A La Marcha

I wrote in my March newsletter about going to hear Javier Sicilia speak as a part of a march for an end to drug-related violence in Cuernavaca. This month, another march was organized, this time from Cuernavaca all the way to the city square of the nation's capital--the zocalo surrounded by government buildings and the national cathedral.

An effigy of President Calderón hangs beneath a sign that reads "imperialism's puppet,"
with protesters and the cathedral in the background.

While demonstrations in Mexico City on May 8 attacked a variety of issues (most of them anti-Calderón in one way or another), the largest faction was the "No Más Sangre" group led by Sicilia. The complaints against the government are complicated and controversial, but the crux of their argument boils down to this: in Calderón's attempt to legitimize his presidency, he has declared an unmanageable and un-winnable war against the drug cartels, but this war's toll has proven too great--we either need a dramatic change of policy, or a all-out change of leadership.
Many question whether Calderón's actions influence the rising death toll of the drug war at all, or if his political posturing just makes him an easy scapegoat. From The Esteyonage:

I went by [the march] for a bit, and just couldn't help but thinking what the hell cartel bosses around the country were thinking watching this all play out on TV. I kept thinking about a friend's cynical perspective that they would see this as a joke. That the government - who most appealed to - can't fix the real problems.
Despite all the positive energy, and thousands of people, I couldn't shake that somber thought.

And The Globe and Mail:

But when he in turn condemns the Calderon administration, declaring, “Your struggle for power has torn apart the fabric of the nation,” Mr. Sicilia steps outside of reason.
His son was not murdered by the state, but by criminal gangs. Contrary to what the poet says, the death can only “be blamed on our failing institutions” insofar as those institutions have been unable to vanquish the murderous cartels, not because they have had the courage to try.

There's an important question here: to what extent does any president have the full control of his country? What's more, this political climate has an eerie echo: a dubious election, a divisive president, an unpopular war against an invisible enemy. And in Calderón's responses, I see the same cocky cowboy tenuously defending the pursuit of justice, rooting for courage in the face of terrorism. Maybe I'm getting too caught up in the excitement of being on the ground in the midst of a populist movement, but I couldn't help but see the urgency in people's faces as they listened to Sicilia speak on that blistering Sunday. I, too, worry that these demonstrations are pointless, but I can't help but hope that where our passions failed to unify us in the States, Mexico might find a different outcome. I won't stop hoping that although there are no easy fixes in wars against Drugs or Terrorism, saying "We don't know the answer, but we do know this isn't it," might be enough for the moment.

Two marchers, whose signs put a twist on the popular slogan, "No More Blood."
These read "Yes, More Love."

Christ is Risen

Growing up a PK (pastor's kid), I felt keenly aware of what was going on in the life of the church. But I never paid much attention to the liturgical calendar, other than to know when the next big party was coming up. My interest in it diminished even further when I started practicing Quakerism, and trying to think of each day as equally holy. But here in Mexico, I've found the seasons of the church a helpful tool for keeping in contact with the people I left at home. I've discovered new ways of processing my experiences through the lens of each season.

That doesn’t mean that I’ve found it easy to live in the spirit of each one. Back in December, I wrote  about my relative success in realizing Advent, but Lent felt pretty strange. But it is the season of Easter that really has me scratching my head. For one thing, I had never even really thought about the fact that there is a season for Easter. My focus as a child was on how much candy I would get, and what color my pretty new dress would be. As an adolescent, I greatly enjoyed being a part of our youth group’s Eggstravaganza, an egg-hunt carnival we organized for younger kids in the congregation. But Easter really only boiled down to one day. One event. One moment.

Secondly, I missed out on all the prep work. I went to Chiapas for Holy Week. Every state and city in Mexico boasts that they have the “best” Holy Week traditions, and since we wanted to see Chiapas anyway, Anneli and I decided to see what they had to offer. Particularly spectacular, I was told, are the Good Friday services in San Cristóbal de las Casas, where they do a live reenactment of the crucifixion. Long story short, we missed that service, and only barely got a glimpse of the silent procession that happened that night, with people dressed up as something resembling both a priest and an executioner carrying the “corpse” (in this case, a life-size doll) of Jesus through town. It was an uncomfortable experience to be having without our host families to explain things to us. We lacked the confidence to go to Easter mass. We worried that we wouldn’t find the kind of trumpets-blaring, hallelujah-singing excitement we missed from back home. We worried we wouldn’t be able to follow the order of the service, and we’d had our fill of being tourists. So we skipped it. We spent Easter morning eating bagels on a bus through mountain passes, looking at hillsides green with banana leaves and corn stalks. Hallelujah, I thought.

And so now it is Eastertide. The time when we celebrate victory over death. Did you catch that? Victory over death. Why, then, have images like these been so common?

I'm not in the States currently. I don't know how people are responding to this news outside of Cuernavaca. But news outlets of various political leanings make this look like the biggest celebration that's taken place in our country in a long time--the first I can remember that crosses party lines. But I, for one, cannot ignore that the headlines here read "Osama is dead," and not "Christ is risen." From a military standpoint, I understand that this is a victory. But it's a battle that was won, not a war. Bin Laden's death doesn't get us out of Afghanistan. To the contrary, the questionable method of disposing of his body will likely fan the flames of anger and distrust that started this whole mess in the first place. To me, that doesn't sound so much like victory. It doesn't sound like trumpets and hallelujahs.

Never mind how difficult it is to hope that we are freed from death in the face of the massive violence in Mexico--and I don't have the courage to link to some of the images of that war. If, however, I am to find comfort in the risen Christ, I cannot celebrate anyone's death, no matter how horrible their actions. I refuse to believe that this death comforts the souls of those who died as a result of Al Qaeda's attacks. Indeed, I am reminded of the German phrase for the season: Jesus bringt leben. Jesus brings life. This Easter is not the season of one man's resurrection, but the celebration of the life we have all been given, through grace, through the mere goodness of God. May we all remember that gift of goodness, and strive to live in a way that is worthy of it.

All photos found via google. Credits here, here, and here.