Region, Migration and Interculturalidad: Guest Lecture and La Feria Internacional del Libro

I arrived in Atolinga on Tuesday December 22 and have been here for nearly three weeks now.  I’m glad to have left Guadalajara for this small, rural town -- this is where my real experience begins. In Guadalajara I was teaching and reading literature on the topic; now I dive into the research section of my time in Mexico. The logistics of coming here from Guadalajara were not easy. My belongings seem to have multiplied, in large part because of the treasures I found at the book fair (described in detail at the end).  

The last month or so in Guadalajara was a bit crazy.  I wanted to blog about more of my experiences there, but, during the last week of November and first week of December, three major things captured all my attention: a guest lecture, the international book fair and mom’s visit. I’ll describe the first two in detail. First, I gave a guest lecture on my research in Professor Hugo Medrano’s class. When I was in Atolinga in mid-November, Prof Hugo emailed me to ask if I could present my research one day to his freshman anthropology class at the CUCSH (Centro Universitario de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades) at the Universidad de Guadalajara. Since I had spent considerable time in Guadalajara reading sources in order to prepare a literature review (mainly I went to the Colegio de Jalisco in Zapopan, the Universidad de Guadalajara CUCSH campus, and the Biblioteca del Estado Juan José Arreola on Alcalde Av. Downtown near the Rotunda de los Jalisciences ilustres). I had already lectured in Spanish in the Comparative Literature class (described in an earlier blog entry) and felt relatively prepared to do the same in front of Hugo’s freshmen college students. And even though it was short notice, I was excited to share my research with his students. After preparing the lecture, I read it to my conversation partner, Jaime, who gave me excellent feedback on the ideas.

Freshmen anthropology students, Prof Medrano and myself at UDG

 The lecture on migration and regional identity in the North of Jalisco / South of Zacatecas went well. Students were extremely attentive and enthusiastic; when I was at a loss for words, which happened a few times, they helped me out. I shared some photos and other images from my time in Atolinga and Agua Zarca. I noticed that, as urban creatures, the students may have had some trouble relating to rural problems, except a few who came from similar backgrounds. At the end of the presentation, I left time for questions (knowing I spoke three languages, Hugo actually had them ask questions in English, French and Spanish!) Some students felt I should emphasize less identity issues and more economic development. I told them this was a good idea but my expertise was not in economics.The students had clearly bonded as a group – they constantly joked around with each other in a familiar, kind and gentle way. Since they had to choose their major before entering their freshmen year, they were taking a block of classes together. One charming young woman, Belén, spoke the three languages fluently.  Drawing on her personal experiences of emigration and her background growing up in Bolaños, a city in the North of Jalisco historically known for its mines, she agreed with me about the peripheral position of this area of Jalisco, and enjoyed hearing my research. She also told me she had spent a few years with her family in Nashville. Her family was a musical one of Mariachi players. I gathered that they had tried to make it big in Nashville, but had returned after a few years. I never got the full story but would love to talk more with her sometime about it. At the end of the class, I felt so inspired and motivated by these young people. I gave them my email address and told them to keep in touch. I’ve kept in touch with Liliana and Belén, who invited me to a posada or Christmas party at her house a few weeks later (during my mom’s visit, actually).

Belén’s “antro-posada”

It’s customary for people in Guadalajara to have several kinds of posadas for different social environments. You might have one posada at home for close friends, another for family, and another for work friends. Sometimes the work posadas take place at work (as did Chavo’s at the school where he’s been teaching English). His aunt told me on the phone that she was volunteering to organize a posada at a home for the elderly near her own house in Tesistán, a municipio north of Guadalajara. In any case, Belén’s posada was an “antro-posada” designed for friends she and her identical twin sister had met during their first year of anthropology studies at the university (yes, these sisters were studying the same subject, and also played in the same mariachi band, which mom and I had the great fortune to hear during the posada!). Her family was very involved in preparing the posada, and they invited some extended family members and friends themselves. There were quite a few anthro students there, and I got to chat with them a bit. Mom and I couldn’t stay long—her flight left at 7am the next morning, so we had to get to the airport by 6am and wake up at 5am or so. She also lived near the Guadalajara Zoo. Due to abundant traffic from Cruz Verde to the Zoo, it took us about an hour to get there in taxi. When we came in the door, Belén and her sister introduced us to her parents; her mama led us around the house, showing us the elaborate nacimiento (a petit nativity scene with glowing miniature electric Christmas lights) set up on a table in the living room, and the food already prepared in the kitchen (mom saw a vision of heavenly tamales – I was off doing something else during the kitchen scene). In any case, pretty quickly, we saw that we were going to regret having to leave the party early. After everyone milled around for a half hour or so, the family began to play amazingly dreamy ballads (see photo below): the two sisters on guitar, dad on trumpet, and the two brothers on accordion and drums. Since this was my first posada, I had few expectations. Sadly, I did feel nervous about navigating our goodbyes even before we entered the party. Once there, I realized that leaving early was far from ideal and likely rude. I hoped they would forgive!

Urban posadas seem extravagant compared to here in el campo. In Atolinga, posadas occurred in families, but not with families we knew. There are only two kids in Chavo’s family here in town – the rest either live in Jeréz, Guadalajara or the US. But each afternoon at 5pm or so, these kids would go to public posadas. These took place, for example, in the Presidencia or at the San Cayetano parish church or at a surprise location announced at the last minute. At the town hall, there were piñatas for the little kids to bang on and explode; there were also small presents—plastic-wrapped, brightly colored plastic, play cell phones or toy trucks for children, who lined up at the back door of the Presidencia to pick them up. Private posadas may happen less frequently here, depending on the economic status of the family – but they do happen…as evidenced by teenagers across the street singing the familiar chant, “Da le, da le, da le…” across the street from the house on Via Guerrero.

