expat in Mexico.

Last week, as I walked our dog Tucker around the entry to our development, he stopped, as is his custom, to smell this and that, eat some grass, and do other quintessentially dog things. And then at one point, he leaned over and snarfed something. I called him over, and whatever he had, it was firmly in his snout as he desperately tried to swallow it before I could extract it. I stuck my fingers in between his jaws and pulled them apart, but my hand slipped, he bit down on my fingers (ouch!), I let go, and he swallowed it, whatever it was.

Dog poisonings are a thing here, but I wasn’t too concerned because we were inside our development property. Still, there are all kinds of things in our tropical paradise that a dog shouldn’t eat.

A day or so later, he vomited a little. Then the next day, he did it again. He stopped drinking water. On Friday he vomited one more time, and on Saturday, he refused to eat breakfast for the first time in nine years. And we were off to the vet on Saturday. The day before Easter. The week when everything in Mexico is closed for the Semana Santa holiday.

Although the vet had been closed Thursday and Friday, we were in luck: they were open Saturday until 1:00 pm. We took him in and waited about twenty minutes. They examined Tucker and took an x-ray: I am sure I got a few roentgens myself, as I helped secure him on the table. I wasn’t even aware they had started the machine as I leaned over and pinned the dog on his side in a “stretch” position. Oh, well, just radiation, right?

Sure enough, something had severely irritated his stomach and it was swollen. He was also dehydrated. They put an intravenous port in his right front paw and gave him a bag of fluid. He also got the first of three daily shots of a combination of anti-inflammatory, antibiotic, and vitamins.

The doctor told us to come back Easter morning for the second shot. We asked “aren’t you closed?” and he said “yes, but we’ll meet you here.” We arranged to meet at 8:00 am. The nurse checked the dog and said he didn’t need another bag of fluids, so she gave him a shot and we were on our way in ten minutes.

On Monday morning we returned for the final shot. They examined Tucker again and we reported he was not vomiting, he was eating and drinking normally and had recovered his energy. They removed his IV port and told us to return on Wednesday for an ultrasound just to make sure, so we made the appointment.

After the ultrasound, the vet told us Tucker’s gallbladder was still a little inflamed, and he had aspirated some vomit into his bronchial tubes. We got some meds to address both issues and agreed to a final follow up visit in a month.

So we had four vet visits (one an emergency visit on a holiday), an x-ray, an ultrasound, three shots, one bag of IV fluid, and two prescription meds: one month-long oral fluid and one ten-day set of pills. Care to guess the total cost?

Tucker, on one of his beds, with a special blanket, objecting to someone lighting fireworks

Before I reveal the damage, I must point out that while most things are much less expensive in Mexico, there are some mitigating factors. Veterinary services are not in high demand here. Many people leave dogs exposed on roofs or behind fences (alone) all the time just as noisy guards. Dogs are mostly working animals; if they don’t work, they are abandoned. We have many vets, dog parks, and shelters lakeside due to the expats’ importation of the concept of “pets.”

So I wasn’t expecting a truly, ridiculously-low price. The total was $5,700 pesos, or about $300 US dollars. I rarely left a vet’s office in the States for one routine visit for less. So a happy ending, except I doubt Tucker learned anything from all this except he likes to go for rides in the car.

Passion

As I have noted before, we have a full-scale Passion Play here in Ajijic, as in many small Mexican pueblos. There is always a Palm Sunday procession with Jesus and the disciples welcomed, then non-stop action Maundy Thursday (Last Supper, Arrest at Gethsemane) Good Friday (Trial before Pilate, Herod’s palace, Via Dolorosa, Crucifixion, and laying Jesus in the Tomb. Saturday builds up to the midnight vigil of Easter, with Jesus rising and the fiesta beginning.

Given temperatures in the 90’s and a hot tropical sun, we decided to attend parts of the play each year, and this year, we made it to the crucifixion. Actually, we planned to attend the crucifixion last year, but somehow we missed it. We arrived around 3:00 pm, the time associated with Jesus’ death and everybody was gone! Seems that the crucifixion ends at 2:15 pm in Mexico…who knew?

