11 February 2008: The four-letter word that starts with an R…
He got up and closed the door before answering my question. But even after that, he spoke softly. That’s when I began to fully appreciate the irony of the situation – apparently in Merida an open discussion of the race cannot take place until the door is closed. Although many Americans would claim that the same is not true for the US, I’d disagree. In fact, I believe one can draw a direct line from the closed-door nature of that conversation in Mexico to the current campaign for the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination back in the US. After all, as Barack Obama makes his run for the White House, I’ve noticed him strategically avoiding substantive discussions on the issue of race. Of course, I haven’t been the only one to notice. Several high-profile African Americans have called out Obama on his failure to openly engage the public in the problems of the color line, especially in light of the incidents of Jena Six. Ultimately, I believe his limited comments in this vein reflect a well-calculated attempt to avoid being perceived as “yet another angry black man” or someone “playing the race card” by his potential constituency. Thus, even in the US, the bottom line remains the same: the honest discussion of race is still a closed-door, windows-shut conversation.
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10 February 2008: Art and politics…
“A lot of Mexicans were communists. That’s the take home message of this room.” Of course, he was being facetious as he attempted to distill all the paintings in the exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in Merida (MACAY) into a single, six-word take home message. Nonetheless, his comment managed to remind me that behind every painting, every sketch, and every sculpture lays a message and more often than not, that message is political in some way, shape, or form. And as I admired the so called “communist” art, I realized that when it comes to art and politics, the idea of communism may be one of the most recurring motifs. But despite its aesthetic appeal, the majority of people I know believe that the beauty of communism is enticing but ultimately deceptive. They are convinced that communism is a quintessential example of how an idea can be, as the cliché goes, good in theory but not in practice.
And as these thoughts whirled through my head, I felt art doing what it does best: inspiring me to re-examine the world around me and my assumptions about it. As you may have guessed, in this particular exhibit, I felt compelled to revisit the theme of communism, its aesthetic appeal, and ultimately, its theoretical validity. What I realized was that like every social structure, the theory behind sociopolitical structures is based upon certain assumptions about human nature. Thus, in an oversimplified sense, one can argue that at the crux of communism is the transcendental assumption that human nature is intrinsically good while at the heart of capitalism lies the assumption that human nature is inherently selfish. However, neither assumption is right or wrong for I am convinced that, in reality, human nature is characterized by an intrinsic duality: our propensity for evil is held in dialectic tension with our capacity for benevolence.
Thus, there are truths in communism just as there are truths in capitalism. Yet as human beings, our nature yearns for a higher synthesis¸ one that acknowledges our inclination towards selfishness and places it in a system of checks and balances with our gift of goodwill. Such a structure, one that correctly identifies the essence of human nature, is the only one that can be truly successful. I would argue that such a structure has already been found: democracy. After all, democracy was formed out of the recognition that man, especially one with absolute power, cannot be trusted. But it was forged out of and continued to prevail because of man’s capacity to do good. In light of this, the US has effectively incorporated democratized its political sphere. For me, like many Mexican artists before me, the real question is will society be able to do the same for its sphere of production?
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7 February 2008: “Natural” disasters and responsibility…
It was absolutely beautiful. But scattered among the lush mangroves, floating crocodiles, and soaring coastal birds were the obvious signs of hurricane damage. Here, in the Rio Lagartos nature preserve, vivid scenes of wildlife are juxtaposed to acres of dead mangrove forest. This became especially transparent when I spotted herons perched atop toppled mangrove trees.
Of course, we typically tend to write off such natural disasters as exactly that: natural. But what we must keep in mind is that they are only in part natural. Science has already shown that such dramatic weather events are likely to increase in frequency and intensity as global warming continues. What strikes me however is that although the US is fully aware of this dreadful prophecy, it continues to stumble forward as if it is blissfully unaware of the environmental consequences of its actions. Ultimately, this begs the question of why.
While in Rio Lagartos, it struck me that one of the reasons may have to do with the nature of the US’s geopolitical place in the world. After all, despite being the hands down largest contributor to climate change, the US remains the country least likely to feel its effects. Blessed by its geographical place in the world, the US avoids the worst and most immediate impacts of global warming, which tend to occur within the tropics. Similarly, thanks to its political clout and general affluence, it is also the country most able to deal with the effects of global warming even if they do occur. Thus, despite bearing the most responsibility for the current climate crisis, the US is isolated from the consequences of its decisions, allowing it to deny any responsibility while never having to pay the price.