Jean-Marie Le Clezio and Jean Meyer at the FIL (Feria Internacional del Libro)

 The second event that captured my attention during the last month in Guadalajara was the Feria Internacional del Libro – an amazing book fair, reportedly one of the biggest in the world. This book fair spanned ten days and its effects could be seen all over the city (a Spanish film festival at the Cine Foro near my house, the UNAM orchestra playing on Chapultepec Avenue, rock shows all over, author signings at various bookstores, lectures at different parts of the UDG campus) . The main events took place at the expo – a short 20 minute ride from 77 Cruz verde. Usually each event had a cost associated with it. Miraculously, my sponsoring professor, Sergio Figueroa, procured me a free pass to the events from start to finish. Although sometimes I was lazy, telling myself, “A 20 minute bus ride to hear Mario Vargas Llosa speak? Not right now, another day,” I mostly motivated to go every day and bought way too many toneladas of books. 

Jean-Marie Le Clézio's plenary speech for the book fair on “interculturalidad” was a major highlight. Apparently (and amazingly, considering the many places he's lived), he once lived in Michoacan, so his Spanish was amazingly perfect. I had never read a work of his, but now feel I must. The novel Le Désert is about immigration, Africa and Marseille – I need to start with that one. At the end of the talk, he invited questions from the audience. I wrote one in French on a slip of paper. It was about bilingual education in France and the US. I asked him at what point would the French educational system think about teaching African immigrants in Arabic so as to help support multiculturalism (like the US system)? He was pretty adamant that the US didn’t accomplish that in their bilingual education programs – rather, they served to assimilate people into their new host culture. Being a supporter of bilingual education, and a friend of many bilingual ed teachers, I hadn’t quite thought about it that way. In any case, he felt that France was a long way from offering bilingual education for immigrants from North Africa or Sub-Saharan Africa. It was extremely rewarding to have a dialogue (facilitated by the world reknown historian from the UNAM, himself a Frenchman, Jean Meyer) with a Nobel prize-winning novelist. I was struck by his humility and modesty. Other highlights of the book fair included a reading by Nancy Huston, a lecture by the extremely witty and brilliant immigration anthropologist Jorge Durand.

The entrance to the FIL

 The FIL also featured a two-day panel on “Interculturalidad” organized by UDG - CU Norte (a satellite campus of the Universidad de Guadalajara located in Colotlán, about 45 minutes by bus from Atolinga). The most impressive speaker on the panel was André Fabregas Puig, an anthropology professor from The Intercutural University of Chiapas. Before attending the fair, I had been familiar with Puig’s extensive writings on Northern Jalisco. During this panel, I met some anthropology professors from this school in Chiapas. A group of mostly women and one man were making comments to each other while listening to the speakers, quietly giggling at times and clearly quite engaged in the ideas. I started talking to them and eventually we exchanged emails. It would be terrific to visit them in Tuxtla Gutierrez at some point.  When the panel finished on the second day, I asked one of them whether there were representatives of CuNorte here, because I had wanted to follow up on an email I had sent to Erika Juliet Venegas Flores, a communications professor there who worked on immigration. He said, yes, there are at least four or five of them here – they introduced themselves on the first day (I had arrived late and missed their introductions) – would you like me to introduce you? Sure, I said. And he presented me to Alejandra Lizardi, a professor in public health who had co-authored the book I’d read (and bought at the Feria). Alejandra was most gracious, and gave me her email so that I could contact her about my visit there. She also said she would inform me about the class schedule for the spring, since I’ve wanted to audit an anthropology course. Since then, she has been in touch with me often about possible collaborations and invited me to submit an essay for a book she’s putting together with colleagues in other departments there.  I’m really excited to be a part of this vibrant campus; in spite of its small size and remote location, it carries a lot of force in the area (I’ve already met three students from Atolinga and Tlaltenango who commute a few times each week to study there).

Tlaltenango Travels (part I, observations on the North of Jalisco)

Downtown Tlaltenango courtyard and former market area built in era of Porfirio Diaz

I went to the North of Jalisco a few weeks ago to work out details of my long-term estancia (from December 20 through March) and get a start on research. I stayed at the Hotel de la Plaza in Tlaltenango for three nights, not wanting to impose on anyone in Atolinga/AZ. The hotel had reliable internet access, amiable receptionists (who told me about their studies at the UDG satellite campus in Colotlán, about 30 mins from Tlaltenango, called Centro Universitario-Norte. I wanted to visit the campus (but didn’t have time this trip), and would like to audit a sociology or anthropology class in the spring. Colotlán was an important economic and political center during the colonial era, located at the northern frontier of the Chichimeca lands (the enemies of the Aztecs, “Chichimec” was a pejorative term used by ethnic groups of the south  like the Aztecs to describe the nomadic ethnic groups of the north) and governed by the Audencia de Nueva Galicia. I’ve also recently learned that the comunidad de Tulimic de Guadalupe in the municipio of Colotlán holds its annual fiesta patronal starting December 19, which will be fun to attend when I move up there. 

Map of colonial Mexico - if you look hard  enough, you can see Nueva Galicia (today's Jalisco)

 The first full day in Tlaltenango, Tuesday, I went to the Presidencia Municipal (sorta like town hall) to see about tours. In the desarrollo económico section, they called Ivonne, a tour guide who told me she’d be giving a tour to some prepa students later that morning.  She took me to the Communications office and sat me down in front of a computer owned by the Director de comunicación social, José Alonso Serrano Campos. He’s in charge of the website there and holds a public chat for people’s questions about the city. He had prepared the DVD about the city with his colleagues and was kind enough to let me sit at his desk and watch it for 30 minutes while people randomly walked in and out of the office. I had the sensation that this office was a central place where things happened. I was glad to be at the center of things, overhearing people’s business as if we were in a press room or something.  They also seemed to have a slightly rebellious angle on events (like in a newsroom in the US). We talked for a bit about the newspaper here, called La Voz del Norte, which he runs. When I asked him what area the paper covered, he said the whole north region + the city of Tequila (which is only an hour from Guadalajara).  I commented on what a vast region that was, and he said, yes, but that the government bases its coverage on population size, and that, according to them, the small population size didn’t merit a few newspapers. I met different members of his staff as well as Jaime Alejandro Márquez Salinas, a late 60s, PE teacher in the public school who invited me to visit his home to see his fabulous collection of historic photos about the city. Jaime wore a whistle around his neck and looked generally jocky with a baseball cap with California written across it. This kind of sports wear is not uncommon in this area of high migration to California and Illinois.

