Monday, February 11, 2008

Like he really cares, yeah...



President Felipe Calderón is visiting the US... just one week after Super Tuesday... and won't see President Bush.
Aside from questioning who's making President Calderón's Diplomatic Agenda, what really upsets me--I'm a naïve dreamer yet; can't help it, though--is Mr. Calderón's unassuming lack of genuine interest for the Mexican Community living in the US that he claims to care so much for.
Thirty minutes of his time is what Mr. Calderón reserved to meet with Mexican community leaders in NYC. That's it. No talking to the press, no real grassroots effort to know firsthand what Mexicans are going through during one of the worst times for Mexicans in the US in decades.
I'm not adivino, medium or chamán, but I saw it coming since I learned the date Mr. Calderón would visit Manhattan: The news of his visit would be minimally featured, if any, in The New York Times' front cover. Here we go: This is what the NYT ran on Calderón's visit in today's website. I'm looking forward to tomorrow's print edition:

And then, there's Jorge Pedro Uribe



Jorge Pedro Uribe works at Editorial Televisa and lives in Mexico City. So, he's a warrior. He kindly responded to my open invitation to visit PSN and drop a line. He, unlike us who are now abroad, tells us in his brief essay why won't ever leave Mexico. I stand by his decision of loving his country--which is mine, too--from within. I've always see myself as a brave dude for having the guts to migrate, and a coward for doing so at the same time. He's decided to stay in Chilangoland, and I cheer up for that.
This is what he's wanted to share with us all (English version will follow shortly):


Yo no me voy de México

Yo no tengo identidad, justo como el resto de mis compatriotas. Resulta que nací en un país muy joven, de menos de 200 años, en el que todavía no sabemos si la piel morena es políticamente correcta o socialmente incorrecta. Tampoco tenemos tan claro si el clasismo es descriptivo o normativo. En fin, un país con acné del que estoy enamorado. Me encantan su vanidad adolescente, las rabietas que hace y su ingenuidad ingeniosa. Incluso su petulancia me atrae. Además, México no es superficial, sólo inseguro. Y yo lo amo cuando menos lo merece porque es cuando más lo necesita. En realidad no es amor, acaso compasión budista (¡y eso es mucho mejor!). Como sea, yo me quedo. No huyo porque no hay a dónde huir, de todas formas; además, no lo necesito. Los modales de mi país me entusiasman y me ofrecen esperanza. Yo sé que toda esa gente corrupta y poco cívica tendrá que morirse algún día. Y los ambulantes. Y también sé que los niños hoy son más conscientes [que antes]. Y que no es necesario envolverse en una bandera y sacrificar la vida, sino únicamente respetar a segundas, terceras y cuartas personas. Y darse a respetar. Cuando crezcamos nos haremos más serenos (y panzones) y seremos capaces de entender qué hacemos aquí. La paciencia está de mi lado, y yo estoy de lado de mi país. No por patriota, sino por mexicano.

Jorge Pedro Uribe Llamas

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

María Guzmán, Moving In

She was born in Italy, his father is from Colombia, his mother from Peru, and she lives in Houston, Texas. Her installation 'Moving In' is currently open at the Lawndale Art Center. María explores the emotions that arise every time one moves to a new place. She impersonates globalization at its best and in her work, and thoughts, resonate the way immigration is shaping our world. This is a conversation I had with her February 5th on her work, her background and what's like to be a "South American girl" born in super-trendy Milan living in the heart of the Boho Houstonian neighborhood of Montrose, and lacking a Mother Language, as she reveals in the interview.
Here's a little bit of an introduction to Maria's conversation:

What’s your mother language?

That’s kind of a tough question. I learned Italian first, and I spoke and wrote very good Italian. At that time, my parents spoke Spanish, and I would understand Spanish but didn’t speak Spanish. Then I moved to Colombia and went to a bilingual school, so I kept my Italian and learned to speak and write Spanish, still not very good. So, my mother language, I don’t know anymore. My Italian is slacking a little bit since I don’t speak Italian with anybody, and also my vocabulary is one of a 14-year old. And then my Spanish is very good but I think is not grammatically correct all the time, and I speak Spanish only with my parents. An then, my English is not perfect either, I have an accent and I still make mistakes every now and then, so I don’t think I have a mother language.