This year, we headed up the hill to “Golgotha” around 1:15. There was a small crowd milling under the intense sun. Sure enough, around 1:40 I could see a larger group coming up the hill.

Notice the green shirts with a rope…crowd control

The many re-enactors played their roles as the three crosses were put in place.

Roman soldiers in full uniform along with Temple guards

A narrator set the scene in both Spanish and English, then the crosses went up and the thieves, soldiers, members of the Sanhedrin, and of course Jesus did their parts.

The crowd was silent throughout. The actors, all locals, take great pride in their roles, and you can see they spend a lot of time and effort on the pageantry.

We’ve seen the arrest, the trial before Pilate, Herod’s Palace, and now the crucifixion. Maybe next year we’ll stay up late for the resurrection (and the after-party)!

…there would be no geography

The volcano called el Popo (short for Popocatépetl) is on the verge of erupting, and the government is issuing warnings to keep folks from wandering too close. No doubt it will erupt soon, a not uncommon event here in Mexico, which has about 3,000 inactive and 14 active volcanoes. (FYI, we are 654 road kilometers from el Popo.)

I especially like the camera shaking at the beginning

Whenever a natural disaster–or a tragic crime–strikes Mexico, it is completely natural for friends and family to wonder if we’re alright. Many Americans have only a cursory understanding of the size and diversity of their southern neighbor; worse still, most only have experience visiting a few, very similar tourist destinations. I was certainly in that boat before becoming an expat and living here year-round.

Since most Americans visit the tourist resorts on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, they know Mexico to be a tropical climate with sandy beaches and warm (Carib Sea or Sea of Cortes) or cool (Pacific) water. Go a few meters inland and you hit tropical jungle or steep mountains. Which is all true. Yet Mexico is also the thirteenth largest (by size) state in the world (2,000,000 sq kms) and the eleventh by population (over 130 million). It’s the largest Spanish-speaking state in the world (gotcha! Brazil, though larger, speaks Portuguese, and Spain has only 46 million people).

Mexico has vast deserts, temperate midlands and plains (where did you think all those vegetables come from?), large canyons (Barranca del Cobre compares favorably with the Grand Canyon), major mountain ranges, high sierra, and of course those aforementioned tropical jungles and beaches. It is roughly shaped like a parallelogram that is hottest and driest in the uppermost, left-hand corner, traversing to hot and wet in the lowermost right-hand corner. Except for the Sierra Madre mountain ranges which run like a spine down the middle, accounting for micro-climates throughout the country.

Culturally, Mexico is literally a mixed bag. It is a blend of Spanish Catholic culture, indigenous ways, and a heavy dose of imported Americana. Today we tried to order papas ralladas with breakfast. Our waitress informed us they call them “papas hash browns.” Whatever. Mexico has gone through enormous changes in the past twenty-five years, much of it related to the NAFTA agreement. Like China, Mexico industrialized in a single generation. It is now the fifteenth largest state in Gross Domestic Product, ranked eleventh considering Purchasing Power Parity, and economists label it a “upper middle income” country. It was once a classic Third World nation; now it has a large manufacturing base and a middle class, alongside pre-existing elite wealth and poverty.

Many of the aspects which immediately come to mind when an American thinks of Mexican culture are in reality the cultural heritage of just one of Mexico’s thirty-two states: Jalisco. Mariachi bands: check. Tequila: check. Caballos Bailadores (dancing horses): check. Sombreros (some debate on this one). Vaqueros or cowboys (a lot of debate on this one). All claimed by Jalisco. In fact, the state government seizes on these associations with a tourist slogan that says “Jalisco ES Mexico,” literally Jalisco IS Mexico. Which is OK, since the rest of Mexico has adopted these customs, and you are not safe from a Mariachi band ANYWHERE in Mexico.