Later that night, on my way to the Unicorn Restaurant down the block from my hotel, I met another older gentleman who had worked for years in California and retired in Tlaltenango. His son was visiting him for a month or so, and he introduced me. That same night I fell into a conversation between a Tienda naturista (health food store) owner and a client. The client was complaining that when she went to visit her daughter's family in California, they always told her to take off her shoes when she entered the house to keep the carpet clean. That necessity seemed quite absurd to her, she keep repeating the story over and over again. I asked her some questions too - she seemed pretty happy to remain here in Mexico, where there were clean wood floors you could sweep (I agreed with her that the act of vacuuming sometimes seemed endless and futile. How do you know there aren't germs festering below? At least with a broom, you see what is there). I bought some cranberries and an oatmeal cookie and went on my way.   

Ivonne gets a phone call while touring with UAZ students

Ivonne, the tour guide, is quite an entrepreneur. She had moved here from Monterrey a long time ago with her husband, and, when she divorced, began her own company. She was very excited to give me a tour and was not afraid to overwhelm me (or the students from the UAZ Prepa, a private preparatory school affiliated with the Universidad Autónoma de Zacatecas!)  with lots of information. We visited the Presidencia, the church on the square where Cristeros were thrown off the bell tower in the 1930s, a home for the elderly (this seems pretty rare in Mexico – people there were impoverished and so glad to receive the prepa students, hugging them over and over again) and some of the poorer comunidades and ranchos surrounding Tlaltenango.  I enjoyed meeting the students, and later saw them board the combi for Atolinga. A significant group of students commute twenty minutes from Atolinga to Tlaltenango each day to go to the private school. Another day I met them when I was going to Atolinga and chatted more with two girls and one boy. They said they're learning English school but would like to speak it better. I thought perhaps I could offer them English practice while I'm there.

Tlaltenango church belltower

Altar made of pink limestone or cantera (characteristic of the North of Jalisco) in Tlaltenango

Tlaltenango was founded in the 1430s, before the arrival of the Spanish. One of the churches in San Antonio, over 400 years old, was very traditional and closed to outsiders. Of all the interesting places Ivonne discussed but we didn't visit, I'd like to see other locations in the area on a future trip, like La Sierra de los morones, a mountaineous area called el Campanario and Teúl, the sacred homeland of the Cazcan people, the original inhabitants of the region. I’d like to learn more about the colonial era. Ivonne told us that in 1531 from the mountains near Teúl, the Caxcan inhabitants of Tlaltenango and the surrounding area fought the Spanish, who were trying to build a town near what is now called Nochistlán. The Spanish lost this battle and attempted three more times before the town was finally built in 1542. 

In 1541 the Caxcanes led a famous battle with their Tepehuan, Zacatec and Guachichil allies, against the Spanish in the Sierra del Mixtón (today known as the Sierra de Morones).  The Mixtón War lasted two years but in 1550 another war took place called the Chichimeca War between Chichimec ethnic groups. This war lasted almost forty years. The Caxcan towns of the area around Tlaltenango suffered attacks from the north launched by their former allies, the Zacatecs because they had submitted to the Spanish Crown. Ivonne told us these stories but I supplemented my knowledge by reading a few articles (chapters from books about the area as well as online articles). Here’s one example of an article: http://latinola.com/story.php?story=6618

Pre-Hispanic ethnic composition in Northern Jalisco/Southern Zacatecas 

I also learned about the Feria de Tlaltenango during the last week of December. There will be special holiday activities, dances, beauty pageants, live music and other events. I’ll definitely attend, and will try to interview some of the organizers about it. Similar to the Feria de Atolinga in August, there are a lot of migrants who return home for this fiesta. I've discovered an interesting blog combining current events, politics, culture and economic commentaries about this place: www.mytlaltenango.com.  More to come on my stay in Atolinga (see part II, to come)         

Teaching Comparative Literature in Mexico

Two weeks ago I finished my Master’s course in Comparative Literature on “US Immigrant Voices” in the Departamento de Estudios Literarios at the Universidad de Guadalajara. It went splendidly – the students were motivated and engaged quite profoundly in passionate literary discussion. They are mostly adults in their 30s and 40s who work full time and doing graduate studies in their free time (except for Mario, a young 2o-something man who works part time with the Secretaria de la culture doing reading workshops in the region, and studies full-time). These students had just begin their Master's and were taking my course as an elective while at the same taking required courses on a variety of topics like Bakhtin, Structuralism and Linguistic Theory. The program here appears to be mostly focused on Latin American and European literature and theory. During the first semester, they are asked to choose a topic for their Master’s thesis, so that they can begin to apply the literary theory they are learning.

We read several texts but one of the most rewarding ones to teach was the short story “Mrs. Sen” in Jumpha Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies, a beautifully written and compact tale of a woman’s profound sense of exile living in the US, her pain living far from her homeland, India as the wife of a math professor. She cares for a young boy, Eliot, in her home, preparing meals for him and becoming his surrogate mother (his real mother is single and works horrendously long hours to take care of them). Mrs. Sen’s major obstacle is that she has never learned to drive. And this is considered a complete failure in American society – her “refusal” to drive is one of many signs of her refusal to assimilate and become a member of US society. 

At first I was a bit worried since I was unable to locate a Spanish translation of this story of the collection, and most the students did not have an adequate English level to be able to read and discuss. I also wasn't sure my level of spoken Spanish would be proficient enough to relay my ideas to them (it turned out to quite well, though, and we all survived the experience with few communication issues). 

