Workers' Rights

I'm reflecting on the meaning of my trip to Mexico, so much more than a photographic journey. I noticed that some of the photos have disappeared from the pages of this blog, but not from my mind. To be a middle class (or higher) American means to enjoy many of the privileges (we call these rights) that others in this country or in many other countries only dream might be their future. Seeing the gap gives meaning to the vocabulary of poverty and indifference. What is the difference between human rights and rights? I am indebted to my Pacific Oaks journey, an awakening. My questions are never-ending.



The photo above is a newspaper pic of the protest on Mexico's Hwy. 15 that stopped traffic and closed the road in both directions for miles, until 6:00 p.m, a real-life lesson in civil rights. Truckloads of soldiers and many emergency vehicles made their way to the sugar cane factory where growers were demanding federal intervention in their negotiations with the manufacturers. At least that is what I can understand from this small article that was placed in the bottom right column on an inner page of the newspaper. Most of this I found out the next day after we sat in traffic for two hours. I wonder if the protest made a difference to the drivers on the road. Most were patient and we didn't hear horns honking or see people angry, but a few cars tried to drive over a gully to get out of the gridlock. A young entrepreneur sold cold sodas during the wait. This protest is the voice that rises. That makes me wonder where my sugar is grown, just another thought about fair trade.


I have everything materially that I need and more. I saw people in Mexico who also are lucky compared to their neighbors, but others who struggle day in and day out. Many are satisfied and have what they need, but the difference in scale between Mexico and America is remarkable, just like the middle class in Vietnam living in very small homes and while they have many of the technological wonders of the world, televisions, cell phones, Internet, the scale of their possessions is so very small compared to ours. Some of us complain about gas prices, but we have cars. Those of us who have worked with children and adults who also struggle daily, know the balance is tipped towards the strong. I quoted Pablo Freire earlier and I will continue to believe that his assessment of the power of education to create voice and change is the reason I have stayed in education so long and have tried in some small way to carry the message that we need to continue working for human rights and a non-violent society.

Here is a link to a Pichttp://picasaweb.google.com/ICLipshin/GuanajuatoMexico?authkey=hSyiftSVBJI asa slideshow of Guanajuato images.

Mexican Holiday in Poetry

I have been back home for four days, cuatro dias, and I find that reconstructing my trip day by day reveals only an itinerary, not the essence of the journey. I also am discovering that each journey is an individual experience, you have yours and I have mine and there is meaning to "lost in translation". So, a bit of philosophizing, some poetry and photos will follow in the next few posts.

The remainder of the trip is poetry, words falling together as music, color, emotions reveal a Mexico held only in a dream. A dream that occasionally disturbs or at least awakens consciousness, with the graffiti, political signs, protests, beggars, vendors sitting in stalls row after row, selling the same crafts, turning from the lens of tourists, who benefit greatly in understanding the people and the culture by being or becoming bilingual, a goal I will work on this year. This picture contrasts greatly with lavish haciendas, tourist destinations, churches and cathedrals rich with gold, jewels and art and well-maintained colonial architecture. I left this beautiful land with more questions than could be answered in a short time or perhaps at all: from immigration to past battles and conquests, the role of religion in the social structure of the country, the rich history of Mexico is an exploration that invites introspection, reflection and a sense of responsibility. I hope to learn more in the coming years.

LEARNING TO SPEAK

In Michoacan
I have been missing my guides.
Living in Braille
feeling is everything.
The skeletons visit at night,
bones of the dead scattered
here and there, bowing to grandmothers.
What is left of this woman
who escaped death only to rattle into it
before she could spell her name
in another tongue?
In all those years I studied
español I did not know how
to say I love you and I am. Now,
te quiero, yo soy
my first words.

Gloria's parents, both over 92 years old, married 73 years, live in the home of la madre's birth family. Her mother had a stroke right before we were to travel and is now recovering, so Gloria was not able to travel with us as planned. Gloria is staying with her parents in Janamuato to help them, until the end of July, so J. and I were on our own after our visit to this village of her childhood. She gave us a tour of the village and we met many of her family members who were visiting the parents.