Sadly, as Rio Lagartos reminds us, the burden often falls on the shoulders of the countries that are least responsible and least capable of handling such disasters. Although a disheartening case of environmental inequality, there is hope. Recently, at the Bali Roadmap conference, the delegation from India refused to move forward until the US accepted its responsibility. Their insistence was followed by comment after comment from every delegation reprimanding the US for its hesitation to lead in the search for a solution to a problem that it, along with a handful of other countries, had primarily created. Eventually, the tension reached a climax as one delegate directly addressed the delegation from the US, stating, “We seek your leadership but if for some reason you are not willing to lead, then please leave.” Ultimately, the US gave in to the demands and promised to help developing countries deal with climate change induced disasters. Of course, in politics, one’s word is never tantamount to future action and so the question of the whether the US will finally act responsibly still remains.
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4 February 2008: Building Gods…
As I walked through Merida’s downtown district last night, I felt compelled to pause and take in the sight of its beautiful cathedral. Constructed in 1598, Merida’s cathedral was the first Christian church to be built on the mainland of the Americas and it is home to the largest cross held under a roof.
And as I stood in front of the towering, 41-meter high façade of the cathedral, it occurred to me that the religious structure of a society is always recognizable. This is certainly the case in Mexico, where each city is constructed around a main central square, adjacent to which is its largest edifice, the church. The architectural tradition of building a city around a magnificent cathedral has been around since the Conquest when Spanish conquistadors imposed their cultural order upon the indigenous peoples of Mexico. But it can easily be shown that this tradition was also present in the ancient polities of indigenous peoples many years before the Conquest. Case in point: the 60-meter high Castillo at Chichen Itza.
However, I’d argue that the idea that the religious structure of a society is always recognizable is true for not only Mexico, but for the United States as well and has been throughout its entire history. Of course, I use the term religion here in a sociological sense to mean the structure that a society as a whole values most and collectively turns to in hopes of moving forward and making progress. Thus, when the US was first founded, its religious structures were churches, relatively large structures often built atop hills so that they would be even more visible. Then, as the Industrial Revolution took hold, smokestacks dominated the skyline as the country placed its faith in industry to bring about a better and more fulfilling life for its citizens. Of course, in the last few decades, the US has unhesitatingly shifted its fate and future security into the hands of capitalism and globalization and accordingly, up until September 11th, 2001, two of its most recognizable structures were the twin towers of the World Trade Center (emphasis on World Trade).
Interestingly, within the last few decades, Mexico’s skyline has been changing as cathedrals are beginning to be dwarfed by skyscrapers and business complexes, a transformation that seems all too familiar for a person who grew up with the Manhattan skyline out his window. However, not all of Mexico is embracing such change and I have my reservations as well. Ultimately, this comes down to a question of what Mexican society, as a collective, will choose to worship. Will it be the same God that the US is already beholden to or will Mexico choose an alternative? Sadly, from my vantage point, it seems that the decision has already been made.
]]>1 February 2008: Affirmative action in the Diario de Yucatan...
After discussing the struggles of Mexican minorities and inquiring about what the government was doing to bring forth social justice, I was pointed in the direction of an article recently published in the Diario de Yucatan. The article described the government’s intention to aggressively (its adverb of choice, not mine) expand its social assistance programs during the upcoming year. Of course, published alongside the article were several others that argued against the details of the proposed expansion.
As I discussed these critiques with some of the concerned residents of northern Yucatan, the parallels between this dialogue and the one regarding affirmative action programs back in the US became transparent. And although a plethora of arguments could be made in favor of affirmative action programs, for brevity’s sake, I will limit myself to just one (for a more comprehensive line of thought, see Tim Wise’s book Affirmative Action: Racial Preferences in Black & White) that I believe effectively addresses the subtext of this debate in both the US and Mexico.