It also helped that one of the students, who owns a translation company, took it upon herself to translate the 15-page story. She said it did not take her long and the translation was quite artful; it definitely facilitated our discussion in the seminar. In conjunction with this short story, we read an essay called “Can the Subaltern Speak?” by Gayatri Spivak (I found a Spanish translation online through the website “scribd.com,” a goldmine I recently discovered). Not sure this was the best essay to frame our reading, but it definitely supplied the students with a cursory understanding of the contributions of Postcolonial Studies.

I found it useful and interesting to read the stories through the lens of power, identity and colonial discourse. I would also venture to say that the readings altered students' views on US Culture a bit. One text that provoked a lively dialogue between us was Tomás Rivera’s novella Y no se lo tragó la tierra, one of the more important examples of Chicano literature. While students were generally familiar with the works of Sandra Cisneros and Gloria Anzaldua, few knew Rivera. By also reading Homi Bhabha’s “Of Mimicry and Man” from The Location of Culture, we were able to identify the figures of colonial power in the story as well as the futile, in-between position of the migrant (a colonized type, in my mind), who, in spite of his desires or attempts, can never assimilate or “rise up” to the level of the colonizer. He is always seen as “less than,” never “equal to.” 

I am summarizing the seminar here in terms of theory and cutting short our more complex discussions of character, theme, narrative, etc. I especially enjoyed hearing their ideas about Chicano literature – the students seem to share a common view of emigrants who leave Mexico for the US. For me, having spent a lot of time with migrants, it was difficult not to react strongly to some of the views that bordered on caricature.  The group connected some of the stories we read to their own experiences; several described to me their observations of migrant homecomings during fiestas patronales in the area. It was fascinating for me to hear their views on emigrants who had left Mexico. In contrast to our discussions of fiction, which had elicited empathy and a sense of identification, our discussions of life experiences evoked a variety of responses -- some filled with compassion and others unsympathetic towards those who come home to "brag about their life en el norte," "wear the American flag on their clothes like a banner" and "speak English all the time, maybe even more than in the US." I urged students to keep an open mind and recognize the conflicting points of view from each side of the border (the migrant who returns to Mexico vs. the Mexican national who views the migrant from a nativist perspective). I prefaced this message by saying I was neither Mexican nor Mexican-American, but that this phenomenon of divide on each side of the border seemed characteristic to me of diasporic cultures. I am grateful for this teaching experience which I'm sure will inform my research in exciting ways. 

On the last day of the seminar, the department got together for a poetry reading (many of the professors are authors in their own right). Students and profs together ate arranchera and drank Corona. I met one prof who has promised to invite me to his home so I can see his vast collection of World Literature (including some of my fave authors like Edwige Danticat, Ben Okri, Ahmadou Kouruma). I was glad to know students in Mexico are reading American authors. The concept of World Literature doesn't seem to be widely diffused or discussed here, unless I'm missing something. During the Feria Internacional del Libro (FIL), reportedly one of the largest book fairs in the world (which starts next week), I hope to hear more about this. Nobel-winning author Mario Vargas Llosa will be one of the guests of honor at this year's feria.
       

Having finished my teaching at UDG until late spring semester, I’m free to conduct research and teach English in the Norte de Jalisco in January - April. I’m preparing to leave Guadalajara after my mom’s visit -- around December 15, and spend at least three full months in “Jalzac” (anthropologist Manual Nájera’s name for the region where Northern Jalisco meets Southern Zacatecas).  I’m currently editing a blog about this week-long reconnaissance mission.

Day of the Dead Urban Style

Altar Competition at the Centro Cultural Refugio in Tlaqueplaque

At first I hadn't been convinced that Day of the Dead in Guadalajara would be so unique. I had been to celebrations in Austin and Chicago, and didn't know what to expect in the city. Friends and acquaintances suggested traveling to Patzcuaro or Morelia to see how it’s still "traditionally" celebrated. I gave it a thought, remembering that my friend Benjamin lives in Morelia, but ended up staying in the city to teach my class on Jumpa Lahiri's The Interpreter of Maladies and Gayatri Spivak’s “Can the Subaltern Speak?” (this fabulous experience merits a separate blog). I did my utmost to experience as many angles on the celebration as possible, and, in the end, was glad to witness it here.

Two Thursdays ago, I attended a play called “Mujeres de Arena” (“Women of Sand”) at the Museo del Periodismo (Museum of Journalism) on Alcalde Avenue with my friends S and J. The play vividly and cruelly exposed some of the tragic issues surrounding femicide in Cuidad Juarez (According to Amnesty International more than 370 young women and girls had been murdered in the cities of Ciudad Juarez and Chihuahua since 2005). Sometimes the cast of five women would wear white, as angels, showing the audience how, contrary to images of them in the press, these women (the youngest a girl of 12) hadn’t “deserved” their fate, only going about their regular business as women and doing nothing out of the ordinary. At other times, the cast would wear sinister black. There was also a curtain with light shining on it and the actresses behind it, allowing us to imagine some of the horrifying acts of rape, but, alternately, also see them in beautiful and innocent silhouette profile as lively women still alive.


The audience sat in chairs and on benches forming a circle in the museum foyer around a stripped-down stage level. Incense burned and lamps created an eery atmosphere and much doubt about what was actually happening on stage (exacerbated by the huge columns in our line of vision). Although the drama played in several theatres in the city (most were free entrance), this performance was dedicated to a 28-yr-old Guadalajara actress who had recently suffered a brain hemorrhage and was fighting for her own life at the Hospital Civil. My friend J, an actor and puppeteer, who knows her well, was in a state of existential anguish, because he also had heard recently of the death of a puppeteer friend in Tapalpa, a rustic mountain town about two hours outside Guadalajara, reportedly for having witnessed the narco execution of his friend. Coincidentally, my friend Q and I went there that weekend to attend the art festival he was supposed to participate in, but the festival was canceled due to community grief and fear. Nothing had happened like that in the town ever, one of the men working at the tourist office told me.  Through these two stories about death--one theatrical but inspired by actual events, and the other real but associated with the theater, I grew intensely aware of the need to celebrate life.