The best word to describe Mexico is diverse. The people include fair-skinned descendants of Spain and dark-skinned indigenous. Spanish is everywhere, except where one of the three hundred and sixty-four indigenous languages reign. There is no single Mexican cuisine: Oaxaca’s differs from Jalisco’s, which is different from Sonora, and none of them are Tex-Mex. The land has all the varied looks one recalls NOB, but with the addition of real tropical jungles. While it occasionally exceeds its fellow North American neighbor, it routinely rivals it in many ways. Not that one would notice that sipping margaritas on the way to the all-inclusive resort. Not that there is anything wrong with that!

Working Together

This past Monday was the official birthday (and a federal holiday) for former Presidente Benito Juárez. Much like President’s Day in the States, Mexico moves some holidays to Monday to create long weekends. We had a unique opportunity to put the free day to good use.

Of course, the colors chosen were bright orange,
bright green,
bright tourquoise!

The Rotary clubs of Lincoln and Novato, California, had a 15 person delegation visiting our Chapala Sunrise Rotary club this week. We arranged for the group to head to Ojo de Agua, the small town we have been working with the past several years. Since the men of the town had the day off, they agreed to join us fixing up the town plaza, and several of the women made a feast. The Presidente (mayor) of the municipal seat, Poncitlán, even showed up with his spouse!

My job: give a brief tour and describe our work providing water. The tank made a great stage.

The Rotary clubs provided paint, brushes, and ladders, while the townsfolk quickly dove in. We also bought terracotta tiles to repair the gazebo, installed some benches, and sent a mixed team of Rotarians and locals to take a census of the houses to identify which areas have fresh- and waste-water pipes inside their homes.

The Presidente flanked by Rotarians (and note the large, purple wall in the background)

The plaza was a pretty dull affair originally: mostly gray or dirty white walls, with some old advertisements painted on them and a gazebo with a broken down roof (see this “before” pic). The local children had a blast running wild with the brushes and left over paint: they painted themselves, individual bricks on the “town building,” and the lower reaches of several walls outside the plaza. The event was a classic case of doing good while doing well. Everybody had a great time. And we got a delicious bowl of homemade pozolé to boot!

Pozolé fresh from the stock pot (again, note the fine paint job in the background!)

Es México

Sometimes my wife and I run into a situation that can only happen in Mexico. When that happens, we simply turn to each other and repeat “¡Es México!”, and smile and continue on. Like:

The local government just passed some new traffic laws. One of them was a prohibition on reserving parking spaces. This was a common aspect of daily life in Mexico: much like folks NOB reserve a parking space when they shoveled the snow out of it, people here put traffic cones, or buckets, or folding chairs to reserve a space. No more: the law states the traffic police may remove the offending object wherever they find it. They could fine the responsible party, but no one would ever be stupid enough to label their objects.

There are good reasons to reserve a space in Mexico: for handicapped residents, for business’s loading/unloading, or just for access to a garage on a narrow street! But this requires an application, and a fee, and some curb work. Easier to place a bucket. But now you could lose your bucket, and no one wants to lose a bucket. One simply can’t go through the administrative hassle, and there is no guarantee of success, so what’s an innovative Mexican to do?

Dirt. Piles of it.

Where did I put my dirt?
How would you EVER get into that garage?

Works especially well if you just don’t want ANYBODY parking there. It’s anonymous. It’s not easy for the police to remove. And if they take it, well, you can just get more. ¡Es México!

Some economists estimate 25% of the Mexican gross domestic product is in the informal sector, meaning small businesses without licenses that do not collect the VAT (i.e., they are off the government’s books). These things pop-up everywhere, and offer convenience. If you have ever driven across the US-Mexico border, you have no doubt been approached by people selling trinkets, newspapers, CDs/DVDs, food, drinks, car washes, vacation rentals, insurance, anything! Some of this is pirated junk, but much is legitimate, if not legal, merchandise. Mexicans learn to spot the good and bad tiendas and readily shop at the former.

Need some fresh fruit?
Or floaties?
or a smoothie?

Shops appear in regular spots roadside, and often disappear each night. Some are only there on weekends. Some last for years, or until they grow too profitable and someone steps in to take a cut or ask for their paperwork. I saw a New York Times piece on the phenomenon of pop-up stores in the States…Mexico has always done this. “¡Es México!”

