A Letter from the Neighbors
Mural on Cierre de Circuito Cetram, Chapultepec, Mexico City
I’ve just returned to Canada after two weeks in Mexico City. Just when our return flight left the Gulf of Mexico and entered American air space, the pilot announced that we would be entering “a zone of moderate or severe turbulence.” He wasn’t being ironic. As it turned out, the turbulence we felt wasn’t too bad — but we were, after all, far up in the sky and the pilot was able to make adjustments...
During those two flights, which I’ve taken a number of times, I was never more aware of Canada and Mexico’s positions as neighbors of the United States, and, now, of the unenviable status we share. I traced our route on the in-flight map, thinking about familiar places in the U.S., my original home. But I have never been happier to fly over it without stopping, to spend my time and money in Mexico — a country and a people I love — and then go home to Canada.
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A small portion of Mexico City, seen from the air not long before landing.
Being in Mexico City was both wonderful and clarifying. In that vast metropolis of 22 million people, a small percentage are wealthy but the majority are definitely not. In the streets and subways you are confronted with human suffering and afflictions one would rarely encounter on the streets of an American or Canadian city. Water flowed freely in our hotel and rented apartments, but up on the sides of the volcanic mountains ringing the city, many Mexicans have none, and are forced to walk long distances to carry water back to their homes, or rely on spotty water deliveries by truck. The level of security on homes in more affluent neighborhoods — heavy locked gates, wrought iron pickets, mortared broken glass on tops of walls, and even coils of razor wire — as well as guards armed with shotguns or even machine guns outside some businesses, showed that theft and violence are feared and even expected.
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Itinerant vegetable stall, with artichokes and asparagus, in Coyoacan.
Yet, it was clear that no matter what, daily life goes on. In that society, where the family is strong and central, people take care of each other; give pesos to beggars; support their local economies by buying from street vendors, many of whom are indigenous; participate in churches and other organizations that help those in need. Are they happy or unhappy? Some are definitely suffering. But I saw much more joy, laughter, awareness of others, kindness and genuine helpfulness than I usually do in public places at home. I observed this in simple interactions over food or travel; I felt it particularly when I talked to people in more detail or found myself in groups where we were all sharing or enjoying something together — music, dance, gardens, walking in a park, buying juice from a street vender. People are simply more human with each other. When someone gets up to give you their seat on the subway, they smile at you and speak, and make sure to make eye contact again when one of you leaves the car. Standing around a group of musicians playing on the street, the crowd interacts, dancing and catching each other’s eyes to share in the pleasure — and these are mixed groups of strangers, from the well-dressed to the tattered, all bonded by this moment of discovery and sharing of something joyful that is being given for free.
Dancing in the Alameda Central - a park in the center of Mexico City — on a Saturday night.
It made me think a lot about the time I spend sitting at my computer, versus the time I am with others. The time I spend in my head thinking, anticipating, and worrying — as opposed to really being in the present moment, doing things with my hands, actually learning something, having conversations, playing my instruments, observing the real world. The time I spend agonizing about politics and governmental failures, when so much of the power to make others feel better, and to make life happier, lies with each of us — and will continue to do so, no matter what happens in the larger world.
I did a lot of drawing while we were there. I tried to do at least one page in my sketchbook every day, and ended up with a bit more than that — with lots of material I hope to add now that we’re back home. I’ll show you more in subsequent posts, and try to share more of the beauty and complexity that we were fortunate to be immersed in.
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Mural depicting Emiliano Zapata (8 August 1879 – 10 April 1919), peasant leader of the Mexican Revolution, by the painter David Alfaro Siqueiros. Soumaya Museum, CDMX.
Most of all, I was grateful to fall in love again with this astonishing city I’ve visited many times before, but hadn’t seen for seven years. It’s big, it’s difficult, it’s very old and very new at the same time — amazing, and bottomless. In the Mexicans’ resilience, tenacity, and pride, I felt encouraged about humanity’s ability to rise above authoritarianism. I’m rooting for them, and you can be sure they are rooting for us up here in Canada.