Usually peaceful Tapalpa, about 2 hours from Guadalajara

Calaveras de chocolate en el Parque Morelos

On Friday I continued to explore Day of the Dead celebrations before the holiday, walking down to Parque Morelos, where Pedro, the maintenance man at our rental property, suggested I go to see all the adornments being sold for tombs: sugar or chocolate calaveras, toy coffins with papier-mâché puppets ready to pop out, miniature food offerings for the dead (I bought a clay pot with shellacked corn kernels and one red chile, as well as a chocolate skull with freaky, electric frosting eyes) and skeleton figures, the female ones called Catrinas. Catrina, the name for an elegantly dressed woman from the Belle Epoque era, was conceptualized by the graphic artist José Guadalupe Posada at the end of the 19^th-century (in fact, the city of Guadalajara funded a street art project that lined the downtown streets with Catrinas dressed up for different functions (Hawaiian Catrina, Hemp Catrina, Tai Chi Catrina, etc). 

Hemp Catrina on Juarez Avenida

 After the market I kept on trucking, down to the Panteón de Belén, the oldest cemetery in Guadalajara. I had wanted to get tickets to the nocturnal ghost tour, but those were sold out. Meanwhile, I was glad (and relieved?) to join the less scary 2pm tour. This cemetery has been closed for a long time, open only for tours. There were no mourners or visitors of graves. The graves and mausoleums were left in ruins and visitors were told not to climb the stairs up to the grander mausoleums or even put their feet beyond the barrier of the chain keeping them off the grass for fear of scorpions ready to feed (true?). 

Panteón de Belén

 We heard stories of the Vampire Tree (who took root through the heart of a vampire, who would, if the tree were uprooted one day, seek his revenge on the entire city) and saw the tombstones of the famous, rich people of Guadalajara past. 

Of even more cultural interest to me was the Panteón de Tlaquepaque (a nearby municipio, just a train ride away from downtown Guadalajara), which my conversation partner Saúl and I visited last Sunday just before heading to an altar competition at the Centro Cultural Refugio in that same town, and the Panteón de Mezquitan, which S and I visited last Tuesday, the actual Day of the Dead. Yellow or golden marigolds (called zempasúchitl in Nahuatl) which mark a pathway to the altar, reigned in both these cemeteries where people still bury their beloved and visit them around this time of the year to nourish them (materially and spiritually). Some interesting sights caught my attention: men selling water to wash the graves, graves with elaborate arrangements of marigold petals (which didn’t seem to move in spite of the wind) as well as offerings of food, coke or water, cards and mariachi groups wandering about the grounds (I heard them playing but didn’t see anyone hire them out, though I’m certain it was happening).  S and I were reassured to see a few families sitting around a tombstone, laughing and telling stories. This scene of human warmth served as a counterbalance to the stories of death I'd heard over the week (I had been puzzling over the death of 15 recovering drug addicts who were executed at the Tepic carwash, and stunned at the news that the group of men from the auto repair shop who'd disappeared while on vacation in September had been found, buried in a case of mistaken identity). The cheer and light of marigolds and multicolored papel picado, or cut out tissue paper, seemed to go a long way to lift spirits.         

Panteón de Mezquitan, downtown Guadalajara

Meditation on the Rancho #1 - revised and edited on November 6

Dino, family shepherd dog in Agua Zarca

In a previous blog (August 17), I wrote about Agua Zarca, the rancho located in Northern Jalisco about 15 minutes from Atolinga and the place of origin of a number of Mexican families who live in Monmouth. I described the movement back and forth between the two places as a common pattern for families of the area, including those who currently live in the US, who usually have one property or two and return once a year – often during the fiestas – to take care of land, renovations and relatives. Those family members who live permanently in Atolinga – like Chavo’s paternal grandparents--still own their rancho there in Agua Zarca.

Entrance to the rancho of Agua Zarca (meaning "clear water" in English)

Even before I even went to Jalisco, I talked to people from Monmouth about the rancho (it’s often used in the singular, emphasizing the mythic and nostalgic character ascribed to it). When I talked with children of emigrants from the rancho, I had a peculiar awareness that, even for those who were not born here, the space evokes deep cultural memories and quiet refuge (the line between comforting and boring was sometimes not clear, even during the fiestas). When I first wrote about the rancho in my earlier blog entry, I left much information undeveloped. Having read now spent a total of eight weeks in Jalisco, I feel I have a more complex understanding of the history, geography and myth of the rancho. I won't be able to discuss all my ideas here and my knowledge still lies far from complete; however, I can definitely say that it lies at the center of my questions about the configuration of land, power and identity in the region. 

Ranchos are not unique to the North of Jalisco, but, rather, can be found all over Mexico and in the US. The word means different things in different contexts, but it generally can be used in two different ways. First, it connotes a small settlement or community of between 50 and 200 people. Second, it signifies a portion of land cultivated for agriculture or used for livestock.*  In addition, the rancho is located in a remote and isolated rural space. Within this general sense, it indicates an individual property with a small adobe home on it, or the home along with corn or wheat fields and livestock (ganadería). Rancho dwellings are generally made of a brownish adobe with some bushes, rocks or trunks below ground to support the tile roofs, corrugated metal or cardboard (or a mix of all the above). There’s usually a corral for domestic animals like pigs, chicken and even large livestock. A photo of mine testifies to the fact that cow meander or sprint about the rancho using the paved road or the paths between houses. They may have ropes hanging from their necks, as if they'd busted out recently from their fenced-in area. They appear to be looking for sustenance and enjoying their freedom. From time to time, the shepherd dogs discipline them.