Do you think that is something that has, in any way, to do with your work?

Definitely. My work Moving In is about trying to find a space, a place, that is my own. I don’t feel at home quite anywhere. When I moved to Colombia, I wasn’t really Italian, even though I was born in Italy. When I got to Colombia I felt like: yeah, I’ll be at home, finally, and then everybody treated me like I was foreign. I had an accent, again. So, it’s not just home there yet. And then, when I moved to the US, definitely not home, it’s a completely different language. So, this work is about trying to find a space that is my own. I try to deal with all the emotions that come every time I move. Some of these emotions are anxiety, fear. You move to a new place, you’re lost and you have to find your bearings, and then also excitement, there’s a lot of excitement when you move, it’s an adventure. There’s a lot of curiosity and expectations that change yourself, change your future.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Sobradamente preparados (reloaded)

Recently I had to translate this Op-ed contribution into English to be included in some applications that am working on. It was originally published in El Universal newspaper in August, 2007, and I would like to share it with y'all.

Overly educated (and fed up)

Should we pretend this is a middle and upper class Mexican immigrants support group’s first session, this is how I would introduce myself: “Hello, my name is Antonio, I hold a BA from the private Jesuit Universidad Iberoamericana, I used to live in the preppy neighborhood of Lomas de Tecamachalco in Mexico City until six years ago, but then I moved out of Mexico, and I don’t want to go back there.”

It would be really easy for me to come up with a guest-list of potential attendees to such peculiar group. For instance, I could just E-vite my close friends. Eight out of ten already live abroad. Or I could contact any of the 225,000 Mexican young professionals –holders or either BA or technical degrees—that flee Mexican soil every year looking for better opportunities elsewhere, according to Mexico’s National Population Council (CONAPO).

CONAPO also stresses out that, between 2000 and 2005, an average number of 577,000 people emigrated out of Mexico every year. Such figure equals the total population of a midsize Mexican city, like Tuxtla Gutiérrez, capital of the Southern state of Chiapas. Together, both numbers reveal something unthinkable years ago: Members of Mexico’s educated elite already add up to 40 percent of all Mexican immigrants.

Back in the days when I used to work as Special Affairs Reporter for El Financiero newspaper—between 1998 and 2000—I travelled throughout several Mexican states, like Michoacán and Puebla, whose poorest regions where deeply impacted by the massive phenomenon of emigration. The life conditions there were so brutal it was hard to imagine a better way for their inhabitants to overcome their lack of opportunities but leaving: they had no jobs, no hospitals, no education options beyond sixth grade, no tap water in most cases. These towns were the perfect location for a John Steinbeck story on Mexican immigrants: young men were no longer there. They had already gone, leaving the young ladies, the children and the elderly behind. Oh, and the starved street dogs too.

A decade has passed since then and Mexico’s consistent inability to find ways to distribute its GDP in a more balanced manner—my country ranks 12th among the largest world economies—, has spread the immigration effects beyond the rural landscape. Urban Mexicans are now also eager to find their way out of the country.

--Are you nostalgic about Mexico?—I asked in 1999 to a former gang member who had emigrated to New York from the violent lower-class suburban neighborhood of Ciudad Neza in Eastern Mexico City. He had settled down in Hispanic Harlem with his wife and his little daughter.

--No way!—he said sharply—. Would you feel nostalgic about a place where starved kids wander around on the street with no clothes at all, covered with mud from head to toes?

According to numbers from United Nations, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund cited by The New York Times (NYT), Mexico’s total number of emigrants ranks first among Latin American countries. According to CONAPO, the main reason to leave the country for 47 percent of all young professionals is to stay away from poverty.