One final example is: the “viene-viene.” These are waiters who double as human advertisements for their establishments. There’s a restaurant row just down the road: it includes a series of all-you-can-eat seafood places alongside the lake. Some have a theme-park quality to them; most have bands on weekends, and are especially favored by tapatíos who want to get away from the city with the family for the weekend. But which to choose? Every place has several employees out front waving flags, rags, and menus, whistling and gesturing wildly at the cars as they slow to cross the inevitable topés. They seem intimidating at first, but are harmless, if a little aggressive. When you enter or leave the restaurant, they will halt all traffic and assist you on your way. Once you become accustomed to them, a simple smile and a wave as you pass is all that is required. After all “¡Es México!”

Giving UP

A neighbor asked if we were going to any of the Carnaval parades, especially the one yesterday. I said we were more “Ash Wednesday” people than “Mardi Gras” people. So welcome to Lent!

Carnaval is a big deal all over Latin America. Gringos are most familiar with Mardi Gras, French for Fat Tuesday (called “Shrove Tuesday” in English) which is the last day before the Christian season of fasting and penitence known as Lent. Here in Mexico there are a series of sponsored parades and fiestas throughout the Carnaval season, including people dressed up as Sayacos (spirits or crazy people) who throw confetti or flour on the unsuspecting parade watchers. The entire concept of Carnaval and the term itself comes from Latin, literally meaning a “farewell to meat.”

You’ll see some histories that trace Carnival traditions back to pagan Rome or even earlier, but these are fictions. Yes, pagan societies held grand festivals in springtime, near an equinox or around a solstice. They even sometimes fasted for periods. Yet these are common human activities, and there is no other direct relationship between those activities and the Christian season of Lent. It would be like suggesting the Chicago Bears football games are actually based on the dinosaurs, because long ago the dinosaurs engaged in mortal combat on the part of Pangea which is now Chicago. Riiiiiiiiiiiight.

Even when a majority of Americans were practicing Christians, Lent was something that stuck out. I can recall showing up for work in the morning and having the guard at the entrance say “Sir, there’s something on your face!” to which I’d rely “Yes, yes there is, and thanks for noticing.” Wearing ashes on your forehead, abstaining from meat, fasting on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday were things that set Catholics (and Anglicans) apart. Now many Protestant groups are reclaiming their Lenten traditions. Meanwhile, Catholics relaxed the requirement* to abstain from meat, which used to be a year-round practice, so now it’s only a Lenten one. Few people know that the McDonald’s Fillet-o-Fish sandwich was created by a franchise in Cincinnati that suffered lagging hamburger sales every Friday!

Many people ask “what’s the point?” of giving up meat or wearing ashes. Some quote Jesus saying “when you fast…(do) not appear to be fasting…” (Matthew 6:16), which we read today in the Gospel. Giving something up just to give it up IS pointless. We give things up because we follow Jesus’ example, who fasted in the desert. We also give things up as a sign of obedience and trustworthiness, doing what we said we would do. A higher form of this practice is to take what you save (time, money) in your self-denial and give it away to those in need. These actions ennoble an otherwise pointless exercise in self-denial. Likewise, committing to doing something positive (in place of giving something up) is laudable. I recall a nun explaining it as “giving UP” with the emphasis on the direction of the intention (up as to God) as opposed to the notion of just denial; I like that way of thinking.

We wear ashes as a symbol. If it were a symbol which gained us respect, it would be something to do in private. If it marks us as someone to be ridiculed, we should wear it in public. “Blessed are you when they revile you…for my sake” says the Lord (Matthew 5:11). I’ll leave it to the reader to decide whether being marked as a practicing Christian gains you respect today!

