Sidewalk Wars

It’s awkward at school when you’re on the verge of being late for class, or when you’re driving to work and some moralizer on Longwood Trace insists on going 29 in a 30 and not even 1mph over, forcing you to go several under. You don’t want to be that asshole who speeds past, but you’re in a hurry! So, you just make your way through in the least rude manner as possible, and hope they don’t remember, don’t know you, or don’t care.

                It’s a little tougher here just to plow through a group of people on a narrow and high sidewalk. In addition to the physical difficulty, there is also the subtle implication of a not-so-distant past. Less than ten years ago, San Cristobol citizens of indigenous ancestry were not permitted to walk on the sidewalks- they had to walk in the street instead. I, as a result, definitely don’t want to be the one they clear the way for. I usually slip into the street as just another rude American.

                I have had few discussions about racism in Mexico. In fact, the only person willing to admit that it exists has been Hugo. The topic has the same status as it does in the United States- it is ignored, perpetuated secretly, or people pretend like it doesn’t exist anymore because some minor reconciliation in a history of persecution makes things better.  I remember having a discussion with one of my co-workers, who insisted that black people were no longer at a disadvantage in our country and that modern racism was just a fiction to perpetuate white guilt and suck more out of the system.  He said, “We gave them the right to vote, they can sit in front of the bus, they can eat my tax dollars in food stamps and get into college preferentially over me, what else do they want?”

                Interestingly, a similar attitude exists here in Mexico. “No hay racismo.” I hear it over and over again. Classism, everyone is willing to admit to, though. While I’ll be the first one to target class status as the best predictor of future success, it still remains that it is easier to be a white impoverished person, or a ladino impoverished person, than an ethnic or indigenous one. Just because Chamulans can feel free to walk on the sidewalk doesn’t mean the issue has been put to rest.  The evidence for this is always easy to pick out in hiring decisions. According to Hugo, darker skin, Mayan names- these things destine you to be a laborer who spends the day in the sun. In the United States, a black man is more disproportionately and statistically significantly more likely to be asked about his punctuality than a white man with the same qualifications. Imagine how much harder it must be for someone to get a job who citizenship or loyalty is up for debate. Some of the things I have witnessed and heard, especially after 9/11 and in the heat of the immigration debate make my absent soul sick.

                While I have been disappointed to miss the primary season, complete with crappy CNN commentary, out-of-context soundbites and repeated, finger-pointing, substanceless discussions about racism no one wants to admit to, I don’t feel like I have entirely missed out on the experience. I have just been living in a different spectrum of it- a more nascent, less violent version of what my mom grew up, starring Commandante Marco as a socialist, but silent Martin Luther King with Mexican radio as my source instead of a black  and white or Technicolor television. We’re a long way from Darfur, where racial violence is explicit, but we’re still far from resolving the problem. Continuing to proclaim that “No hay racism” only perpetuates it. You can turn on CNN and see that for yourself if you don’t believe me. I have a nice view from my window.