Mexico Today

Mexico is a land of contrasts: I expected dry, arid land and immediately the first of many misconceptions, stereotypes was dispelled. Leaving Guadalajara in the early light, we passed verdant fields, agave, corn, tomatoes, whatever produce is exported to America, this is the heartland. Later, traveling through larger cities like Morelia and Guadalajara, we encountered WalMart, Sam's Club, Costco, Office and Home Depot, malls and outlet stores, and global brand names, Coke, Pepsi, McDonald's, KFC, Burger King, Subway and more in communities of all sizes. Internet is available. Our cell phones worked everywhere. Supermercados are well-stocked for the middle-class who look like middle-class people around the world. All this exists within the economic diversity of the country.

The churches, cathedrals, basilicas are rich in gold and incredible art, many built centuries ago. Saints Days and religious holidays, especially Posada, Dia de los Muertos, and Semana Santa are all celebrated with both joy and reverence.

We were fortunate to witness a pilgrimage of Catholic men, women and children, walking from many miles away to the basilica near our bed and breakfast. Others came on buses from all over Mexico on July 7, to honor the day of the Maria Inmaculada de Salud, the patron saint of health, when believers pray for good health or recovery. Everyone carried flowers and walked in long lines, men in front, women and children behind, often through the rain, to the Basilica de la Salud in Patzcuaro. A few walked on their knees to the altar. Later in the day, fireworks and festivities, one of many celebrations throughout the year all over Mexico.

We met a well-educated tour guide, whose other job is professor of archaeology in Morelia, who had grown up in a "liberal" religious family. He calls himself spiritual, not a believer any longer, but nature and culture play a major part in his life. Religion has shaped the culture and economics of Mexico, with many different levels of participation and belief. The study of religion's social-political influence will reveal many intersections with poverty, family values and roles, war and health issues. Here we see the prayer for health and the devotion to the divine. Religious icons are everywhere in Mexico.

Buenos Dias, Mexico

3 de Julio, 2008

We arrived in Guadalajara, the second largest city in Mexico, in the state of Jalisco, early and by 6:00 a.m. ( for me all time is approximate in Mexico, as I am not wearing a watch here) our passports were inspected and we were in the terminal. We could be anywhere, you know how airports look the same, but mostly Spanish was spoken, and we heard Gloria call our name and wave a huge Mexican flag. Here we are with Gloria and Tino, her brother, while Edgar, Gloria's nephew and the driver, a young physician, takes the picture. We had planned to travel and spend time with Gloria and explore the state of Michoacan, where many of our students were born. However, the week before we were to leave, Gloria was called to Mexico because her mother was very ill. By the time we arrived her mother was stable, but Gloria would need to stay close to home, so J. and I were on our own in exploring Mexico.

We left Sacramento at midnight and arrived after four hours, so scratch one night of sleep. At that point, it didn't matter, as we were ready for a full day of seeing the state of Michoacan and traveling to Gloria's family home in Janamuato, a village of about 3,000 people about 2 1/2 hours away. We wanted to see Lake Chapala, the largest natural lake in Mexico, and we were amazed at the wetlands filled with snowy egrets, ducks and other birds. The lake is 18 miles wide and 53 miles long. Here is a panorama view of the town of Jamay and the lake from una punta de vista. We can see that Mexico is spectacular, from the ornate churches to the rolling hills of Michoacan. We made more stops before we arrived at Gloria's home, including lunch at a buffet, where I ate bran flakes and a banana, still following the travel clinic's advice not to eat anything that has cooled off or is peeled. (Happy to say I didn't get sick and stopped following those directions to the letter or I would be ten pounds lighter).

Lake Chapala is in a forested, green area, in a resort town that at one time was the summer home of the rich and famous of Mexico. D.H. Lawrence wrote "The Plumed Serpent" here in 1920. While the lake is beautiful and the source of water for Chapala and nearby towns, its water level has dropped by half in the last 100 years because of the cutting down of trees and mud sliding into the lake. There is a noticeable stench in some areas caused by the pollution and engineers and environmentalists are working to reverse the damage. Birding is a pastime on the lake and we saw small boats and fisherman on the lake.

