By Arturo Mora, Kansas City Star Midwest Voices columnist 2009Mexico celebratesMexico celebrates

AGUASCALIENTES—September 16 was Dia de La Patria, Mexico’s independence celebration, a year away from their bicentennial. I was there* visiting Mom (read my print column about our immigrant family), in a city that bills itself as the “heartbeat” of Mexico. It’s a place where you can get a sense of how the average Mexican lives, away from the touristy resorts on the coasts, the cosmopolitan and yet poverty-plagued national capital (Mexico City), or the relatively lawless northern border states. It’s similar to how Kansas bills itself as the “heartland of America.”

I’ve been visiting this “real” Mexico since I was a kid, and every time it seems a bit more modern, with a few more familiar American franchises (ah, they have a Starbucks now), yet never quite “caught up” to the United States, if that were the goal.

Economists in the past used the term “Second World” to describe most of the Communist world, nations caught in a twilight zone between the richer First World and the destitute Third World. Mexico seems pretty much permanently stuck in that same mode, behind the shadow of the Joneses to the north.

There is no mass starvation, though some exists in the capital and in the south. Instead, there is a constant struggle for week-to-week survival for millions, striving for what passes for middle-class status. Those who slip often consider another option, emigration to the United States.

Observing anecdotally (and I always mistrust anecdotal evidence), average Mexicans in this city live a pretty good life. They live differently than we do, with less “things,” but is that the only measure of a good life?

In Mom’s neighborhood, the houses are simple, narrow, two-story brick affairs painted in bright primary colors, built by small contractors who use mostly day labor. They are smaller than our abodes, but most of them have comfortable inner open courtyards, often filled with small orange, lemon, or other fruit trees.

It’s a commercial area, and this and much of Mexico seems awash in small mom-and-pop stores of all types, and eateries where a delicious enchilada dinner for three, drinks included, goes for $3 US. Many of them accept credit cards, but it’s surprising how many are cash-only, including paying for a new tire on Mom’s van (long story, let’s not go there).

It’s a lively and joyful scene during the day and even more so at night, of the kind you never see anymore in America’s relatively staid stay-inside-the-house modern neighborhoods. There are a lot of teenagers, too many already with young children of their own, many in fashionable dress jeans. While many of them have cell phones, you don’t see the ubiquitous texting you see in the US (I noticed only one young girl texting all week). Here, people actually talk to each other.

Driving is an at-your-own-risk endeavor, literally. I was surprised to discover that most drivers don’t have auto insurance. A relative described how he and a driver involved in a fender-bender settled accounts with each other, the usual arrangement here, and how the police only get called when this isn’t possible.

Similarly, many operate without the safety net of health insurance. The medical system has most of the modern techniques, equipment, and well-trained professionals of ours, but with a fraction of the cost. When Mom’s breast cancer was discovered over five years ago, she had no health insurance to help pay for the mastectomy that was performed immediately. Even so, it cost her an unbelievably low total of about $7000 US.

Lest you be skeptical that “she probably got what she paid for,” note that years later she continues to be cancer-free and is the most active 85-year old I’ve ever seen, including continuing with art and dance classes in her senior’s group.

There are factories and malls and large commercial concerns here, most noticeably Nissan factories and dealers, but the small stores dominate. You wonder how they do enough business to survive, much less provide enough employment for a rapidly growing and very young population. There is no shortage of those willing to work hard, at jobs that just don’t exist.

The American commercial presence is unmistakable, from KFC to Burger King to Costco and beyond. Mexican’s attitude towards this presence from the north has always been slightly schizophrenic. So many wear American-branded clothes and baseball caps, and shop at American stores, but get defensive if you even mention that a Starbucks exist.

There’s a history behind it, of course. There was a 19th century war that stripped Mexico of almost a third of its territory, and a revolution and civil war in the 20th century that resulted in American intervention. In the last century, Mexican nationalism and American tension over immigration have kept the love-hate relationship at full tilt.

That nationalism is on full display during the Dia de La Patria celebrations. (It means “Day of the Fatherland” and commemorates the first declaration of independence from the Spanish Empire.) All across the nation on the eve of the holiday, crowds gather at central plazas surrounded by buildings draped in the national red-white-and-green.

At the stroke of 11pm, local government officials everywhere (and the President in Mexico City’s plaza) re-enact El Grito (“the shout” for independence) from balconies. Bells ring out, and Viva Mexico and Viva la Indepedencia fill the night air, followed by fireworks.

The festival of music and food continues long into the night, followed by parades the next morning. Every possible representation of government is on display. Not just the usual firefighters, policemen and soldiers, but also special forces in full camouflage, and then tanks. Lots and lots and lots of tanks. I’m not sure if the point of that is inspiring pride or fear. Probably both.

A pamphlet passed around during the parade asks for support of the troops in their fight against the narco-traffickers. That particular national war is not evident in Mom’s town, though a relative claims a nearby ranching center we visited (El Bajio de San Jose) is a hideout for them, evidenced by mansions and shiny new pickup trucks. Others dismiss his concerns but seem reluctant to discuss it.

Though three local policemen have been killed in battles with the drug lords’ men, Aguascalientes has escaped most of the violence. This is a less exciting part of Mexico, where people concentrate on working hard, enjoying each others’ company, and the faith that sustains them (more about that in my next report).

Addendum: Some news tidbits of interest gleaned from local papers:
—10,000 bureaucrats will be laid off, but mostly through attrition and retirement. Government employment is a sensitive issue here, and assurances are given about extended benefits and healthcare for those affected.
—A 2% income surtax is being proposed to help the poor. This is from a government run by the conservative party. An official, as the headline states, says there is “No Plan B for the poor.”
—The wives of men arrested for a grenade attack, during last year’s independence celebrations in Morelios, are accusing the police of torture techniques to obtain their husband’s confessions (heightened security at this year’s celebrations was very obvious).
—Eggs were tossed at the governor of San Luis Potosi, a neighboring state, by protestors for social justice. I bet they would settle for our town hall shouters.

*This column was written while I was in Mexico but posted just now, post-vacation. Aguascalientes, a state capital, is in central Mexico, about two hours east of Guadalajara.