Waste Not....

It rained today in San Cristobal.

Inevitably, when this happens the streets are filled with garbage and stray dogs vying for a meal of freshly relocated rubbish. What is also inevitable is hearing tourist complain about the garbage in Mexico, noting how much cleaner it is in Canada, the USA, etc.

It’s the early 1970s in San Cristobal, you’ve lived here all your life. You are planning a trip to the market to get food for you family. First you stop off to buy some tamales. They are wrapped in corn husk and banana leaf. You place 8 in your cloth shawl that is used as a side bag and walk to the next stand.

There you decide to buy tortillas. You place a towel on the counter and buy a half kilo for your family’s lunch and dinner.

Maybe some Horchata? You pass a glass jar to the woman who makes the rice milk and cinnamon drink. She fills it and you pass her your pesos.

A dead chicken goes into your mesh sac, black beans into the burlap you’ve used 50 times before, peppercorns into an old cigarette tin. Speaking of cigarettes, you decide that you would like to smoke (better do it now, in 30 years you’ll be too well informed to light up) so you roll some raw tobacco into a piece of rice paper. Tomatoes, chillies, onions, and mangos all go into the shoulder bag. You walk home.

You decide to go on a picnic with the meal that you’ve created. Everything is either in banana leaf or a glass container. You drink the Horchata out of tin mugs. When it’s time to leave you put all of the glassware along with the tortilla towel in your shoulder sling, throw the banana leaf and corn husk on the grass to decay, and walk home.

This changes one day.

The 1970s brought a new era for Mexico, in that new era came a world of products from other nations. With NAFTA in the early 1990s, individual packaged product from Canada and the USA became readily available for all families.

When Canada and the USA moved from the reusable to the disposable single serving market, we did it slowly. As production stepped up, so did financial gain for the governments, which meant money for infrastructure, planned incineration of rubbish, eventually recycling.

In Mexico, this influx was sudden. From one year living as you had always had, to the next being able to purchase a variety of international product. However several important things did not naturally evolve like they did in the rest of North America. The first thing was that though wage did have a slight increase, according to citizens.org as well as worldsaleries.org (two independent statistic groups) the cost of living rose so dramatically that is now harder to support oneself in Mexico post-NAFTA.

Because of this there was not an influx of money to the Mexican Government (tariffs could no longer be placed on most exports) which meant that waste services, recycling, and public education could not be funded and instituted nationally.

So now it’s 2011 in San Cristobal, you’ve lived here all of your life. You go to the market to get food for your family. It’s been moved away from the new tourist areas so you need to take public transit.

First you stop off to buy some tamales. They are wrapped in corn husk and banana leaf, though the Massa flour that they’re made from is now shipped from the United States in plastic coated sacks. The vendor place 8 in a plastic bag and you walk to the next stand.

There you decide to buy tortillas. You buy a half kilo for your family’s lunch and dinner, they’re wrapped in paper.

Maybe some Horchata? The woman who makes the rice milk and cinnamon drink fills up a plastic cup for you to enjoy as you walk. She fills a plastic water bottle with enough for you to take home and you pass her your pesos.

A dead chicken goes into a plastic sac (or you get it in foam and saran from the Supermarket), black beans come in a non-reusable plastic bag, peppercorns in a baggy. You decide that you would like to smoke (though you know the health risk) so you take the cellophane off of the coated cardboard box and toss the fiberglass butt on the ground when you’re through. Tomatoes, chillies, onions, and mangos all go in their own plastic bag. You take a bus home.

You decide to go on a picnic with the meal that you’ve created. Everything is put in takeout containers or plastic bags and bottles. You drink the Horchata out of Styrofoam cups, the rest is eaten off of disposable plates. When it’s time to leave you put all of waste into a plastic bag, walk to the side of the hill that you live on, and toss the rubbish onto the hill side where it won’t decay. There are no bins for you to put it in, no garbage man to pick it up….plus you’ve grown up tossing your (once biodegradeable) waste on the ground. Then you take a bus home.

Later someone who is visiting from another country will walk by your trash and complain about the sad state of affairs that is environmentalism in Mexico. Then they will later return home to their job manufacturing soda for export, or selling Maquiladora-made garments.

