Some tales and musings during our stay, from Brian's journal

22 December 2009

The sun is shining on my face as I write from the backyard of our home here. Back in Madison it is snowing. The sun is as a gift to me. As is El Cerro del Hombre, which rises above the trees to my left. The dogs are still barking, the roosters still crowing.

Yesterday, our first full day here, Jose and Aurora invited us over for a delicious meal of enchiladas verdes. It was absolutely delicious. She said she would have us over for mole later in the week. Such a generous people here! So deeply caring.

I finally connected with Mariana, the leader of our co-counseling group yesterday. Tomorrow we'll be going to our first Tepoztlan Co-Counseling support group! I can hardly wait!

I have noticed that the feelings and patterns are amplified here. I think because there are fewer distractions and I am out of my normal scene. Walking through the cobblestone streets, I am aware that I often feel lousy, good-for-nothing, useless. I think that's what classism and US domination has reaped for me and for us. I am determined to fight it and to not believe it.

Here in Mexico, I am an ally and I have allies. Our relationships are good. And yet they are loaded with an oppressive history. I am in the dark when it comes to the history of US domination of the world, including this specific part of the world. I was not taught that we stole half of the territory of this nation. That California, Texas, Arizona and New Mexico belonged to Mexico and was taken in a bold-faced usurping of power and control. I was not taught that the drug dealers we have learned to fear grew fat off the excess wealth my fellow USers spend on illegal drugs, such as marijuana, cocaine and heroin.

Nor was I taught that I could have allies and be an ally to these people. That we have something to offer one another.


24 December 2009

Yesterday was a full day. I started early with a ride up to Los Ocotes with Jose to feed the dogs and collect wood for the fire back at his house, where Aurora was continuing to cook mole in a huge clay pot over a fire. I had helped stir the mole the night before during the mass and service for Jose's dad's "levanta de la cruz." The mole had to be constantly stirred as it cooked over a fire. At one point, the thickening liquid began to boil and it would splatter my shirt--and once or twice stung me across my face. Meanwhile all the seats were filled with family and friends and I was pleased to be helping out, almost as family, while the Vargas family hosted the service. Clouds of smoky incense from a bowl of charcoal and crystallized pine sap wafted through the air, mixing with the wood fire under the mole. I held what was like a small canoe paddle in my hands, stirring the mixture of nuts, raisins, tortilla, bread, seeds, chocolate, oil, water, chiles, in a clay vessel about a meter across.

Then, this afternoon after our procession through the streets of Tepoztlan to raise the cross for Jose's dad, (and a toast with soda and tequila) we headed back to the house and I had the opportunity to relish the mole along with Jose and Aurora and Kimberly as we savored the rich taste of mole with chicken, beans, rice and tortillas. Afterward, we all wore mole on our face or clothes. We joked that that is how you can tell when someone has been to a fiesta is that they wear mole!

We also made it to our first co-counseling (co-escucha) support group, which was excellent. Mariana now lives in a new place with an incredible view, and Kimberly and I (it turns out!) had no trouble finding the place and even arrived on time! We did news and goods (buenas nuevas) and then mini sessions, when Tona joined us. It was great to see her again too. Mariana read to us from some of Tim Jackin's writing about the holiday season and then she counseled all of us. It was very very good. What a gift to have that here, for us. A support group in Tepoztlan!


27 December 2009

Jose moved to the crowded living quarters adjacent to his metalworking workshop because last year, his father was sick and dying. That left just his grandfather, abueloito, living there. So Jose moved his family from their home in the cool quiet hills above the village in order to take care of his father and abuelo. What I have learned from this man about what it means to be human and what it means to prioritize ones family over ones own personal comfort or convenience.

What I have learned from my friend who sits doing time in the Green Bay Correctional Institution, one of Wisconsin's most notorious prisons, who taught me about what it means to be a devoted father and committed friend. How before I became a father, he showed me that I could be a father. That I had what it took to take on that job. I remember one day getting a call from him, long after he had been imprisoned and thinking to myself (characteristically) he is calling for support. And answering the phone call because it is so hard to make a call from prison and because he has so little support. Lo and behold, he was calling to support ME. To ask about my mother and her failing health.

From a colleague on campus who is willing to let me know when I say or do something that reeks of privilege and doesn't write me off or throw up her hands in discouragement, but who helps hold out for me my ideals.


29 December 2009

We were invited to a wedding here--our first Mexican boda. A singer/comic is on the stage. At one point he says to the group. "Women are bad.... Except when they are asleep." Here I am, perhaps the only white, American-born man in a crowd of 250. Squirming. With my wife and daughter who probably didn't understand what he said, they are so busy taking in their surroundings.

But I just remembered that later, he called me up front. I COULD have said something. What stopped me? Feeling awkward, risking humiliation. Not wanting to act out at the oppressor. Maybe I could have made a joke (in SPANISH? Yikes, that would have been hard.). Mira. Una cosa. Sobre lo que tu nos diciste antes. No estoy de acuerdo. Las mujeres NO SON MALOS. LAS MUJERES son buenos. Para probarlo, tengo una esposa increible alla, y una nina fabulosa alla.

Holy shit. Could I have taken the microphone from him and said that? Yes I COULD HAVE. YES it was my place. Holy f-in shit.



8 January 2010

I have had the opportunity to do a LOT of listening. To hear a LOT of stories. Of the Mexican woman who, upon returning to her hometown in Mexico because her father was dying was apprehended by immigration and so now cannot return to the US, where she had a job she loved, a husband, and friends. As she told me her story and I learned more about her, I told her in my halting Spanish that I was ashamed of the policies of my country towards her and her fellow Mexicans. There was a long pause, and I began to feel that she didn't understand what I was trying to say. But then she looked me in the eyes and said tearfully, no one has ever said that to me before. And we let that moment sit there, between us, two people who had been so deceptively separated from each other and from each others' experiences.

Agostín, a brother-in-law of one of my dear friends. As I chatted with him, I asked him about his children, he said he had one son who was 10 and a daughter who was 2. And then a moment later he corrected him self, apologizing, to say that "no, his son was actually 12." I thought that was kind of interesting that he would be off on his own son's age by two years. And then I asked some more about his life, only to learn that for the past 7 years, he has traveled to eastern Canada, on contract, to work in the greenhouses from April till December. Eight months out of every year for the past seven years. And he would be returning again this coming year. In other words, because of the global economic situation, this young man spends two-thirds of every year two international borders and thousands of kilometers away from his wife and two kids. He confessed to me that sometimes he hardly feels that he knows his kids.


Here is a brief video clip from the wedding and me up in front of the crowd, having been called up "volunteered" (not!) by the MC. If you know some Spanish you might catch the joke he makes at my expense about halfway through. Anyone? :-)