San Cristobol Carnival

                So, I went to the Mexican “fair” last night, despite the fact that I am behind on my reading. After turning down my host family multiple times, I finally gave in and justified it with a cultural experience- and cultural experience it was! 

                For me, although I don’t think I have ever been to a “fair” like this one, it didn’t seem any different from what you could expect at home. There were carnival rides that looked less than safe, including a ferris wheel and a merry-go-round, among other things. There were typical unwinnable carnival games, and people who cheated the odds carrying massive Disney-character mock-ups. Mexican renditions of carnival foods were everywhere- large candy stands, cotton candy, strawberries and cream dished out in a milk-carton container, popcorn, elotes. If you can think of it, it was probably there. Mostly, though, it was just a tremendous amount of people packed together to listen to the concert, which I believe included the band Molotov, which is a band that is coming back with me to Ursinus, I think. My first impression of one of their most famous songs was not very good when I watched it on Telehit at the urging of my host sister. This is because these are the English lyrics in their otherwise, Spanish song, semi-censored:

“Don’t call me gringo/you f------ beaner/stay on your side of the goddamn river/don’t call me gringo, you beaner.”

                Now, I have a really hard time with singing, and the fact that the band was clearly mocking the way Americans speak Spanish in the first chorus made it even harder for me to catch what they were saying, but needless to say I am glad I looked up the lyrics because I was furious. As someone who lives in a border state, and deals with border-associated racism, especially because Houston is a “sanctuary city,” I flinch every time I hear someone called a “beaner.”  Fortunately, when I looked up the lyrics, they were criticizing border racism, it’s just too bad they had to use that word, however appropriate. The lyrics in Spanish are analogous “No me llamas frijolero Mr. Punetero” or “Don’t call me beaner, Mr. Masturbator.”

                So, clearly, very offensive, but they have a political edge which I appreciate, even if I have a really hard time accepting the place of any sort of ethnic slur, especially one that I grew up with like that.   These particular lyrics (translated) did make me feel a little bit better about it. They also displayed, to some extent, what I have found a more liberal Mexican-view of immigration to the U.S. to be, especially in communities where family members work in the U.S.

Now I wish I had a dime for every single time
I’ve gotten stared down for being in the wrong side of town
And a rich man I’d be if I had that kind of chips
Lately I wanna smack the mouths of these racists
Can you imagine yourself
As a Mexican crossing the border
Thinking of your family while you cross
Leaving all you know behind
What if you had to dodge bullets
Of some gringo ranchers
Would you keep saying “good for nothing wetback?”
If you had to start from scratch?
Now why don’t you look down to
Where your feet are planted
That U.S. soil that makes you take shit for granted
If not for Santa Ana, just to let you know
That where your feet are planted would be Mexico
Correcto!

                        Anyway, Molotov aside, the experience was really positive for me. I found myself looking to identify which Mayan group each of the traditionally-dressed Mayan woman were from, and because I didn’t hear Molotov singing “Frijolero,” I was thinking in Spanish. This helped me speak Spanish better and successfully brush off a very intoxicated guy who was trying to get me to dance with him. No thanks. It was also nice to participate in the non-religious side of Semana Santa. Going to mass is just too much to ask of me.