Given the de facto reversal of the Brown v. Board of Ed precedent by the US Supreme Court this summer, let’s use affirmative action programs in education as our example. It seems logical to me that under circumstances of equal opportunity, a certain sub-set of the population would be present in higher education in the same percentage as it is in the general population. Thus, if a given minority comprised 15% of the general US population, then it would be expected to comprise 15% of the higher education student body. Needless to say, this is not the case today in either the US or Mexico; in both countries, minorities are present in higher education at consistently lower percentages than they are in the general population. Yet, in light of this disparity, many still continue to claim that equal opportunity in education exists and so affirmative action programs are tantamount to reverse discrimination, tipping the balance in favor of minorities. However, to claim that equal opportunity exists in light of such disparity ultimately reflects a belief that the observed disparity results for reasons – either genetic, biological, or cultural – intrinsic to the minority (hence their sub-par performance).
Of course, such a belief is overtly racist. But in today’s society, as the articles in the Diario de Yucatan underscored, such beliefs are never explicitly stated. Instead, they lie in the subtext of the false rhetoric against affirmative action programs. In fact, it appears that the prevailing power structure of the US has perfected the art of using beguiling but ultimately deceptive rhetoric to deny the need for affirmative action. A quintessential example of this is how the US Supreme Court was able to overturn the precedent set forth in Brown v. Board of Ed by taking the words of Dr. King out of context, stating that it could not support such programs because it feels that children ought not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
And as the dialogue continues, I can only hope that its sub-text as well as the parallels among the struggles of the oppressed become transparent, allowing the voices of minorities in the US resonate with those of Mexico and vice versa, moving them forward in solidarity.
]]>29 January 2008: Murals, the Maya, and Minorities...
As I looked left, I saw him lying there, supine, chained down by his wrist and ankles as the executioner oriented the spear directly above his heart. The scene was so intense that I was forced to turn away. But when I did, I found myself staring into the innocent eyes of a family that was shackled and being herded onto a ship to be sold into slavery.
These were the scenes from the Palacio del Gubierno in Merida. Granted they were murals, but the pains of the ancient Maya that they depicted were undoubtedly real, the artistic renderings deviated from the truth only in the sense that they may have not done their struggle justice. As I continued walking pass the murals, I began to see a parallel between the discrimination against indigenous people in Mexico and that of African Americans in the United States.
In both cases, the problem of discrimination has essentially changed in form, but not substance. For example, in the case of racism in the US, racism initially manifested itself through the whips, chains, and shackles of slavery. But, following the emancipation, it changed form, ultimately finding shelter in the system of share-cropping. With time, it transformed into the face of Jim Crow and ultimately into its present form, where it is much more subtle, but still as insidious and pervasive as it has always been. I repeat, despite all the changes in form it has undergone, racism remains as insidious and pervasive as it has ever been in American society. Thus, it has managed to change in name only – in form, but not substance.
Sadly, racism against the indigenous peoples of Mexico has followed a similar path. It started with the enslavement of indigenous peoples by the conquistadors and then found refuge in the encomienda system. After a series of nominal changes, it recently began to manifest itself in several ways, from Guatemalan death squads to ladino encroachments. In fact, discrimination against indigenous people today is so strong that it has compelled several anthropologists to call the entire future of groups such as the Maya into question.
In the end, such observations oblige us to ask the critical question of where do we go from here? How do we, as a collective, move forward to put an end to racism? As I look at the seemingly insurmountable edifice of racial injustice and the ways in which it manifests itself in the social, political, educational, cultural, and economic structures of our society, one fact is unequivocally clear: the time has come for us to realize that it is no longer sufficient to give our condolences or even our charity to victims, but realize that an edifice which produces victims must be reborn. In essence, I am echoing the call for structural change – the call for us to stop any efforts that simply paint the color of equality on the walls of an unjust edifice and instead, start to dismantle the edifice of injustice, structure by structure, so that society can give birth to structures in which racial equality and justice is implicit.
26 January 2008: The Maya and American denim...
Michael Coe, an anthropologist who studies the Maya, put the precarious future of the modern day Maya into perspective when he questioned, “Will the Maya survive?” He then went on to describe how the Maya “have been under attack from every side: from the army and death squads in Guatemala, from mass tourism and the destruction of the tropical forest in Mexico, and from ladino encroachments on their lands everywhere.”
