Another race story

On Thursday, I walked into Oasis and found piles of dresses on the pavement. I have come to recognize piles of dresses as a clear signal of what is going to happen that day: a race. I immediately asked who was going to race, and I was told that it was going to be a 17-year-old girl from Oasis running against another girl of the same age from the colonia Unidad. "uh oh," I thought. The last time Oasis raced against Unidad, there was an injury and a forfeit, a huge fight over who should be declared winner and therefore get to keep the dresses, and a cop intervention. I jokingly asked, "Do you think the police will come this time?" The women smiled and one of them answered, "No, I don't think so."

The day progressed and I spent the early afternoon chatting with women and watching them hurry to finish sewing dresses that they wanted to bet. Women kept asking me if I wanted to place a bet on this race, but I didn't have enough money on me that day, just enough for a snack and the bus ride home. I thought to myself that it was a good thing I wasn't betting anything this time, because the last time they raced against Unidad and fought, someone ended up losing my money and I never got it back!

When the race got underway, in the late afternoon, I was surprised to see 15 pebbles lined up on the curb. The rarámuri women always use this method as a way of keeping track of how many laps the runners have completed; every rock signifies one lap, and as the girls complete them, the woman in charge of keeping track removes a pebble. Each lap equals about one kilometer. Usually, the runners program 10 laps for each race, which is why I was surprised to see that these girls were planning on running 15 laps (15 km!)

It was the most exciting race I have ever seen. The girls were running evenly for about five laps, and then the runner from Unidad began to pull ahead. She was ahead by 3 blocks for the next eight laps. It looked like Oasis was definitely going to lose this one, and some of the women lost hope by lap ten, but then another group of girls and women started running alongside their girl, to encourage her. The girl from Unidad was running basically alone, with just one companion urging her on. She amazed me with her speed--for thirteen laps she ran without stopping, without drinking anything, just maintaining her speed. Then, during the final two laps, the Oasis runner began to catch up to her and the race got interesting again. Oasis women were in a frenzy, cheering on their runner. During the last lap, it looked like the Oasis runner might just overtake the Unidad runner, but as they disappeared over the hill, we couldn't see anymore. We would have to wait until they came back down the hill to see what the outcome of the race was going to be.

Suddenly, one of the girls that was running with the Oasis girl came running back down the hill, yelling "we won, we won!" The Oasis women wasted no time digging into their winnings, choosing who would get to keep what skirt. I thought it was strange that the girl called the race when it was so close. A couple minutes later, four women came down the hill carrying the Unidad runner in their arms. She had fainted. They lay her down on the pavement and it was clear the girl was passed out. We called an ambulance and did what we could for the girl in the meantime.

Meanwhile, a neighbor named Chita came out of her store, which is half a block away from Oasis, to see what was going on. Luckily, the runner came to after a few seconds, and after several more minutes she was able to sit up and drink something. The attention then turned to the outcome of the race. The Oasis women obviously wanted to call the race in their favor, but the Unidad women reminded them that the last time they raced, an Oasis girl had got hurt, and they had called the race a draw. The fight reached such heights that some of the Oasis women were accusing the Unidad runner of having faked passing out, in order to get out of the race.

The neighbor, Chita, is undoubtedly the moral authority of Oasis. How she came to hold such power in Oasis, I will discuss in a later post--she is a fascinating woman. But on this occasion, she exercised her power over the women by scolding them for not having a written contract with the rules of the race. "If you know you fight about the outcome when someone gets injured, why don't you come to me and have me write out a contract with the rules? This is what I told you to do next time you raced." She asked the women if they wanted a police officer to intervene, and some of them said yes, so Chita called the patrol.

This time, only one officer (one of the same ones who intervened in the last race) came to Oasis. It's not worth repeating what he said to the women word-by-word this time. Basically, he backed Chita up, saying that the women should have written contracts before races. But they always underlined this statement by saying that it would be best not to have any races at all. In the end, the women settled that Oasis could keep the dresses (which I don't think was fair! I think it should have been called a draw, like last time). The girl who had fainted was fine and went home with her friend.

It's always uncomfortable for me to watch how outsiders intervene and tell the women what they should and should not do. Invariably, they take on a paternalistic tone and I feel embarrassed for the women when they are subjected to scoldings as if they were children. I understand that those who intervene, especially the neighbors, have the best intentions in mind, but they always advise the women as if they were children, not equals. Clearly, they think their judgement is better than the rarámuri womens'. In Chihuahua, two general attitudes exist toward the rarámuri: either you are openly discriminatory towards them, or you pity them. In the end, I think it amounts to about the same, because in both cases the rarámuri are never viewed as equals in Chihuahuan society. I don't think they should be treated as equals in the sense that Chihuahuan society should ignore the fact that they live under the poverty line or deny them government help. But as it happens with most poor people, discrimination and pity tend to reduce the rarámuri to one single definition: poor. Any opportunity to connect in a meaningful way with the rarámuri becomes lost when outsiders allow these attitudes to overtake them.

Pity and its dangers is a theme I'm exploring in my writing now. Witnessing this last race allowed me to see how well-meaning neighbors who constantly patronize and pity the Oasis rarámuri actually create a rift between themselves and the rarámuri, even though if you talk to these neighbors they will boast about what a close relationship they have with the Oasis rarámuri.