Meandering cows in Agua Zarca

I can't say much about the specific organization of the rancho in Agua Zarca yet, but will return to one of the photos from my earlier blog, showing Dino, the family shepherd dog, standing erect in front of a pile of rocks stacked intentionally to create a fence, or cerca around the property. A gate closes off the two sides of the cerca. One anthropologist** who studies the area notes that, during the colonial period, landholders distinguished between land for pasture (which was communal property "given by nature" and thus to be shared), and land for cultivation (not to be shared). Even around the time of the Mexican Revolution, there were few cercas or bardas in the area, in spite of the individualist spirit of rancheros mentioned in most the literature I've read.

The photo of Dino in front of the cerca helps me to recall the organization of the rancho space. Across the street from this house lies Chavo's uncle and aunt's property. In the context of the fiestas, this is where family members would congregate for fiestas and dinners. There are several distinct living areas on the property, as well as a garden and green lawn at the back of the house, leading to a separate dwelling with bathroom. Their daughter, her husband and their two daughters stayed here while visiting (the youngest daughter was baptized in Totatiche on the Sunday of my visit). Other visitors stay in the second bedroom inside the house.

One day during our visit, Tia lay out a sumptuous feast of tacos with adobo, beans and homemade cheese on the outside table. On a table inside the house, she put desserts. Chavo and I skipped right to the homemade cheesecake, then went back for tacos. There was also ample Corona. Don Luis seemed very proud of this reunion; four generations of family, separated and dispersed across two countries, came together on this property for this occasion. In Atolinga, he hired and transported a three-piece Huichol banda (fiddle, bass and guitar) in the maroon pick-up to the rancho to play requests (I will talk in more depth later about their relations with the mestizo population in the Atolinga/Totatiche area, a subject yielding substantial information about race, ethnic identity and socio-economic power in the area.

Ranchos are “vestiges of a tumultuous agrarian past,” writes another Mexican anthropologist.*** The property appears to be unfinished, since the property is composed of new additions as well as old adobe structures in ruins. This conjunto or ensemble gives the onlooker the impression of a “provisional and unfinished world”*** whose state of existence is in progress and construction ongoing and dream of completion constantly deferred. According to this same anthropologist, the constructions, grouped together with little "apparent" logic, are sometimes viewed by the outsider with contempt and scorn (especially in contrast to newer, urbanized spaces), appearing irrational and chaotic to the outsider (later note, dated November 6: in this sense, this outsider perception of the rancho is not too different from outsider ideas about the sociedad ranchera, as well as those community members who come home from the US for the fiestas. While teaching a class at the UDG on Chicano writer Tomas Rivera, I discovered some recurring stereotypes or clichés in urban Mexico about migrants who return to the rancho in August or at Christmas time, eagerly boasting of their success "over there," wearing t-shirts with the U.S. flag on it, speaking majority English and spending loads of money.  While I spent time in Atolinga/AZ in August, I noticed a much more forgiving attitude towards migrants, perhaps because mostly everyone has family over in the US. However, I will definitely explore this social ritual of identity “performance” during Christmas time.          

The "tumultous agrarian past" in this particular sociedad ranchera likely relates to the decline of colonial power, together with land reforms following the Mexican Revolution, the remoteness of the place, the lack of demographic infusion from the outside, and, finally, the population decline produced by emigration. Certainly, these factors have not been mitigated by NAFTA (although most the emigration began to take place a decade before NAFTA). During my travels next week, I'm certain I"ll begin to locate the origins of this tumultuous past.

In a separate blog entry I'd like to talk more about national myths of the ranchero (the masculine ending -o describes the man who inhabits the rancho, whereas ranchera would describe the woman) as a solitary explorer who wanders about expanses of isolated land far from urban agglomerations with his rifle and dog. I'd also like to explore the part of the ranchera society that is linked to fervent Catholicism and rustic entrepreneurship.

Logistical updates: I'm leaving for Atolinga/ Agua Zarca on Monday. I will not likely conduct interviews while I’m there, but there are a few things I’d like to do, 1) set up a living arrangement for the time I spend there at the end of December, January and February, 2) talk with Helena, a 50-something, blonde store owner Chavo met one August day and whose uncle wrote a history of Atolinga, 3) visit local Cristero War sites to understand the importance of this event for the region, 4) visit libraries in Atolinga and Temastian, especially for knowledge about archives and periodicals, 5) meet teachers at the secondary school to see whether they would be open to hosting me as a teacher for two months, 6) talk more with Chavo’s grandparents, 7) meet other families in Agua Zarca with Monmouth connections, and 8) visit area haciendas. I don't think I'll realistically be able to achieve all this, by the way.

* = Patricia Zamudio Grave, Rancheros en Chicago: vida y conciencia en una historia de migrantes. 
** = Robert Dennis Shadow, Tierra, trabajo y ganado en la region norte de Jalisco. 

*** = Esteban Barragan, Con un pie en el estribo.

Dino relaxing at the entrance to a rancho property

Between Mexico and the Midwest: the buzz about borders and belonging

Seven years have passed since I moved to West Central Illinois to work at Monmouth College.  For readers who don’t know Monmouth, this town located near Illinois’ border with Iowa is small, isolated and remote. If you need a TV, a computer, quality clothes or Unitarian Fellowship, it takes around 45 minutes to get to the nearest cities of Macomb, Peoria or Davenport, Iowa (although a great bookstore, health food store, bakery and CSA are located in nearby Galesburg). Coming from places like Chicago, Austin and Detroit, it’s taken a while for me to adjust to life in the rural Midwest. As part of my coping strategy, I’ve buzzed about the world incessantly and nervously, living for substantial periods in faraway places like Kenya, Tanzania, France and Mexico. Moreover, I’ve also moved around the region itself -- a bee drawn to a mysterious and sweet fragrance, from all appearances unable to land on the community where I work.