The emigration phenomenon has now reached out traditional upper-class Mexico City neighborhoods such as Pedregal, Del Valle and Ciudad Satélite. Private universities that used to be known for the posh attitude of its students are now also producing Inmigrantes de lujo. Even middle and upper class families from small Mexican cities that used to travel many times a year to San Antonio, Texas, for a shopping spree are now leaving Mexico. The number of Mexican families that have settled down in the Northern side of the Alamo City is growing so rapidly, the area is now called Little Monterrey, in allusion to that affluent Northern Industrial Mexican City.

Ironically, these pampered immigrants take advantage of Mexico’s rampant inequality to stay away from the country’s ugliest aspects they so dislike while perpetuating them with their opting out. They are bilingual, educated and globally-oriented—which means they have what it would take to make a change in Mexico should they decide to stay there and work towards that goal—and they take advantage of the growing demand for qualified professionals in the developed world.

As the Times ran on the article ‘Rising Breed of Migrant: Skilled and Welcome’ published on August 22, 2007, “the number of college-educated migrants in rich Western countries rose 69 percent from 1990 to 2000, according to a World Bank analysis prepared for the The New York Times […] Of 52 million migrant workers in those countries, 36 percent had some college education, up from 31 percent a decade before.”

Immigrants are, by no means, natural born Whysayers—I am not including here, needless to say, refugees nor political exiles. You can’t help trying to run away from the hopelessness of such desolated places like La Mixteca. Trying to escape from the nightmares of Mexico City’s underprivileged suburbia is a call for survival. But there’s something quite disturbing, rather broken and in great need to be fixed about these privileged young men and women who were born and raised in the most pampered segments of a society that, they were told since they were kids, was planned to be at their reach, and their growing eagerness to become emigrants. They were supposed to take advantage of their predominant position in such unequal society, and actively working to reduce its rich-and-poor gap—not rather looking for emergency exits out of it.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Solitos y loquitos


This year, my family and I will feature a unique Christmas experience. We will be on our own. It will be the first time since we moved to the US, back in the summer of 2004, that we will not travel abroad to join our families and friends in celebrating the Holiday season. Moreover, none of them is coming to Austin to make a toast and enjoy Valentina's delightful Christmas turkey with us.

It wasn't really planned so. We were expecting to receive the Travel Document from USCIS on time for the Holidays, but it hasn't arrived yet, so we better not move. Our initial plan was going to Mexico--for the first time altogether since we left, in 2001. And I can tell, it doesn't feel nice. It's not like when you enjoy being on your own because you've decided so. It's rather like the sad feeling of being away from all, isolated like an iceberg in the middle of Antarctica.

Even the most self-sufficient of all immigrants--us, for once--feel the blues from time to time. I have no doubt the hardest part of being out and around, off hometown, is the isolation you run into sometimes. You end up feeling like la India María in the movie 'Ni de aquí ni de allá'.

Whenever I go back to Mexico, I feel like I don't fit there anymore. But I don't think I fit here either. Every single immigrant friend I have talked to about this feel the same.

Why, in the world, are we so stubborn about being away? I'm talking about us, the ones to whom being an immigrant is still a choice. Why are we so obsessed with it? I know why I don't fit in Mexico, and I know also that I don't want to fit 100% here. Nevertheless, if forced to make a decision, I rather stay off there. Which is not precisely the opposite of saying here.

Does it make any sense? Do you feel the same, dear nutty friend?

Thursday, November 1, 2007

The language factor (o qué onda con el español de este lado de la línea)


Once upon a time, the vast majority of Mexican immigrants in the US did everything they could to keep their sons from learning to speak Spanish. A popular myth suggested that bilingual kids would speak English with a heavy accent. And such thing was a considered a hassle Mexicans couldn't afford, since they were still struggling to claim their civil rights.

Needless to say, back then tossing Spanish words in every day's lingo wasn't considered cool, nor Latinos were seen as hot. It was no time for J. Lo or Eva (Longoria, of course) and the column Ask a Mexican would've been consider cannibalism. It was time for César Chávez, whose mug shot taken from his profile on Wikipedia, accompanies this post.

