What's all this about death?

This weekend I went to watch a procession of Jesus's walk to his death. This takes place all over Mexico, including actual reenactments of the crucification- blood and all. Easter Sunday is not so big. Thinking it might be a Latino, Catholic thing, I asked my best friend, Joy, living in Bolivia what she is doing for Viernes Santo (Good Friday) and she sort of said, "nothing- it's not that big here."

While touring some small towns here with a friend I noted this to her and she responded, "We're a culture that celebrates death. That's why it is big here." And then I thought, of course. Mexico's biggest holidays include Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), a day when millions flock to the graves of loved ones, build altars to the dead. Colorful paper cut-outs, colorful candles, colorful candies. Good Friday, the day when we generally mourn Jesus' death in our Protestant traditions, looks just as colorful with bright sawdust and flower carpets in the streets, and flowers everywhere. It kind of fascinates me and makes me wonder, "how can death truly be celebrated?" How can the end of something, supposedly good, be celebrated? When the good times are on, I want the good times to last. Not die. Much less be happy about the good times ending.

"Mujer" No Se Escribe con M de Macho

Most moments I love Mexico. Honestly. I may roll my eyes when buying a tamale turns into a 15-minute ordeal. I may fear for my life when crossing the street. I may not be able to figure out how late is actually inappropriately late- is it 20 minutes, 30, 40? But this country has already left a life-long impression on my perspective, heart, faith, politics and values. Everyday is filled with blue skies and temperatures hovering around 75 degrees. I enjoy the work I do. The food is almost too good. I love the language. And the sincerity and warmth of the people has been the thing what keeps me going when I feel entirely disconnected from friends and family in the States. But I won't lie, there are certain aspects I would never be able to accept. Perhaps the most difficult aspect of Mexico and its culture is machismo. Machismo is essentially our version of sexism, and just like sexism, it seeps into nearly every aspect of the culture. From jobs and wages, to women's roles in the family, church and politics. And I am not just observing it happen to others. I experience it as well. And I detest it.

The Street. Laugh… go ahead, laugh a little. But I have definitely decided that a celebrity life is not for me. Puebla, a "small city" of about 2 million, is not accustomed to the flow of foreigners that Mexico City knows. There is not a block I walk, quite literally, where I don't get a lecherous stare, a "mamacita," an attempt of sweetheart English, and/or not-so-gentlemanly reminder of how supposedly guapísima (even in sweatpants, big-poofy-hair-pulled-back-in-a-ponytail, old college t-shirt and chowing down on a taco with lime and grease dripping down my hand) I am. This at first may not seem so bad. Geez, simply by moving to a neighboring country, I am suddenly "ten!"… or at least a 9.5. Not so hard to deal with that. But the truth is, it wears on you. I just want to walk to work in peace. I don't want to be noticed, verbally recognized and pointed out to co-workers, while they grab their crotches and lick their lips. And it gets worse. I've had some of the most disgustingly sexual things said to me or gestures done to me. Anytime I'm walking and see two or more men on the sidewalk up ahead, I get a knot in my stomach. I prepare for whistles, sweet love comments, aggressive sexual innuendos, or at the very least, a long hard stare.

The Cycle. But this is just the least of how machismo rears its ugly head. Often women are discouraged to leave the house, rampant infidelity takes place in an estimated 70% of marriages, job discrimination, women being largely valued for their physical qualities, and violence, both domestic and in the street. Not all too different from what happens in the United States, right? So, where does this start, who's responsible, how can this cycle be broken and where do I say this is cultural and I must accept it, and this is just plain wrong? One of the things that I have come to learn is that machismo, just like sexism, is something that is socially nurtured. And it's not just the men participating in that socialization- women do, too. It starts at home (girls being forced to help their mothers with household responsibility, while boys either work with their fathers or play), it's rooted in the Church (women being told to maintain a veil of purity and passivity, while men fill all the leadership roles and make all the decisions), it's perpetuated in schools (even public schools are often divided by sex) and then brought back home to the to the family (with mothers, as often as fathers, perpetuating submissive roles and teaching their daughters, and sons, to model the behavior).

My work. The women at my work are strong, independent. The men are progressive minded and kind. At least the version I'm accustomed to culturally. The truth is, maybe I define "strength" differently. Many of you know that I am quite assertive. I let it be known when things don't settle right with me, just as I let it be known when I am really happy and content. Some of that has changed since I've gotten to Mexico, and I think I've done it mainly in order to conform to my view of societal roles for women. I don't want to be the Ugly American. It is a much more subtle country. Indirect. I'm not.

Two weeks ago I cried for about an hour to a friend here. I was so emotionally fed up with being harassed on the streets. I was- rather, I am sick of being hollered at like an animal. I have the right to walk in peace. I sometimes don't want to leave my house unless I'm with someone. This isn't me. As my friend comforted me while I sobbed on his shoulder, I wondered, "how am I letting this change me?" I decided to talk to my co-workers about how I should handle harassment. I was more than happy to hear them suggest that I should do what has always been my natural instinct- assert myself (in public and sober settings). Now when men say things to me, I say something return. Sometimes it's a sweet reminder to "be a gentleman" or a passive aggression, but obvious eye-roll and headshake. Other times I have actually stopped in my tracks, turned around and demanded that they repeat it again to my face. A few times I have questioned angrily how do they suppose I feel when I can't go anywhere in Mexico without being told something disrespectful. Surprisingly, some of these confrontations have led to a respectful conversation on cultural differences and basic human rights. I've even had some men apologize and admit it is wrong! Others have taken it lightly and laughed (I'm sure among other things) when I turned my back. But the point is, the women at my work gave me the courage to be myself again. They encouraged me to not be passive and accept that treatment. And you know what? It probably doesn't change a damn thing, but it restores my self-esteem when I can voice my anger.

Change and hope? I am more than lucky to have men in my life here that understand this phenomenon and reject it. The my male friends here all helped remind me Mexico is filled with people fighting this personally, and sometimes publicly. This weekend the organization where I work hosted a "Gender Workshop" and invited workers from the maquila industry in rural Puebla and Tlaxcala to participate. Women and men gathered for two days of guided discussion about the concept of gender roles, machismo and what can be done. It breathed new life into me. I needed it maybe more than anyone else at that workshop. I observed and participated as workers from poor rural towns talked about the differences between genders and how men and women can work to change the inequities. Women spoke of the hurt they've experienced on the street, at home and in the workplace. Men talked about how they identify as men because they are "permitted" to "have girlfriends aside from their spouse," "be the boss at work," and "make decisions in the house." Through the range of emotions and thoughts I had during the workshop, the one thing permeated was this feeling of relief. I was relieved that there are folks in Mexico giving workshops like this. I was relieved that there are people from poor and marginalized communities, with little formal education, working difficult jobs, and barely having time for their families and household commitments, that took the time to come educate themselves and share with others their personal knowledge. Absolute relief.

I walked home that Sunday afternoon, the same route I always take. Content for the first time in a long time with the state of women's rights in Mexico. I thought, "maybe the issue isn't so hopeless after all…" And for the first time ever on that 35 minute walk between my work and my house, not a single man said or did one disrespectful thing to me.