Resistance

Mónica sent me an article about two indigenous women who decided to go shopping in Antara, an upscale mall in Mexico City. I have never been there, but I often see the mall featured in magazines, advertising designer clothes by Prada, Versace and the like. One day last week, two indigenous women from Chiapas were touring the ritzy district of Polanco, where Antara is located, and came across the mall. They decided to go inside and take a look around. The story is in Spanish and worth the read if you understand the language: (http://hazmeelchingadofavor.com/index.php/2010/05/13/no-tienes-que-ir-a-arizona-para-ser-discriminado-en-antara-polanco-te-tratan-igual/, http://www.eluniversal.com.mx/sociedad/5791.html). But for those of you who don't read Spanish, here is a summary of events: the women walk into the mall dressed in their traditional skirts and blouses. Naturally, they draw stares--two indigenous women shopping in the ritziest mall in all of Mexico? Apparently security guards were notified and told to keep an eye on the women. They were prohibited from taking a picture in front of a fountain. Later, at a restaurant, waiters made fun of the women a few feet from the table and served them with exaggerated politeness.

The article reminded me of a story Carolina told me the day we went shopping downtown. At one point, we walked by the historic Hotel San Francisco and the adjacent restaurant, Degás. My mom and I stayed in this hotel when we first arrived in Chihuahua and ate at this restaurant several times. There is a Degás in Juárez (or was...who knows if it's still open with all the extortions that are occurring in Juárez these days!), and we used to go every once in a while. It is a very nice restaurant, in a classy old Mexican style: polished wooden tables and booths, cream-colored walls with framed paintings, waiters in bow-ties and black vests over crisp white shirts. Degás is renowned for serving classic norteño dishes, such as enchiladas, flautas, and dressed-up burritos. I really like this restaurant, both in Juárez and in Chihuahua.

As we walked by it that one day, Carolina mentioned that a priest who used to give Mass in Oasis invited a group of students to eat there once, about seven years ago. Carolina was among this group. When they got to the restaurant, the priest held the door open and the rarámuri students walked into the restaurant. I didn't ask Carolina, but I assume the girls were wearing their traditional dresses and blouses. Carolina says that as soon as they walked in, a man in a suit standing by the cash register--I assume it was a manager--said to the group, "no, no, you can't come in here. You have to leave." Then, the priest came to the front of the group and said, "no, they're with me and we're going to eat." Only then did the manager seat the group and serve them.

After she told me this story, Carolina asked me, "why did they treat us like that?" "I don't know," I answered, then added "it's really terrible that they treated you that way, it should never have happened."

What is most shocking about the story is that the manager asked the group to leave the restaurant as soon as they walked in, without asking what they wanted. In Chihuahua, as in many other cities in Mexico and throughout the world, poor children often visit elegant restaurants and approach customers to ask for change or extra food. In Chihuahua, these people are always rarámuri. One of the most awkward experiences I have had in Chihuahua occurred when I visited a Starbucks near my apartment, and as I was sitting at a table drinking coffee and reading a book, a rarámuri mother I know from Oasis and her daughter came in and started making their rounds inside the restaurant, saying "kórima" to every customer seated or ordering coffee at the counter. When they got to me, I smiled and said hi, she smiled and said hi, and didn't say "kórima" to me. We didn't say more; she moved on after saying hi. It is so common to see rarámuri in places like Starbucks and Degás, and I have never seen a manager ask them to leave, but I am sure it happens pretty often. It has to be bad for business, because what customer doesn't feel uncomfortable having a dirty child in tattered clothes approach the table with a serious face and an extended hand? Naturally, restaurant owners and managers try to keep their establishments free of any elements that might discourage customers from coming in, and they view the kórima-seeking rarámuri as one of those elements. It is very, very rare to see a rarámuri enter places that mestizos go for entertainment: restaurants, cafés, shopping malls, movie theaters. For the most part, the rarámuri can't afford to visit these kinds of places, but there's more to it than that. Not every rarámuri in Oasis is extremely poor, and I see some families treat themselves on a pretty regular basis. But there are places that are clearly designated as "mestizo only," and no rarámuri, no matter what their economic status, will enter. The rules are unspoken--segregation is against the law--but racial tensions run deep enough in Chihuahua to create separate spaces for mestizos and rarámuri.

Carolina is not inclined to participate in mestizo politics, and she is not impassioned by the pan-indigenous political movement that started in the South and is trying to reach the North; but she is hurt by stereotypes and unjust treatment like she received in Degás. I like the rarámuri for not being so politically outspoken--they are not a group that typically stages demonstrations or are likely to reach such heights of political passion that they will rebel in a sensational, attention-drawing way (in contrast to other indigenous groups in the South). The rarámuri have often been labeled as passive, lazy, even stupid for their apparent acceptance of bad treatment. But Carolina, like other rarámuri, has her methods for maintaining her dignity as a rarámuri.

She told me she sat at a table with her fellow students and the priest that afternoon and had a lemonade and enchiladas. She had a good time, despite the manager's initial bad treatment. If the waiters were rude, as they were to the indigenous women who visited a restaurant in Polanco, Carolina didn't mention it to me. In the story about the women in Polanco, the indigenous women also seemed to be unaware of the waiter's smirks and exaggerated treatment. The report says they had ice cream, then went into another store to browse. There, a saleswoman asked them if they needed any help as they were looking at a $2,000 purse. "No, thank you; I think it's ugly," the indigenous woman told the saleswoman.