Friday, September 08, 2006

The Big Picture

Mexico City. La Ciudad. D.F. Beautiful, vibrant, chaotic, intense, friendly, loud, dangerous, exciting. My home for a year. The group of us working in Mexico touched down in Mexico City the early afternoon of August 28. We have been running around ever since. My mind has not been able to rest and my senses are on complete overload.

Un poco de la historia. So, in brief, the PRI, centrist party, had ruled the country for over 70 years. It essentially served as a dictatorship, incorporating most unions, associations, and organizations, and was corrupt by all measures. In 1994 NAFTA, developed under Bush I's watch and signed into law under Clinton's, with promises of better economic opportunities for Mexico, went into affect. In 2000 the PRI lost the presidency to the PAN, right-wing party, which continued on with privatizing Mexico's markets.

Comercio libre. Essentially, the policies that the US, PRI (centrist) and PAN (right-wing) have implemented, enforced and/or promoted are creating an even larger class divide in Mexico (and the U.S., for that matter, as we are beginning to see middle class jobs threatened with globalization- not immigration) and are forcing many rural Mexicans to leave their homes for larger cities and often el otro lado (U.S.). An example of what happens is this: A small farmer in southern Mexico has for decades grown corn to sell in the market. He does moderately well and can afford to live a poor, but liveable life. Suddenly, he is not able to sell his corn at the market because there is a vendor at the other end of the market selling corn for half the price. The corn has been imported in from either the U.S. or Canada and is able to be sold at a significantly lower price because of the HUGE subsidies the U.S. and Canadian governments gives to enormous agri-business corporations like ConAgra and Monsanto.

La migración. The farmer and others like him can longer afford to feed their families because their only ability to make money in the rural area has been threatened. The farmers then decide to move to the city to find work. The city is huge, crowded, expensive (in fact, many prices at the grocery store I went to today, which is incidentally owned by Wal-Mart, have just slightly lower prices than the Giant where I shopped in Washingon, D.C.) and there is little work. If the farmer actually finds formal employment (through a business or company) he probably makes the Mexican minimum wage of barely $5 a day. But most often he is earning through the informal economy by selling wares on the sidewalk or doing sporadic manual labor. He finally decides he cannot afford to feed and house his family anymore and makes the painful decision to leave, hoping it is temporary, for El Norte.

La situación ahorita. The July 2 elections between Andres Manual Lopez Obrador (PRD) and Felipe Calderon (PAN) are widely believed to be riddled with fraud. Lopez Obrador of the PRD (leftist party) is said to have lost the election by a little more than 200,000 votes. Sound familar? And Mexicans took to the streets. They demanded an open count of all votes. Sound familar? The Zocalo, the main plaza in the center of the city, was packed with protesters (click for a photo) in July. In August PRD voters that believe their votes were not counted in the official polls blocked a main street in acts of civil disobedience. Currently, there is a huge planton, large tent city, on the Zocalo and throughout the central area of the city, of protesters vowing they will be there until there is a full recount. Last week President Vicente Fox was set to give his last Informe, State of the Union, to Congress but decided not to because PRD members in Congress stood where he would be (another photo) giving it carrying signs accusing him of aiding in the fraud to make Calderon the winner. Calderon of the PAN (right-wing party that holds the presidency now with Vicente Fox) this week was declared president by the highest court in the land. Sound familiar? Added to that is Mexican Idenpendence Day this September 15 and 16. With the country so divided and feeling angry and frustrated with the political system and the continual plummeting of quality of life, this is sure to be an interesting and inspiring next couple of months.

¿Qué signífica eso? You all know I love politics. I especially love it when the disenfranchised organize and demand justice. But I am writing this hoping that this can give a decent portrayal of the macro-context in which I'll be working. More importantly, the situation in which Mexico's poor, working class and middle class have to work and live. The farmer mentioned earlier is the face of who picks our tomatoes in Florida. He is the man that cleans our office building in San Francisco. He works endless hours in a chicken processing plant in the Mid-west. Or he paints our house in Washington, D.C. (despite our protests- shout out to the Emmaus girls). There is a direct connection between the economic state in Mexico and the U.S. And while we often are given numbers and statistics on a large scale, we are seldom asked to know the individuals and their stories within the masses. And incredibly complex individuals with deeply moving stories they are.

Chicago, Chicago

August 20-28, 2006

La Familia. The time spent visiting my family was difficult than most visits. My mom is battling cancer (for those of you that this is news to, I apologize, and also shudder at the fact that in this age I can share news like that over a freggin' blog) and it was difficult for me to see her in the emotional, physical and mental state that that I'm not used to seeing her in. But despite the stress the good-bye was my usual bout of tears and bawling. My parents brought me to the airport and as I lugged my suitcases through the doors, my mom called out to me, "We're proud of you, Rachy." More tears.

Aeropuerto. I approached the check-in counter with tears and my red crying face, checked my bags and was issued my boarding pass. I overheard one of the women behind the counter comment about the men's soccer team that would be flying out that night. I sort of smiled to myself and wondered what that was all about. I walked to my gate and listened to music, trying to hold back my tears. About 30 minutes before boarding the soccer team started rolling in to the waiting area. Little groups of college-aged boys slowly trickled in wearing white and blue-trimmed jerseys.

Trent and soccer. I boarded the plane and soon discovered that I would be the proud seatmate of my very own guapisimo freshman soccer player. Trent is from Minnesota (why can I never get enough of you Minnos!) and beginning his first year at Creighton University in Nebraska. He filled me in on team gossip and dynamics. We talked about his plans for college and I gave him plenty of unsolicited advice about how to make the most of the years. I laughed as he showed me his book "Beginners Socrates: Difficult Thought Made Easy" and just giggled about the hilarity of the entire situation of being on a plane full of young, hot soccer boys. My trip was beginning just perfectly (silly). I said good-bye to Trent and his teamsters and headed to the South side of Chicago for our orientation.

Orientation. Redundant. Emotionally exhaustive. Hopefully helpful later in the year during reflection.

Chi-town. This someday will be my stomping grounds. If I can stay sane through the bitter winters, I may attempt to make this my settlement (unless I get tempted to fly off to Spain or live in Buenos Aires). I went out with friends of friends, danced away in the Greek festival and took a sunset boat cruise on Lake Michigan. Simply exciting.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Good-bye D.C.

August 15, 2006

Never in my life have I been built up and broken down, and then built up again like I have in DC. The last month in DC was exciting, heartbreaking, emotional and never-ending. As I sat down in National (still refusing to call it Reagan) to wait for my plane, I stared at the Capitol in the distance and reflected.

DC. This is the land I once refused to ever call home, but somehow, it had come to feel like "home." The place where I stretched my activism and nurtured my passion. Here is where I have witnessed the most devastating poverty in the United States and seen the most encouraging struggles. I have loved like never before, and my heart, and all the plans and hope within it, has broken like never before. I have been mentored and shaped by saints, sins, brillance and bureaucrats. I have been inspired by some of the most passionate people I have ever encountered and been disillisioned by egos and grandiosity. I have lost friendships through distance and ideology, and gained relationships with true love and meaning. College may have scuplted my mind, but D.C. molded my heart.

As my plane took off and I peered over the "alabaster city" tears pooled up in my eyes. This once strange land was losing its converted stranger.