September 15, 2010
I refused to let Mexico’s 200th anniversary pass me by.
Yes, the country is in the worst state I’ve ever seen. People are dying horrific deaths. There is no justice. Corruption abounds and people live in fear. Life is not the same.
One can easily and rather bitterly say, “There’s nothing to celebrate in Mexico right now.” I agree, but at the same time I don’t.
I celebrate the Mexico I know exists underneath the bloody muck that’s choking the country right now. I celebrate the Mexico I grew up in– on holy week at the springs near my great grandmother’s town and summer vacations playing with my cousins in the plaza. I celebrate the colorful and exciting culture of a people born from a meztizaje of Spanish and indigenous roots. I celebrate Mexico’s beautiful landscapes, her spectacular deserts, her mystic waterfalls, and breathtaking beaches.
We must not forget this Mexico, because this is the Mexico we have to fight for. If we don’t remember her and celebrate her, where are we supposed to draw the inspiration or strength to continue the fight? To me, not celebrating is like giving into the evil. I don’t want to give in. I want to fight for Mexico.
So I celebrated Mexico’s bicentennial. I chose to celebrate the country’s 200th anniversary in Ciudad Juarez at a simple fiesta organized by a local neighborhood association. I had the honor of being accompanied by poet and writer Benjamin Alire Sanez. He barely hesitated when I extended the invitation. Ben preferred to celebrate at a small neighborhood fiesta than accept a haughty invitation from the Mexican consulate in the United States.
“I want to be in Mexico,” he told me. Que hermoso.
I was certainly happy to have his company. After all, beneath my fighting spirit I was scared. I was terrified of driving back home from the fiesta on the deserted streets of Juarez in the early morning hours. But there was no way that was going to stop me. I was headstrong about celebrating.
Ben and I arrived at the entrance to the neighborhood association, a wrought iron gate decorated with a Mexican flag and barbed wire. A guard asked what was our business then took down my name and an ID. We continued through the gates wondering just how capable these apparently unarmed guards were of truly protecting the neighborhood.
The fiesta was in a park a few blocks behind the entrance. Red, green and white streamers were hung across the length of a concrete basketball court. Underneath, tables and chairs were set up where families sat, laughed and chatted. To the right was a space for karaoke. Behind it, a jumping balloon and a tent under which kids and grandmas were playing loteria, a game similar (but far more fun) than American Bingo.
Ben and I spent most of our time on the other end of the basketball court where women in frilly blouses and aprons were cooking all kinds of Mexican antojitos. There were enchiladas, taquitos, corn in a cup and pastel de tres leches.
Shortly after stuffing ourselves with a heavenly plate of red enchiladas, an elder man called everyone’s attention. It was time for el grito, or the traditional cry for independence, given at 11 pm on September 15. The man who gave el grito is a cartoonist for one of the local papers. He would tell me after the ceremony that he was chosen for el grito because of his physical likeness to Father Hidalgo, the rebel priest that who gave the original grito back in 1810.
The cartoonist’s words were inspiring.
“We gather to celebrate our independence,” he said. “We may have locked ourselves up but it is still our independence. This is the first event where can see solidarity between us as neighbors. Here’s to our unity spreading and leading us to a better future.”
The neighborhood association is only six months old. Prior to its existence, people only knew a small handful of their neighbors. Now there are 140 households who actively participate and interact with each other.
“We came together because of the terrible violence,” the cartoonist later told me. “But out of a disgraceful situation our people have responded with solidarity.”
It’s true there is no cause to celebrate in Mexico right now, he said. But we can’t live our lives in constant tension, he said. So we organized this fiesta so families could spend time outside, interact with their neighbors and forget for a second the situation under which we live. We need it to lift our spirits.
I agreed with his words. Looking around me I saw joy and ease in people’s faces. It was easy to forget that we were in the middle in one of the most violent cities in the world. We enjoyed the warm night, the food and the music. And we were able to taste again that Mexico we all adore.