Michoacan is a fertile valley, with green, rolling pasture land and farms. This is the rainy season, but just enough to grow the crops and not damage them. Here corn and agave fields dot the hillsides, horses and cows occasionally wander into the road, sheep graze and I saw the farmers who harvest the crops we eat, when the produce signs read, "Grown in Mexico."

Here also are three mujeras who happily posed for our camera. In our beginning Spanish we told them where we were from and asked them questions. Each time I visit a non-English speaking country, I realize how valuable bilingual skills are in being able to have deep conversations and communicate with comprehension. Often people say they understand when they don't, including me. This would be one of the many lessons of the journey.

On the way to Janamuato I saw many political signs, often painted on the white stucco walls of haciendas and casas we passed in town and countryside. I asked Tino, who is not bilingual, about the current president, "Quien es el presidente?" His answer, "Felipe Calderon Jinajosa, who was born in nearby Purandiro." (in espanol). He also said, "No narcos." I asked, "Te gusta Fox?" He replied with a resounding "NO!" I also found out from Tino that the population of Purandiro is 40,000. And that was how our conversation flowed during the rest of our stay with Gloria. She speaks English, but no one else in the family or the village did, until we met a math instructor teaching summer school who was fluent and who lived in the town of Purandira.

Ana and Maestro Ramon, teacher at the local elementary school in Janamuato

Church tower in square in Jamay

Tino, Edgar and Gloria pose in the churchyard above Lake Chapala.

We visited Gloria's family in Janamuato, a town that is only on the regional maps. Her parents live alone in the family home, over 100 years old. They helped build the church down the street. Her sister lives a few blocks away in the back of the tienda she owns. While the family home is larger with many rooms, Berta's home consists of very small living quarters attached to the shop. When I speak of the difference in scale, this is an example. This family appears to be happy and to have what they need. Her husband works in Wyoming six months of the year, her son, the doctor, lives in Purandiro with his wife (we saw the video of the very upscale and fun wedding), and her daughter, age 22, shares the home. What we each believe we need to be successful or happy differs within a country and a culture. The question is how people use the resources of a country, if there is a gap between those who have and those who do not and how inequality is addressed. We in the U.S. use a disproportionate amount of resources compared to the rest of the world, according to environmental reports I've read. Seeing a family live comfortably with fewer material possessions helps me understand the difference between wants and needs. I continue to be conscious of living well at the expense of workers in other countries who provide goods and services for our use, in our country.

Hasta Luego, Irene

Tlaquepaque Part 3 Adios, Mexico

At dinner, one person in our group ordered a Margarita, while the rest of us settled for cerveza.




On the way back to our B&B, the rain began and I placed my camera and cell phone in a pocket inside my jacket. When we got to our room, I couldn't find my cell phone in my pocket, which turned out not to be a true pocket, so must have slipped directly onto the ground as I walked the several blocks back from dinner. Well, what are the chances of finding a needle in a haystack? About as good as finding a cell phone on the busy streets of Tlaquepaque. But an hour later, after retracing our steps and asking a dozen vendors and shopkeepers if they had found a cell phone, all in our very rudimentary español and sign language and J. showing her cell phone when we said cell phone, I had the pink Sony in my hand. We asked a meat vendor we had passed earlier and after a few minutes of our waiting for an answer, he produced the phone. I quickly thanked him with a few dollars from my pocket. What a relief, what a surprise: my faith in humanity and synchronicity is affirmed.















