As we approach and pass the five month mark of my time in Central Mexico, I continue to be humbled by the joy I have experienced here. There are so many wonderful things happening deserving of celebration and recognition. For those of you who didn’t receive my latest newsletter, you can find it by clicking here. From the people, to the amazing organization I’m accompanying this year, and all of the beautiful sights to take in and experience, my heart sometimes feels so full that it threatens to burst on me.
All that being said, I’ve been very conscious about what I’ve shared with you all so far this year. There is so much happiness here, but like anywhere in the world, there also exists oppression and hardship. Being a witness means embracing and acknowledging everything that may be happening, no matter how difficult that may be. I don’t often like to dwell on negativity, but to omit it from this year’s story would be leaving part of my job unfinished. One of the most challenging parts of this year has been living and working in two places that are in many ways similar, but even more so different. I have witnessed some challenging realities, and haven’t until recently been able to find a way to put them in words. My position as an ‘outsider’ has lent me to spaces and conversations not everyone here has the opportunity to be a part of and has supplemented my experience with an understanding and reminder that sometimes our biggest obstacles are the people living around us.
Recently a friend was teaching me more Nahuatl and asked me the question “Toni kijtoua mo yolot?” Literally translated it means something along the lines of “What is your heart saying?” and is the common way to basically ask “What’s up” or “What are you thinking?” Perhaps words affect me more than the average person, but when my friend translated the meaning for me, I was once again left speechless by the beautifully profound capacity Nahuatl has for getting to the depth of things in a simple manner. What are you thinking about so deeply in this moment that you feel it in your heart?
My heart has been saying so many things lately that my brain just can’t put into eloquent, complete phrases. I sometimes see things and hear conversations that make me so frustrated I’m brought to the point of tears: A group of wealthy Mexican tourists in the town center of Cuetzalan are surrounded by the usual indigenous women selling artisanal crafts to make a living. They’re making racial comments, situated above these women in stature and ignoring their presence below. Then after almost half an hour of stringing them along, debating what to buy and how much, settling on the cheapest item and handing them the largest quantity bill amidst laughter as the women scurry away to find change, because **of course** they don’t have that amount of change with them. All this while sitting with my friends from the library, some of whom have grandparents who continue to sell artesania to this very day in that same town center. This is why I don’t want to be considered a tourist I say.
Privilege.
It’s so complicated, yet so SO important to unpack and understand. There isn’t a day here that goes by without it showing up somehow for me, or in the things I witness. I can’t shake who I am, nor should I. I could live here for years and years, become fluent in Nahuatl, and even dye my hair the beautiful black that is so common here, but I will always be a white female from the Global North. It’s not about erasing your identity, but rather acknowledging the complicated societal systems that have placed certain groups of people in elevated spheres over others.
I often find myself dwelling on the phrase “treat your neighbor as yourself”, a concept that becomes difficult when I’m constantly caught in this ‘middle ground’ between two pueblos (towns) held in a tension that dates back decades. Who are my neighbors here? What do I do when these two worlds come crashing together in sometimes extremely uncomfortable ways? How did I somehow make it near the ‘top’ of this totem pole some people like to use to classify humanity?
These moments are hard. I have so many questions like the ones above that I’m afraid this year might never answer. As a white female coming from the Global North, holding a U.S. passport and living abroad in Mexico, the discomfort only continued as our group dove deep into the issues of migration and displaced peoples this past week. For the first time in my life, I was given the opportunity to explore first hand the relationship between the country I usually call home, and our Southern neighbor, Mexico. What can I say more than this issue, which at its heart is a complex story of humans forced beyond their limits seeking refuge, has been twisted and bent into a giant legal and political monster of an issue.
Something as simple as moving your foot from one patch of desert to another is now considered a felony. A wall that serves as a fear mechanism, constantly being redesigned and rebuilt no matter how many times natural forces like rivers and wind tear them down. Millions of dollars are invested in high tech gravel roads and state of the art surveillance systems not designed to keep people out, but to capture them and take them to court. Plea bargains are arraigned and upwards of 300 migrants can be processed daily in border courts under the newly designed Operation Streamline, destroying legal records, futures and benefiting private prison corporations. NAFTA seamlessly carving paths for subsidized U.S. corn of arguably lower quality to be imported and eliminating competition of rural Mexican farmers leaving them with few options to make a living.
How are we treating our neighbors?
Last week I was able to cross that imaginary line we call a border effortlessly by presenting my little blue booklet inscribed with the gold letters stating United States of America. I had time to reflect and touch the wall with the cartels watching us from the mountains behind us and Border Patrol agents fully aware of my presence on the other side. I was not afraid for my life or wellbeing. We shared meals with migrants who shared their stories and I was even gifted a beautifully painted seashell from a man named Horacio. We walked the halls of the Douglas, AZ border patrol station and listened to their perspectives, the laws that are in place, and their mode of operation. We watched as 44 men were shackled together, entered a courtroom and were mass processed into our prison system where they will serve time before immediately being deported. We declared the names of those who have fallen victims to the desert and the system, that they are always PRESENTE in this life. We talked with lawyers, activists, local government officials, faith movement leaders, and scholars on this issue. The breadth and intricate manner in which this issue has wrapped its tentacles around the lives of so many different individuals is alarming.
This doesn’t even touch on the half of what we witnessed last week or what thousands of people are experiencing daily on and around the border. This is not the last thing I write about the issue, but I am left astounded by how little we know about what is actually going on at the border. I am left wondering so many things, but to answer my friend’s question “Toni kijtoua mo yolot?”,
my heart says these are our neighbors.
This is not the love I want to show my neighbors, especially when this year I have been welcomed openly, offered a place to work, fed with delicious food, and treated like like an honored guest always. The difference between my path and theirs? Privilege.
Up From Below 