As if that wasn’t enough, last summer, I stood witness to the ruthless destruction of the indigenous way of life through American industry. In a small town situated in the Mexican state of Puebla, a sprawling denim manufacturing complex stands where there used once laid the fields of indigenous people. The areas around the complex still belong to indigenous people, who primarily use them for farming corn.
While exploring the immediate vicinity around the factory, our group came across a stream adjacent to the manufacturing complex. It is difficult to describe the water in the stream but if you can picture liquefied denim, then you’ve more or less got the visual. And that description is by no means an exaggeration. The water literally appeared as a stream of vibrant Maya blue dye. From my understanding, this was ultimately the effect of the release of chemical by-products associated with the denim manufacturing and styling processes (i.e. sandblasting) into the water supply.
After leaving the stream in disgust, I got back into the car ready to head back and let the initial shock pass. But before even getting more than 15 minutes away from the factory, I saw a sight even more disconcerting. A sight that compelled me to pull over and touch it with my own hands so that I could determine if what my eyes were seeing was true. It was. And after that realization sunk in, I looked up and saw the expanse of dead cornfield that lay in front of me covered, acre after acre, in a two-inch thick layer of blue dirt.
It turns out that the stream polluted by the denim manufacturing complex fed into the same water supply that irrigated the surrounding cornfields. As a result, a layer of contaminated blue dirt had accumulated in the cornfields, which had first produced diminishing returns but by this point had ceased agricultural productivity all together. Sadly, this has forced many of the indigenous peoples whose livelihoods were deeply tied to their land and corn farming to find an alternative source of employment. Unfortunately, in a miserable twist of irony, the only other source of employment in the nearby vicinity is the denim manufacturing company and so, many indigenous people have been condemned to working in the exact place, performing the same exact processes, that had robbed them of their original way of life.
]]>23 January 2008: Reflecting on a blanket…
As she tried to sell me a hand-woven blanket, I couldn’t help but stare into her eyes. They were inspiring, filled with personal dreams, ambitions, and – above all – hope. I knew immediately that no one could ever sew a fabric as beautiful as her potential and it crushed me to know that despite it all, she would have to live with all her dreams deferred. Her name was Jimena and she couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. Jimena is just one of many impoverished Mayan children forced to sell handicrafts on the street in an attempt to help her family make a living.
Although most people feel much sympathy for such families, I was shocked to hear one person remark that she felt none. In fact, after listening to her, you would have guessed that she felt the exact opposite. She insisted that these families were attempting to make a living through manipulation, claiming that the parents of children like Jimena exploit their children to increase their earnings.
Needless to say, she was blatantly wrong, but I choose to mention her comments because, in an extremely crude sense, they evoke the same false logic that many others do when discussing the poor. More specifically, such arguments are based on the rhetoric of individuality, meaning that they narrowly attribute a person’s circumstances to his or her behavior. What such arguments fail to acknowledge is the kind of deplorable circumstances parents must be in to feel forced to exchange their child’s dreams for meager sustenance. No family takes pleasure in forcing a girl like Jimena to live the way she does. But in the end, we must realize that the fact that Jimena is reduced to selling us blankets will always say much more about us than it ever will about her.
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20 January 2008: Hmm…MEAT…what is it good for (in India)? Absolutely nothing!
“There are animals in India, right?”
“Yes.”
“But if Indians, don’t eat meat, then what do they do with the animals?”
That seems to be the question of the week. I just got asked it for the fourth time in two weeks. I don’t mind being asked it nor do I mind answering. In fact, every time I manage to answer it in Spanish, my now Spanish-speaking ego grows a little. Besides, I find the question interesting because it reveals something about the person asking it. By the way it is framed, the question appears to reflect the belief that animals exist solely to serve humans. In a sense, implicit to the question is the dominion of humans over animals and I cannot help but wonder whether this may be yet another example of the pervasive influence of Catholicism in Mexico. Of course, your guess is as good as mine, but I thought I should fill you in on this random observation.
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19 January 2008: Breaking news…
Those of you who know me and find my pathetic inability to swim amusing may find this news disappointing, but I have finally discovered how to swim…well, maybe not quite swim, but I can certainly tread water and occasionally even get some forward movement going. It’s not much, but I think it’s a stroke in the right direction. If I make any more progress with learning how to swim during the course of this trip, I’ll keep you posted. Until then, don’t stop making fun of my inability to swim…
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