On check-out day I woke up early, listened to birdsong and soaked up the color and texture of the vibrant paintings, intricately embroidered wall hanging and assorted Mexican pottery in our spacious and comfy room. Not wanting to disturb J., I took my carry-on into the bathroom to shower. I closed the door, enjoyed the warm water, finished up and opened the door to leave. Or should I say, tried to open the door? To shorten this story, I spent three hours in the bathroom (skylight 10 feet up, no window), sitting on the damp towels, listening to Prairie Home Companion, Lake Wobegon Days on my iPOD and/or meditating in the quiet of the room, while the hosts first tried to open the door, then waited for a locksmith to come. My idea of urgency was not conveyed to the locksmith, but the hosts were very concerned that I not be hurt during the attempt to remove the broken lock and that I get out soon. All this while they were trying to prepare and serve their gourmet breakfast to guests and continue trying to find a locksmith who would indeed show up. J. remained on the other side of the door, good friend that she is, to be sure that I was okay while waiting. Thank you, J.



Patience seems to be the word for travel. Stan and Jose's apology included the use of the room for the rest of the day, which we needed, remember, as we were up early, and pesos for a pricey lunch. Now, seeing Guadalajara in our tight time-frame would have to wait for a return visit.

That was it for Mexico, as we left for the Guadalajara airport by taxi, arriving early enough to people watch, have our bags thoroughly searched, as every bag leaving Mexico must be opened and examined, and begin the process of sorting out our adventure, in a political, social and cultural context. As on every journey I've traveled, I will return with more questions and the confirmation of my belief that the similarities of all humankind are greater than the differences, no matter the borders or governments set up by the people in power.

The flight was almost smooth; two hours before we landed I moved to first class, when the flight attendant accidentally dumped a full glass of sprite on me, my clothes soaked with another passenger's drink. Good fortune, it wasn't red wine or milk and my wish for flying first class was granted by whatever angel accompanied us on this journey.

While our trip was safe, fun, memorable and meaningful, it reached its peak of unexpected events when the almost-full moon hung in the midnight sky, dancing in and out of dark Mexican summer clouds, creating the power to change the course of lives. We don't know what's around the corner and that's the true adventure.

The end. Adios, Mexico.

Tlaquepaque Part 2

The first evening we arrived in Tlaquepaque, a suburb of Guadalajara ( I thought it was small, but AAA lists its population as 467,000!) we met a couple from Australia, retired educators who had been teaching in Honduras; a woman who designs and orders Mexican art and furniture for her shop in Reno; and a young woman who works in New York and lives close-by in New Jersey. She has a blog, gonnamakeachange.blogspot.com, about her extensive world travels, her life and philosophy. She and her husband sponsor two girls in Guatemala and have been there as volunteers of an organization, Myan Families, that helps indigenous Mayan people in that Central American country. I hope to stay in touch with her, as her ideals, philosophy and experiences are close to my heart and besides, she's a lot fun.

We all made plans to take a tour the next day, first to Tonalá, famous for its artisans and ceramics/pottery workshops, then on to Tequila, the region of the important ingredient for the Margarita and the agave plant needed to create it. Many of Tequila's distilleries open their doors to tourists and we were looking forward to checking out how the beverage is made and surely taste testing it.

After breakfast five of us hopped in Luis's large car and set off for Tonalá. We first visited the taller or workshop, of the family Ortega, took pictures of the artists in different stages of work on whimsical and creative ceramics. I bought a small rooster, as I'm trying to bring home only what I can carry in my luggage.

Next we traveled to the studio and shop of Salvador Vasquez and his son, famous for bruñido, the delicate burnished clayware that has been featured in international art books for collectors and admirers of traditional art. Again we took pictures, watched the process of transforming clay into works of art and met both Salvadors, senior and junior. The elder Vasquez proudly showed us books and awards that have honored his work. I bought a piece of pottery, but now I notice it is signed by Oscar Vasquez; I probably couldn't afford Salvador Sr.'s work. We were all struck by the simple home of the family, their living quarters and studio. While Vasquez's art is celebrated in museums and books, he hasn't grown rich selling it. Most likely collectors and buyers have purchased his work for a song, as much of Mexico's art is relatively inexpensive, and possibly resold it for a profit. This must be the life of the starving artist who lives his way, not compromising for money or security.