A budding community activist group called Los Alcatraces ("calla lilies") at the start of the Prime Beef Parade in Monmouth in September. I was driving the car, which was draped in papel picado and images of Frida Kahlo.

More accustomed to urban anonymity and activity, I found small-town life stifling at first. I moved to Galesburg (a 20-minute commute) then Macomb (a more difficult 40-minute commute). By commuting to work from another place, I discovered I could detach more easily from work stress, and therefore engage more profoundly with teaching and scholarship. I felt two different forces pulling at me: a desperate desire to belong, coupled by the need to create clear borders between my private and public lives.

The ways my stay in Mexico this year will help me to reconfigure these pieces of my life into a meaningful whole may initially appear a puzzling mystery.  Perhaps by recognizing relevant patterns, re-connecting missing or out-of-place pieces of my own story with others’, I will shift the world around me just a bit (or at the very least my look at it). This shift began to take place when I taught a course on citizenship-- a service learning course on immigrant communities in Monmouth., where I taught students about things like the history of immigration in the US and the unique regional role immigration from Mexico plays in our economic and cultural life. Local culture became a laboratory for exploring the world, with regional, national and global issues irretrievably linked. For me, students’ experiences off campus amounted to a study abroad as they crossed the boundaries of the college to engage in service learning and interviews with community members about immigration. As I began to understand my own growing leadership in facilitating these lessons, I also meaningfully linked my private and public lives in ways previously impossible. I rediscovered my sense of place, seeing the community through the eyes of an outsider, and felt increasingly compelled to tell the story of Monmouth’s Mexican community as a way of healing social rifts and ruptures my students and I had witnessed  I am traveling restlessly back and forth between Mexico and the Midwest, and finally settling in Jalisco so that I can hear the stories I will one day tell myself.


Given this context, it may be easier to understand why my return home to Illinois turned out to be an extremely valuable voyage. Before I made the trip home to Illinois to get Zoey (and leaving Mexico just a month after coming here), I regretted having to leave just as my year here was beginning. Not only would I be missing out on Mexican Independence Day celebrations, I thought, but my immersion and learning here in Mexico might be stunted. The trip turned out to be  the opposite: a catalyst for my learning about Monmouth and Mexico –a learning experience rooted in interstitial cultures and catalyzed by restless movement.  


Unlike most immigrants, I did not travel back and forth for reasons of economic hardship. I received a scholarship that enabled my mobility. However, when I hung out with families I had either stayed with or met in Mexico, I realized I had  acquired some tools for understanding their in-between and unresolved identities (and mine?). I became hyper-aware of my participation in cultural  practices and events shared across borders by traveling back and forth between Mexico and the US (with Mexico City in between for the Fulbright orientation). Here are some of those events: 


1) During my first week at home, I visited Don Luis and Doña Mari, who had returned home to Monmouth after the fiestas patronales in Atolinga. They invited me out for dinner at their favorite steak buffet restaurant in Galesburg. I shared my photos and videos with them of our trip, which we discussed at length. I also packed some items for Chavo, who had decided to stay with extended family in Guadalajara for a while. Previous to reuniting with Luis and Mari , I had imagined  interviewing them and recording their observations about the trip. However, during the times we spent together, I still felt the impulse to merely observe, without intrusion. I also felt I needed to acquire more cultural  and linguistic insight to construct appropriate questions in a way that wouldn't appear ridiculous to them. 

2) In the first week of September I participated for the first time in the Prime Beef Festival. Thanks to the organizing efforts of the Americorps Vista Volunteer in Monmouth, Los Alcatraces joined the parade. With the encouragement (and costumes) of Professor Diana Ruggiero, a recent addition to Monmouth College's Department of Modern Foreign Languages, a group of us women dressed as Frida Kahlo. I drove the car, which was decorated in papel picado and images of the famous Mexican painter. I "blasted" banda music to no effect, due to my impotent speakers. We began the parade near the Monmouth-Roseville High School and waited for an hour or so as the rest of the floats made their way down Broadway. As we passed through town, I couldn't help but be amazed by the number of Latinos watching from the sidewalk sidelines. How had I not recognized this diversity before? Perhaps a parade was the perfect event to make  visible this quality of Monmouth.  As we passed in front of the college, I switched with Tim Gaster, our other new colleague in the department, who drove the car while I accompanied the other Alcatraces. I had told Don Luis and Dona Mari I would be representing Mexico in the parade (we were holding a flag). Even though they said they would be busy, somehow they made it, and were watching for me with some of their relatives.  


3) Mexican Independence Day celebration on Main Street in Monmouth, organized by La Tapatia Mexican restaurant, was another special event that made me feel privileged to know the Latino community more personally than before (and more excited about returning to Monmouth to get know them more). Supposedly, celebrations like this used to happen more frequently in Monmouth, but somehow the rift between the two major Mexican restaurants in town had been blamed for the decrease in public events geared towards Latinos. There were dance groups of all kinds (i.e. tejano, ranchero, folklorico) celebrating in the streets, as well as vendors of all kinds selling delicious foods. I was proud to bring my Dad to this event and he, in turn, was quite impressed. I felt at home catching up with a few people I'd met and hung out with in Atolinga. Dad was excited to meet them too and ask them questions about their lives. This cross-cultural exchange is a major motivating factor in my community work and in my research. 


4) Finally, I drew on my observations during the first trip to Mexico by brainstorming ideas for projects with friends and colleagues, including possible exchanges between students in Mexico and in Monmouth, alumni or student travel abroad opportunities and a photography exhibit on transnational communities living in Monmouth and Atolinga. In the next week I plan to flesh out those ideas and draft a proposal or two. 