This isn’t a good-guy/bad-guy scenario…..but it is a look at the cause as opposed to the effect.

I challenge you to go through your day as normal, but when you’re done with a package, put it in your purse or pocket. At the end of the day, dump all of your personal rubbish onto your kitchen floor. Then look at that mess and multiply it by a week, then by a family, then by a village.

I feel the key is not finding corn and soy plastics, vamping up fuel-heavy recycling plants, and condemning those around us who don’t live as we see fit for us. We need to change the way in which we consume. We need to insist on waste-less options. We need to ensure that with any development in trade, we can also support our partners in sustainability and internal supports….or at very least not prove detrimental in the manner in which we introduce commodities.

Our global neighbour is…..our neighbour. Don’t throw your junk in their backyard.

We are all Capable

Day 7 in Chiapas....
The president of Mexico, Filipe Caldron, visited the city today. Needless to say the military and police were out in full force, making their presence known. Each intersection had a guard or two posted, and the closer you got to the Centre, checkpoints began to appear.

We had been instructed by Kate and Gary to understand what was expected of us as tourists before we traveled abroad. I look around me and see a class full of capable students who are in tune with the political tones of Chiapas, who know how to read the streets around them.

I appreciate now fully the quality of training I’ve had in international travel. I appreciate that I can see a checkpoint and know that my safety is not at risk, I am not going to be harmed. I know that it is there to make a statement of control. It caters to visually intimidating a certain demographic of the local population. I am noticing low intensity conflict, presence, more and more. I see it reflected back in my own nation. More on that another day.

We visited a community space today…..more a home for anyone. The lady who ran the show had been operating this for two years now; a space where the young men and woman, girls and boys, who laboured on the streets could go to be safe, to get clean, to make food…to belong. Community, as you know, is my favourite word.

I saw a far more direct way of achieving a solution than I am accustomed to back home. Identify the need, and do what you can. I appreciate the life learning that I am receiving here.

This space had about a dozen boys that have come from backgrounds of violence, substance abuse, and street work. Through the understanding that this space is for everyone, that what happens on the street stays on the street, that they are there to express themselves, connect with others, respect themselves….what they have accomplished is wonderful.

It was identified that as these kids are used to working and making money, asking them to stop would be pointless, but this centre is creating a co-op with them…..turning it into a safe storefront where they can sell their street wears. What’s more they plan on creating a community, organic garden. Now they can compete with the market by selling produce. I am inspired.

I found here a place without judgement. I found a place where needs were being met by listening, empowering, and spreading the tools of creation. I saw a demographic that is normally ignored being empowered.

We sat and spoke with the boys about what they liked to do there (many said creative writing….some enjoyed playing with the centre’s two cats). We asked where they were from, where they hoped to go, to become. They were secure in themselves and asked as many questions about us as we did about them. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of community, and they welcomed us in with a group picture.

I have always believed, and still hold true, that the best way to help someone succeed and gain responsibility is to empower them and allow them to live in the reality they wish to achieve. The centre reinforced this for me. Thank you to all involved today.

We are all the Same - The ISW Challenge

Day 6 in Chiapas......

It happened in a streak of light today, inspiration came in the form of sunshine on a basket of hot tortillas. We had decided to stay at the Treehouse and sip our cafes as we discussed the speaker from that morning. The sunshine made me think of how grand it is that, though it was only I who was seeing those particular beams of light, they had come from the sun which was simultaneously affecting every single thing on this planet….whether by hitting it, reflecting on the moon, or making a notable absence.

This idea of interconnectedness, of a vast universal link is why I will be an ISW. It is why I see my community as my family as well as my global neighbour ….. This brings me to our speaker.

He talked to us about community support holistically, in a way that I had never experienced before. Not just the idea of “full belly, happy heart”….because really a full belly just means that you had enough to eat for that meal. He spoke of the strength that comes with unity, solidarity. With being the witness to another’s truths.

 He spoke of the idea that mental health is a direct effector of physical health….

Stress induced by low-intensity conflict is just as damaging as lack of access to nutritious, sustainable food and clean water.  A terrorized population cannot thrive.

We discussed who defines value….

How do we place a monetary amount on any life? Why does the country or ethnicity of one’s birth suddenly allow or disallow them access to food, water, shelter, safety?

