Happy Birthday Mexico. Love You, But I’m Glad My Parents Left

Some of the happiest moments of my life have taken place in Mexico. The highlights of my childhood were from our trips to my parents’ hometown of Tepehuanes, Durango — the brick roads, the smell of mud after a storm, the Amish cheese, the pitter-patter of rain falling on my grandma’s corrugated roof, the late nights playing tag outside — all wonderful. Oh! and the bacon-wrapped hot dogs slathered with mayo and salsa. Those were, indeed, halcyon days.

When I was 21, I studied abroad in Oaxaca, which is a mesmerizing city. The decaying colonial architecture was haunting and beautiful, and the food — what can you even say about such transcendent food? This was unlike any Mexican food I’ve ever had. Moles of all sorts of colors. The chiles rellenos were uniquely stuffed with cheese, meat, nuts, and raisins. I even ate grasshoppers, which were a tasty and nutritious snack. One of my fondest memories was when I went to an outdoor market (one of my favorite things in the world) that specialized in birria and the very competitive birria ladies would yell at you while holding out sample hunks of meat in their bare hands. (A place not for the germaphobic or faint of heart.) And at one of lowest points of my life, I was walking glumly down a street in downtown Oaxaca, when a parade suddenly appeared. Mexico, you have blessed me in more ways that I can name.

But Mexico also scares me. The division of classes is dreadful enough in this country, but there, poverty is nearly inescapable for those born into it. I would probably be living a miserable life had I grown up in my parents’ hometown. I am a very restless and independent person, and on top of that, I am a woman. I have also spent much of my adulthood pursuing higher education. If I would have lived in Tepehuanes, I would have been so, so screwed. It’s no wonder that the last time I visited, it resembled a ghost town. Nearly everyone my age has fled in search of better opportunities.

Then there’s the relentless violence that has recently surged. It’s no surprise that a land founded on conquest and exploitation would continue to live with this legacy of violence. And though I know the United States likes to criminalize their darker downstairs neighbor, we can’t forget who the biggest consumer of drugs really is. Juárez has also become one of the deadliest cities in the world because of our appetite for drugs. Drug traffickers have more power than the military and police. Likely, they are in cahoots. And women continue to be “mysteriously” murdered.

A year after my study abroad experience in Oaxaca, I was also saddened to hear that riots had broken out and that the military had taken over the city after a series of protests against the government. Tepehuanes has also suffered violence as a result of the drug trade. There have even been shootings at parties and celebrations.

Mexico’s history is an endless string of tragedies and I need help being hopeful. Xenophobia here in the United States is on the rise, which is not a coincidence. I feel like we are constantly regressing. All we need to do is look at Arizona to see how backwards we truly are. In Robert Pinsky’s poem, “An Explanation of America,” he confronts and interrogates contemporary American society’s image of Mexico:

In Mexico, I suppose they want to see
The Eyes of God, and dogs and ponies coupling
With women, skeletons in hats and skirts,
Dishwashers, plutocrats humiliated,
Clark Gable, flashy bauhaus buildings, pistols.
It always is disturbing, what a country
Of people want to see…

These are the signifiers we still have to navigate. These are the images people want to see because it’s easier than taking the time to truly examine the world. It’s easy to see Mexico only as a violent and corrupt country because that is what is so often presented in the media.

On Friday, I will pay homage to you, Mexico. I will play Pedro Infante, eat tacos, and dance to “La Cucaracha” around a sombrero until I’m so tired l fall asleep against a cactus. I’ll get into a knife fight. I’ll get into a knife fight. I hope that one day things will get better for you. I’ll raise my glass of tequila to you, Mexico, you tragic, and beautiful bastard.