In three-plus years living in Austin, I have gotten to know many Latino families whose parents, educated men and women in their mid-thirties, barely speak Spanish but are encouraging their sons to become fluent in this language. It is a way to retrieve their mother culture and be in touch with their roots, all over again. Retro-cultured families is how they are called.

Now that Latinos are taking on mainstream media and 'Hasta luego' has become the coolest way to say goodbye, Education still plays a key role when it comes to take pride of the mother language we come from. Many low-income or low-educated immigrants still try to encourage their kids to learn English first and foremost. They see learning Spanish as an obstacle, as if speaking it publicly would make them look 'more Mexicans', more vulnerable in that extent.
That may be because low-income Mexican immigrants know, either consciously or obliviously, that their chances to better their lot in the US are greater if they get English-fluent, an asset few of them are equipped with at their arrival. Many of them have seen many doors close before them as a result, and they don't want their kids to go through the same.

So, what happens to middle-and-upper-class Mexican immigrants in this case? Most of them come to the US on 'skilled worker' visas. That means, 1) they come here legally and, 2) they already speak English at their arrival. These two elements modify their experience as immigrants at all. Further, it also establishes the place Spanish takes at home.

My guess is many of these immigrants don't see themselves as permanent US residents in the future. They see this unexpected process of immigration as a temporary stage in their All-Mexican lives. So, some of them might prioritize an English-speaking atmosphere at home, because once back in Mexico, being fully English-fluent will be a great asset for their kids and, also, there will always be time later to bring back any Spanish word they might forget down the road. Others, by contrast, might prioritize a Spanish-speaking atmosphere as a way to keep their sons from becoming totally gringos, which is yet considered the ultimate nightmare of a Mexican chauvinist.

But there's also another scenario, where every Mexican middle-and-upper-class family that is looking for a green card fits: staying in the US for real, leaving the tag of Mexican niño or niña bien, and becoming, simply, a US Latino. What happens there? How are these families approaching la enseñanza del español? What does Spanish language represent to them?

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Chilango dude goes crazy and meaty



Serial killers have always fascinated me. I think, in silence, we all feel either intensely attracted to or disgusted by such reckless characters. There's no gray zone when it comes to assess them, for they question the good name most people give to human nature. They remind us we're merciless mammals, iPhones and Al Gores notwithstanding.
When I was a child growing up in a small town of Estado de México where major studios movies always arrived later than in Mexico City, serial killers were an exclusively-American thing. You could see them in horror movies such as Friday the 13th or Pesadilla en la calle del infierno (what a silly translation), or talked about in TV news, but they would always come from el gabacho. It made sense, everyone that I knew in Mexico agreed, since "los gringos están bien locos". Only a sick country like los Estados Unidos could produce such broken human beings.
Almost three decades have passed since then. I moved from Toluca to Mexico City, then to Madrid, then to Austin. Growing up was realizing serial killers are everywhere, it's just that Hollywood and American media mastered the art of presenting them as irresistible candy.
However, many Mexicans and OTAs(Other Than Americans, that is) keep thinking gringos are the only ones super crazy, that's why shootings only happen in American public high schools and Michael Jackson doesn't sing rancheras, or so they say.
I'm wondering whether they are rephrasing themselves now, after meeting and greeting not only La mataviejitas--a serial killer who took the lives of dozens of old women in Mexico City, and who turned out to be a 60-year-old woman named Juana Barraza--but, get this, El caníbal de la colonia Guerrero.
Don't worry, sensitive readers, I'll omit any detail regarding the reasons he got such well-deserved nickname, but I encourage you to read what the Mexican press has published on him, whose real name is José Luis Calva Zepeda. There's something disturbingly demystifying about us all in Mr. Calva Zepeda. His personal story and his own writings (he's an amateur playwright, poet and storyteller) reveal he's the ultimate next-door Mexican, profoundly affected by Mexico's savage gap between the elite and the underprivileged, fatally driven by Mexican society's obsessive imposition of family tradition over individual freedom.
He so fits the average-Mexican bill, it creeps me out.