Pubdate: Mon, 13 Apr 2009
Source: Kingston Whig-Standard (CN ON)
Copyright: 2009 Sun Media
Contact: http://www.thewhig.com/feedback1/LetterToEditor.aspx
Website: http://www.thewhig.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/224
Author: Lubomyr Luciuk
Note: Lubomyr Luciuk teaches political geography at the 
Royal  Military College of Canada.

DON'T BELIEVE ALL THE BAD THINGS THAT ARE BEING SAID  ABOUT MEXICO

The sentry's challenge startled me. I halted, uncertain  and confused.

At a subconscious level, I knew something was wrong.  The guard's 
voice did not sound human and his call  wasn't your standard "Halt! 
Who goes there?" but "What  you want?"

I tried to spot my interlocutor. I couldn't. I had just  turned a 
corner, dusk was falling, I was tired, and the  only feature visible 
in the gloom ahead was a thick  patch of tropical bush, a perfect 
ambush point. Sensing  he was there, I stepped forward. That provoked 
an even  louder demand: "WHAT YOU WANT?"

It hadn't dawned on me yet that this watchman was  questioning me in 
English. Spanish would be more  appropriate, given my location on the 
edge of a  400-year-old hacienda on the outskirts of Merida, one  of 
the great colonial cities of Mexico's Yucatan  province. But before I 
figured that out, someone had  answered for me -- in a voice 
reminiscent of the first  and again in English: "Nothing!" And then I 
was  engulfed by a hubbub of wolf whistles and laughter,  including 
"That's funny! That's funny!"

Nonplussed at being on the receiving end of a signal  customarily 
reserved for particularly attractive  specimens of the opposite sex I 
thrust my way into the  bush. There I made my first acquaintance with 
my  teasers -- three parrots comfortably inhabiting a cage  tucked 
just inside a copse of native vegetation. Their  chore was not much 
different from that of the greeters  lodged near the front gates of 
Wal-Mart or Blockbuster  Video.

This particular chorus line -- comprised of Ruby, Buzz,  and Big Baby 
- -- wanted me to know I had arrived at the  Hacienda San Pedro Nohpat. 
At first alarmed, I now  found myself charmed.

As so often happens, those first few moments on the  ground in a 
foreign land set the tone for the rest of  my visit to a country 
that, contrary to media reports,  is not being overwhelmed by crime. 
Certainly Mexico has  its poor. Yet they do not seem as disabled by 
poverty  as the indigents of our home and native land. Maybe  it's 
the weather, although I suspect their Roman  Catholic faith plays a 
crucial role. For many  Canadians, the notion of finding strength in 
religion  is considered archaic. Perhaps so, but the Mayans I 
encountered -- short of stature and gently shy -- treat  you with 
smiles as long as they are little if only you  smile first. Penniless 
they may be, poor they are not.

I also discovered a culture of inclusiveness. During  Carnaval, in a 
crowd of tens of thousands lined up  along the city's main boulevard, 
I watched an evening  parade of dozens of floats festooned with 
everything  from nearly naked showgirls flogging beer to marching 
bands of seniors, the disabled and young children  shepherded by 
their parents. Each ensemble paused to  receive encouraging cheers. 
Kingstonians will likely  marvel that anarchy does not have to erupt 
at a street  party. Queen's University might even strike another 
committee of eminent persons and dispatch them to  Merida (next 
winter, of course) to determine how this  is done. And while there 
was drinking -- copious  amounts, actually -- I saw not a single 
drunk. Meanwhile, the police, out in numbers, enjoyed the  parade 
like everyone else.

Of crime there was no trace. So I asked about it.  Obviously, it 
exists. Yet, without exception, every  expatriate interrogated, male 
or female, told me the  same thing: You can walk on Merida's streets 
at night  without fear. And what about staying well? In Canada, 
despairing tales about long waiting times, doctor  shortages and 
inadequate hospitals are as universal as  good health care was 
supposed to be. Meanwhile, in  Merida, every expatriate said the same 
thing -- you can  see a general practitioner without an appointment. 
You  just walk in. Of course there's a fee, $35 on average.  If you 
then need a specialist, you can usually see one  that very day, again 
for a modest payment. The doctors,  often trained in Europe, are 
competent and caring. Some  will object that such a system favours 
those with  money. Yes it does. But since it's your money, why  allow 
the government to dictate how you spend it?

The country has problems. The pollution over Mexico  City smothers 
more than 20 million people packed into a  basin roughly the same 
size as Prince Edward County --  by comparison, home to 25,000 souls. 
There is  corruption and a race-based caste hierarchy, and  violent 
drug cartels are disrupting life in some border  regions. But let us 
remember why. The winner gets to  feed our demand for drugs. Ours, 
not Mexico's. That  brought to mind a 1968 Steppenwolf song,The Pusher:

"Well now if I were the president of this land you know  I'd declare 
total war on the pusher man. I'd cut him if  he stands, and I'd shoot 
him if he runs, yes I'd kill  him with my Bible and my razor and my 
gun. God damn the  pusher."

If we waged a real war on drugs instead of  mollycoddling addicts and 
pushers, our southern  neighbours would be genuinely grateful.

While I wouldn't claim Mexican society is perfect, any  more than 
ours is, watching the news these days could  mislead you into 
thinking Mexico is disintegrating. As  Ruby would say: "That's funny."
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MAP posted-by: Jay Bergstrom