We were finally on the road to Tequila, passing through the very large and modern city of Guadalajara. One of our group mentioned how little traffic there was, the road smooth and welcoming us to our next adventure. And yes, it turned out to be an adventure, as very soon the traffic came to a grinding halt. Gridlock all around, as we could not get out of what felt like a parking lot without exits. We were on Federal Highway 15, the primary north-south highway in Mexico, full of buses, trucks and cars that usually roll along to their destinations. We had no idea of the cause of the sudden standstill and spent hours in the hot car occasionally inching along or waiting to move. The drivers all around us were patient and seemed to take this major inconvenience in stride. An enterprising boy with a bucket of soft drinks took advantage of the long line of cars, selling refreshments to the people trapped in the gridlock and a few cars tried to end their wait by driving over a gully to the other side of the road. Open military trucks with armed soldiers drove by or were in the line with us, their guns posed for any problem, emergency vehicles with sirens sped by and we wondered how long we would be stuck and even how safe we were. A woman in front of us flirted with the men who got out of their cars and later with the policia who finally came to inform us of the reason for the blocked road.

Up ahead, we're not sure how far, a group of sugar cane farmers protested unfair treatment or financial renumeration by the plant. Is this the voice of the people rising up against injustice, an example of workers, agrarian and manufacturing, often uneducated and unable to earn a living at their work, while the next levels of the production line earn high profits? Pablo Freire, the Brazilian educator wrote, "Education is a constant process for the liberation of human beings." He comes to mind, as he worked hard to educate the most impoverished people, those whose human rights are often violated and who are not able to rise up and change their circumstances because of lack of knowledge and power. Education is power.

After about (no watch for me on this trip) two hours the military began redirecting traffic and we finally moved into the lane that would take us back to Tlaquepaque, rather than continue to wait for the highway to open. The next day the local newspaper had a small picture and article, noting that the highway reopened at 6:00 p.m. and the government would begin talks with the people. I thought for sure there would be headlines, but maybe protest that stops normal lives and work is more frequent here, just as in Europe and the UK, where strikes are common and often announced beforehand. No trip to Tequila for us and next time we drink a Margarita, we'll remember July 15, 2008 and the power of the people who completely stopped traffic.

A Full Moon in Tlaquepaque Part I

16 de Julio, 2008. Hola to you all. ¿Como estas? We are leaving spectacular Mexico this evening and I will update this blog when I return. While the trip was a spur of the moment journey, it was also a civics and social science lesson, and a course in art history, anthropology and archaeology. Now I am even more curious to know more about Mexico and its people, current and past and to learn enough Spanish to have a real conversation about politics with a Spanish speaker.

Perhaps the full moon determined some of the unexpected experiences we had in Tlaquepaque, beginning with the first night in this community of artisans and crafts people, outside of Guadalajara. The guide books list July rainfall for Guadalajara as nine inches and I wouldn't be surprised if all nine inches fell Monday evening as J. and I found ourselves wading ankle deep in a flash storm, while we walked to our dinner destination.

Later, we explored the streets of Tlaquepaque, discovering crafts studios and workshops and the local color and personality. Visiting the Museo del Premeo Nacional de la Ceramica, a famous ceramics museum, we met a Mexican maestro, who was teaching young summer school students in one of the many classrooms. Imagine the students in our Placerville district, who have no summer school this year, being immersed in this world of creativity. When I told him we teach English to many students from Mexico, he thanked us for doing important work and shook our hands, one of the many times people have expressed appreciation to teachers.

La Casa de Las Flores, our B&B, is a riot of color and Mexican art, with comfortable beds, excellent food, including evening refreshments and a fun group of guests. The proprietors, Stan and Jose, have decorated this old building with a variety of pottery and art from different time periods and regions of Mexico. Stan led a tour of the collection and I felt I was in the best seat in the house for an art history course with an expert professor.

I love being surrounded by such magnificent crafts; what an up feeling to live within the vibrancy of exquisite pottery, paintings and hangings in their collection.