Remember what is good for the goose is good for the gander. We are all affected by that same sun…even if we do get lost in the glow of a single beam.

So to keep this brief, I wanted to ask everyone who reads this to try being an ISW for a day.

Look at a complete stranger like they’re your brother, mother, child. See how that shapes your view….when you’re no longer just strangers.

Would it get you to hold the door open for them? Split your sandwich if they are hungry? Would you give them a $20 bill? A $50? Would you drive them to the hospital if they were sick? Let them sleep on your couch if they had nowhere to go? Would you question another that discriminated against them? Would you speak up for them in a room full of strangers? Would you write a letter to your PM demanding their equal rights? Would you call them friend even if it were uncomfortable or unpopular? Would you be too afraid to do these things? Would it be because you don’t know if they’d do the same for you? Is that enough of a reason not to help? Is your reluctance a product of fear? Who put it there?

I’d like to think that the division that has caused the destruction of people, culture, earth, water, life, has been because we have unlearned our link….our connection.

We are all affected by the same sun.

Let’s be brothers, mothers, daughters.....if even for a day.

And away we go....

The one thing I have learned about preparedness is that, well, you can never really be prepared.

 I have never done this before; really travel. As a child we drove all over Ontario on day trips. I have been to the Northern neighbouring United States a handful of time. I have been lucky enough to visit some of the reserves in Ontario……but international travel? Never.  So needless to say I was a bit of a wreck, and didn’t really realize it until I started to head to Loyalist College to catch the bus with my class to the airport.

The half hour wait was a blur. Small talk was all I could muster as I wished my family goodbye. At 11:30pm, January 24^th, I stepped onto the bus. The wheels began to turn a funny sense of calm hit me. I was on my way, no turning back now.

I am training to be an International Support Worker in Loyalist’s new post-graduate program. My background is in community advocacy, but my experience this far had only been with local communities. Would I be able to take the transformative learning that I’d received in the amazing course and turn it into a usable reality in a totally different culture? We are a close group, a family in our own sense, understanding the needs and motivators of each other like we had grown up in the same home. I reconciled that if I couldn’t make a go of it with this group, than it just couldn’t be done. I was on my way to something big.

It was about this time, after the seventh check that I had my passport and my luggage keys, I realized I had left my wallet at home on my couch. Now I lose everything, ask anyone of my friends who hold my spare keys solely for when I lock myself out of my apartment (“Again?!”). This should have shaken me, but somehow it was all okay. I was heading into the unknown….don’t sweat the small stuff.

The gaggle of students took up camp on the floor of Pearson International Airport and began the waiting game. Some sent off last minute emails, others confirmed that their checked baggage would survive the gentle caress of the luggage handlers, all looked over-tired with the weeks of planning to get to this point, all looked driven with the excitement of the pending once-in-a-lifetime experience within our fingertips.

The Gate opened at 3:30am and we all piled through customs and hunted for snacks. At 6:25am we boarded the plane for Chicago O’Hare airport.

Did I mention that I have never been on a commercial plane before? In my dad’s home-built open cockpit two seat I felt akin to a (noisy) bird. But a jet plane? A bus with wings? Not something I ever looked forward to trying. The force of take-off shook me and I worked hard to keep nausea at bay for the next hour and a half.

This routine was repeated by our group of nomadic scholars until we hit Tuxla. By this time it was after 10pm (11pm Belleville, Ontario time). We were shivering with exhaustion under our furrowed brows. Would we ever get there? The all at once there was a screech of tire on tarmac followed by a woman’s voice speaking Spanish over the P.A. She welcomed us to Tuxla….Chiapas’ capital city.

To our utter delight we were hugged with a 28 degree breeze as we stepped off the plane. That’s about 50 degrees warmer than what we had left Belleville in 24 hours earlier.

We hired five taxis for the 20 of us and wound through the hills and dips in the roads of Tuxla to the faint sound of Mexican talk-radio from the cab’s rear speakers.

At 11:30pm we checked in to the Hotel Cassablanca. This would be home for the night.

I wish I could tell you more about my first impressions of Mexico, the smells, the sounds, the rich visual diversity of the city we were in. What I could tell you about was how long it took after my head hit the pillow to fall asleep; approximately 9.3 seconds.