These experiences have helped to energize me in my discovery of new places and acquaintances here in Guadalajara. I’ve spent days with my friend S doing research at the Biblioteca Juan José Arreola at the University of Guadalajara (but located downtown). A few other highlights include the YMCA pool (just a 10-minute walk), nearby yoga and spinning classes, a pizzeria on Avenida Libertad (discovered after attending the Jalisco en Vivo concert at La Minerva Fountain last Saturday night – crazy idea), the Arles Café (the meeting site of the conversation group Polyglot), and Hubert Antoine’s Belgian crêperie “Le Coq à Poil,” a mere three blocks from my house (quelle chance!). Oh and let’s not forget the Tel Cel Customer Service center, where I went several times to get my cell phone situation straightened out (3313404124, in case the reader would like to call, even though skype is probably better – heatha8). Next step: dialogue with area scholars about my project and schedule my October trip to Atolinga.

Train Station in Princeton, Illinois seen from the Amtrak Train. I took this train from Chicago to Galesburg.

La perra llega / The Dog Arrives

(photo intended to show Zoey's love for her new azotea or rooftop environment, not to show my dirty laundry)

Part 1 (written during flight from Houston to Guadalajara, Tuesday morning)


Zoey and I are on Continental flight 634 to Guadalajara. We are in different compartments of the plane. She is somewhere below in baggage – I saw staff boarding her just minutes before we took off. I am chatting with two restaurant managers who work for the Chuy’s restaurant chain – the woman next to me, Ashley, lives in Austin; the man on her left is the head of operations (I told them I long for my days of drinking Chuy’s margaritas in Austin!). They are part of a group visiting Guadalajara to familiarize themselves with tequila country! When I dropped Zoey off at 6am this morning, I realized I wasn't too upset that my flight on Mexicana had been canceled in late August (due to bankruptcy) because I ended up finding a more pet-friendly airline in the end. I finally chose Continental to bring Zoey back with me to Mexico from Illinois. Continental impressed me with their good behavior. First off, every time I called “Pet Safe” to get information, someone picked up the phone. Whenever I called, they answered each of my logistical questions, often giving me more information than I needed (i.e. worse case scenarios). When I went into Cargo yesterday to check on the size of the crate, they came out to the car to help me. Finally, when we arrived today, there was a full team of people prepared to check her in. They took care of taping her zip-locked bags of food to her crate, and filled her bowl with ice (because it melts and doesn’t jostle around during transport). Big bonus, when I asked whether there was a chance that Zoey wouldn’t make it onto the same flight as me (which was the worst case scenario), the woman working there assured me that she would definitely make it. The flight’s short, so we arrive in just 20 minutes.


Part 2 (written three days later)

I was grateful my friend S came to the airport to help navigate customs bureaucracy and keep me calm. Between our arrival at the Guadalajara airport at 11:20 and departure from there at 7:30, when Zoey was finally “liberated” (liberada) from the Customs warehouse (el almacén de la Aduana), we benefited from this complicated and annoying situation by learning important vocabulary for navigating customs (and often relied on the old standby, empathy and kindness to people who are trying help you out).

After fumbling around different warehouses, we stumbled upon Ricardo, who has worked at Continental for almost 30 years and helped us throughout the entire tramite (process, procedure, formality, step). Ricardo explained that customs procedures recently became more rigid, with the government stepping up its promise to make sure arms weren’t smuggled into the country (most guns here come from the US). While Zoey sat in her crate (jaula) on a pallet in a nearby warehouse, Ricardo drew an organizational diagram explaining what ought to be my tramite if I wanted to emancipate Zoey from puppy jail that day.

1) Find Lizet in the Sala Internacional, who would help me return to customs in the airport to redo the declaration form an employee had helped me fill out for the three computers I’d brought into the country – two for me, one for my friend S (I paid about $50 in taxes for the extra computer, but the customs agent had not declared the “live animal” I had also brought in…and declared on an earlier form).

2) Go to the SAGARPA office (sorta equivalent to USDA) to fill out the Registro Fitosanitario to declare my pet’s good health, along with other forms like the rabies vaccination certificate and general health certificate I had brought from the Animal Medical Center in Macomb.

3) Go to the Aduana or customs warehouse just outside the airport to get Zoey, and speak with Edith A. if I had any problems.

4) If all above fails, find a customs broker! (during the day, many people kept explaining that things were different in Mexico, but I have no idea how customs works in the US, never having tried to import a dog there. I imagine that customs brokers exist there too. Anyone know anything about this?).

Most the day was spent in confusion and discussion followed by periods of waiting and filling out forms. Around 4:30 we went to the warehouse, thinking we had all the right forms and information (and, I confess, a break for expensive food from Burger King). The first time we went, the warehouse employee refused us entry, saying we needed a customs broker to approval our tramite. At about 5:30 we decided to return to the complex of customs agents’ offices and shop around for a customs broker. Here, we found Luis, who said he wasn’t sure he could help us get Zoey out by 8pm (the time the warehouse closed), but that he would see what he could do. After assessing the situation, he called over to customs and discovered we just needed to go over there and talk with Edith (who works at SAT – Servicio de Administración Tributaria), who would give us entry approval and help us with the final steps. And there was a small fee - nominal.

After an hour and a half or so, a few men rolled out Zoey’s crate from the intimidating warehouse and opened the crate doors to let her out to see me. After this, S and I rolled her crate on a pallet over to the taxi area and hired a van to take us home (the regular size taxi would have fit the three of us except that the driver didn't want Zoey in the car. He preferred to tie her crate in on top of the car.)

On Tuesday night when we arrived, Lorena and Charlie’s five girls -- who live here in the house with me -- were extremely excited to see her – especially the youngest, Michelle, who has already been up to the rooftop a few times to play. They haven’t had a dog here before. Zoey herself seems well-adapted, making use of the entire rooftop to sun herself or run around, retrieve bones and bark at other rooftop dogs (she doesn’t do this much, because she can’t see them, only hear them from afar). Let’s not even mention her exploration of the streets and sidewalks of Guadalajara (bustling, noisy, populated), the markets (fragrant, greasy, irresistible) and cafés (yes, she sits at my feet while I sip coffee in hospitable cafés). Descriptions of these places will have to wait another day!