So we begin another Lent, a season of denial and mindfulness, but also a season of taking stock. If you believe we are all here for a purpose (I do), are we accomplishing it or avoiding it? If we are on the way to another world, what path are we on? When a cross falls from the sky directly in front of us, do we pick it up and embrace it, or look away and skirt it? Lent is a chance for a mid-(faith)-life crisis: who am I, and where am I going? Everyone answers that question in one way or another, regardless of beliefs. Embrace Lent: don’t give up, give UP.

*When the Roman Catholic Church changed, it made abstaining from meat every Friday optional, to be replaced with another penitential act at each believer’s choice. As is often the case, the practice was entirely forgotten. If you ever want to play “stump the Catholic”, ask them what voluntary penance they do in place of meatless Fridays, and you’ll get a blank stare. For our part, we gave up (see what I did there?) and returned to meatless Fridays year-round.

What corruption looks like (Part Two)

In the previous post, I gave you a rundown on how corruption looks different to visitors and expats. One further complicating factor here is the drug business.

Most people think that drug money is the root of corruption: it certainly does buy lenient judges, accommodating border guards, and friendly politicians. But the real root of corruption is drug violence. Recall this famous opening scene from the Godfather?

This scene captures a piece of the implicit threat posed by organized crime, but Bonasera is the supplicant: he has come to the Godfather seeking “justice.” In real life, cartels come to everyday people with the implied threat of violence.

They’ll send the new police inductee a note with a bullet and a coin: “¿Plato o plomo?” (“silver or lead?”) meaning accept a bribe or be killed. They’ll see a woman who works cleaning homes and they’ll say to her “You have a fine teenage son. You wouldn’t want him mixed up with a gang, would you? You tell us which houses have safes, and we’ll make sure he never joins up.” Or they tell a gate guard, “Let us know which houses are unoccupied next weekend. You’ll be alone at the gate at night, so don’t make any trouble.” We all like to think we’d be brave when faced with such threats, but the truth is these threats are not idle: people who don’t cooperate just end up dead. And there will be no trial for the perpetrators.

The overwhelming majority of corruption goes on quietly, on side streets and in back rooms. Threat are made, deals cut, money exchanged. Corruption is a fungus which thrives on the dark, fetid side of life. Yet there are still rules. Retribution against women and children is to be avoided. Never rat out anyone to the authorities, or worse yet, the federales NOB. And don’t kill gringos, unless they are involved in the drug business.

Except, as you recall from Part One, now is the season of institutional flux.

On February 1st, a local 78 year-old Canadian expat was shot to death, execution style, while walking on a path to the dentist’s office in the middle of the day. The authorities have provided little detail of the investigation, but the deceased’s friends are steadfast in ruling out any involvement in drugs. Someone tried to carjack a Gringa from a busy street, midday. There were three shootings last week of Mexicans apparently associated with the drug business, resulting in three dead and six wounded.

The last time similar levels of violence happened here was 2012 (notice, six years ago) during a flare up between the Sinaloa cartel and Los Zetas (again, around the federal election that year). This time it appears to be rival factions of the Cártel de Jalisco Nueva Generación (CJNG). For the newbie expats who have come here since, the violence is something new and alarming. Mexicans and expats lakeside are quite right to speak out and demand better security, because a lack of response to such crime appears to condone it, and could lead to a changing set of norms about what is acceptable. Yet the crimes are not new: they are the inevitable result of long-standing corruption, which will on occasion erupt in very visible, very tragic violence.

So we should be active, vocal, and alert, but not fearful. The proper response to an inexplicable death is to mourn, for we are all lessened by it (cue John Donne):

This a super creepy but amazing video which animates an event that never happened: Orson Welles reading the text of John Donne’s famous poem.

Violent crime is always shocking. Sometimes it can be explained, sometimes it truly is random. It is understandable when several shocking crimes occur that people think there is a correlation, that something is different, something has changed. Think of all those days when no serious crime happens: do those days represent a correlation, too?

Where corruption thrives, there is always the possibility of violence, and it will break out in dramatic and unsettling ways. It’s not unusual or even a change. Every person must decide what level of violence they can tolerate. No one should be criticized for saying “¡bastante!” (“enough!”), but everyone should understand what is happening, and why, before acting.