Trading Places

Postales del Paraíso

 Trading Places

2016

If Enrique Peña Nieto were to implement similar restrictions in Mexico, I do not believe that I could withstand an extreme vetting process similar to what Donald Trump has proposed in the U.S. for some people seeking a new life in a new country. 

I cannot recite the Mexico pledge of allegiance, and I cannot sing the national anthem. I cannot quote the Mexican constitution, nor am I proficient in the details of all its laws. My religious preferences are probably not in alignment with the majority of the population. Although I continue to improve, my communication skills are limited to those of a child.  I do not know that my political perspective is in alignment with those of Mexico on issues of gay rights, religious freedom, or gender equality, I would assume that most Mexicans, like most Americans, are deeply divided on these issues. I can provide no proof of my respect for this country, admiration of the Mexican people, or the validity of my moral compass. I have no official sponsor to validate my application of immigration. I have not submitted to a medical exam, or an ideological test and yet I have been granted ‘permanent resident’ status here.

Although I am a stranger living in a foreign land without a complete understanding of it’s culture, it’s people or it’s politics, I am welcome in this country. I am here by choice and I am free to come and go as I choose. The contrasts with the place I called ‘home’ for the better part of my life, are striking. 

For too many in this world, menial labor, humiliation, and discrimination are but one price of immigration. That my halting and heavily accented mumblings are greeted with appreciation and encouragement rather than derision, that I have never been questioned by the Immigration Service or the police about my political views or why I’m here, and that I have never experienced the negative affects of racial profiling, are testaments to the remarkable tolerance of this country and its people. That my Mexican neighbors knock on my door offering steaming bowls of pozole and warm tortillas as a heartfelt welcome to the neighborhood is a humbling experience. That they invite me to share in their family’s triumphs and celebrations, their births and their baptisms is an honor.

On the surface the difference may perhaps be dismissed by the fact that I’m not a refugee. I’m not perceived as a threat to someone’s job, or as a national liability dependent on the charity of others for healthcare, education, or food to put on my table. You become a refugee because something has gone terribly wrong, because your life has reached a point where your best option, perhaps only option, means abandoning your hopes and dreams, your roots, your identity, your family, and the graves of your forefathers, and placing yourself at the mercy of strangers. The hope of being able to overcome all these injustices is perhaps the reason the United States has the best-educated taxi drivers in the world. However while my lack of refugee status does nothing to dispel the realization that, were my financial situation more precarious, my political status would certainly follow, the culture here is to help, not ignore or denigrate, the less fortunate.

I’m reminded of all this as we join in the nine day festival of the Christmas Posadas that are celebrated here, and throughout Mexico. The word posada means “inn” or “shelter” and the posadas are a re-enactment of the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem and their search for a place to stay. The evening celebrations begin in each neighborhood with the singing of Christmas carols and a candlelit procession led by a young couple enacting the part of Mary & Joseph. The procession makes its way through the village to a particular home (a different home in a different neighborhood for each of nine nights), where a special song, La Cancion Para Pedir Posada, is sung. There are two parts to the traditional posada song. Those outside the house sing the part of Joseph asking for shelter and the family inside responds, singing the part of the innkeeper telling Joseph that there is no room. The song alternates back and forth a few times until the innkeeper relents, opens the door, lets everyone inside, and the Christmas celebrations then begin in earnest.

One can debate the story of Mary and Joseph, the journey to Bethlehem or even the Christmas tradition, but in a world reluctant to address the tragedies and countless refugees in Aleppo and throughout Syria, Afghanistan, Somalia and South Sudan, and in a country with a president so fearful of immigration, that he advocates building walls and religious registries as barriers to keep people out, the traditions of tolerance and acceptance that are taught here, especially to the very young, are a welcome alternative.

Wishing all of you the very best this holiday season. Feliz Navidad!