The Pear-Shaped Pete

oh do you?

"the neat thing about girls is that they often don't have penises.  i like that."

LJT

disussion question #5

this question is something i've been thinking a lot about for the past two years.

i was confronted by two people about the feasibility and importance of buying local products, not only food and other resource based goods, but all consumer goods.  i was shocked by the sense of entitlement from both.  both voiced the opinion that it didn't really matter what happened in other countries during production as long as they were given availability of whatever their hearts might desire here in our markets.

as my focus increasingly turns to food security issues i am struck by how much the canadian grocery stores rely on imported food.  currently at my store, which is a speciality food store serving mainly chefs so i recognize our bias based on a demand for exotic produce, and given that it is early april in ottawa we have local apples, carrots, hot peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, beets, maple syrup, and seed sprouts.  95 percent of what customers come in looking for is produced at this time of year in two main regions: south america and california.

the quality and quantity of food available to canadians in astounding.  more so in january, february and march. and yet customers become indignant and self righteous if raspberries aren't available or they have to pay $8.80 per kilo of chilean green grapes.  given the costs of fuel i bite my tongue daily when questioned about prices.  quite frankly i am sure the situation is so bad in chilean vineyards that i don't want to know the details (be sure however i'm not buying). and that doesn't even address the historical processes behind pinochet's conversion of campesino small-holdings into industrial plantations for fruit.

more recently, when last summer's toy recalls became almost a national crisis for parents in canada i was very disappointed by the lack of personal responsibility on the part of anyone i spoke with (having a four year old and so being part of the world of parenting i had many discussions about toy safety).  the toys sold in canada are cheap because we demand for them to be so.  parents are generally unwilling to invest in one or two quality toys (all from europe because canada has no toy manufacturing left) because of price, but will spend a comparable amount on imported garbage.  never once in all the media reports i read and heard did one person raise the point that generally canadians are willing to remain ignorant of manufacturing conditions abroad as long as they can continue to buy. although racism, classism and sexism raises their ugly heads when it is canadian children who have been given unsafe toys by their parents.

our society is based on a system in which we must have human slave labour, whether it be domestically or internationally.  and for the majority of consumers who don't really seem to want to think about their consumer choices the labouring poor are invisible.

as to canadian women as consumers in canada, i suppose there could be an expectation that they would feel a sense of solidarity with the primarily female workforce producing the cheap goods we buy.  however as western liberal feminism (which i feel is still the status quo feminism in canada) seems to have failed in every other regard when in comes to recognizing and addressing their own internalized privilege, i can't imagine that fair trade will be implemented on a grand scale anywhere. 

as discussion of olympic boycott is mentioned daily now in the media, i wonder how much of western hysteria regarding china (which in my store amounts to a refusal to buy chinese garlic) is ultimately a demonstration of the shallowness western liberal thought.  a drop of protest is shown when active violence reaches our media. however, not one discussion reaches a deeper investigation of society and self to see that much of what westerners expect, and feel entitled to receive, is a product of our system of production based on what i have lately decided is a culture of hatred and violence.  the reality manifesting as constant low-level violence for women, indigenous people and the poor.

globe trotting vegetables

on the shelves at the bank street herb and spice:

de california:
lettuce, kale, mustard greens, celery, collard greens, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, bok choi, swiss chard

de florida:
spinach, green onions

i´m not even talking about cucumbers and tomatoes and peppers and eggplant.  i want local veggies in february.

how much money is leaving our community to go into the pocket of some organic food distributor and then into some industrial farmer in the south??  surely some of these things could be grown in a hot house here, or stored properly from the late autumn harvest.  i´m fed up with the monopoly on organic food distribution.  is buying from them any better than buying industrial vegetables at loblaws??  do people feel any connection to the farmers here?? 

the winter squashes were from cali too.  there is a reason why the pioneers called them "winter" squash as opposed to the summer squash of zucchini and patty pan.

back in the snow

my toes are tingling despite my woollen socks.

LJT is showing what a patient person he is. 

something intelligent to come soon.

revolutionary politics

"las elecciones no han terminado" is painted on many walls in xoxo. this is not the work of grafiteros.  there murals were paid for by the PRD, the partido revolucionario democratico, after the state elections in august.  usually they also say something about a planned mega march that happened back in august or they renounce the general electoral fraud.  their bright yellow colour envokes the ongoing protests and political action taken by the federal PRD, led by their presidential candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador.

 

many walls in oaxaca continue to shout declarations of political and revolutionary victory over the government of Ulises Ruiz.  the posters - this winter very professionally designed and painted - for the November 25th march are the colour red; one is of a raised clenched fist.  graffitti on one wall in the centre reads: "el pueblo unido jamas sera vencido".

 

perhaps this alone, is what a casual visitor to oaxaca sees.  and certainly, for the foreign tourists who have begun to flock to oaxaca, much in the same way they were attracted to chiapas, the revolutionary spirit in the state seems strong.

 

Mexico has spent 71 years under a one party state (for all intents and purposes), 34 years under a much despised dictator, and who knows who many years under a unified aztec bureaucracy.  democracy is honestly not something that comes naturally in this coutnry.  and, as a solution to the constant concentration of power, real and complete revolution has not been particularly successful either.

 

las sunday in las lomas de san nazareno our neighbours put up a tianguis.  the individual puestos were marked out with rocks and women brought tables and umbrellas to sell their goods.  sparkly stars, poinsettias, garlands and carol-playing lights predominated. although there were a few grocery items, atole to warm up shoppers in the morning, and memelas and tacos when mid morning hunger struck.  no one was there to shop but rather to gather.

 

on the road in front three or four men were building speed bumps into the dirt road leading into the neighbourhood.  here people do not petition the government for things - much less something as trivial as a tope to slow traffic.

 

so the community has a street meeting and decicdes to build topes, and how to organize the tianguis market, or where the taxis can stop and wait for passengers.  One street bought a gate to close off traffic - most do not own cars - when there were more problems with theft and vagrancy.  a couple of days ago i saw one of our street leaders talking with a sheherd explaining where exactly his animals are unwanted.

 

maybe this is why only 30% of elegible oaxacans voted in the august elections, and why, i think, APPO has very little dedicated popular support.  politics in mexico are corrupt and when underhanded dealings are exposed no one seems to care.  people do not place their faith in the political process.

 

voting in mexico has been explained to me as a choice of who will do the least.  generally people don't seem to trust their elected representatives to change anything or to do what they are asked to do.  the mysterious political activities that go on in state and federal houses of government are disregarded in favour of the community organization.  a person's neighbours whose names, faces, and family history are known are trusted to get something done.  and here, as in most places, small organizations form the strongest opposition to politicians.  political parties are too big to be trusted and APPO is too diverse to be trusted to offer an alternative.

 

on the highway to arrazola, and thus on the way to las lomas, there is a bar.  this area is full of construction businesses:  supply stores, equiptment rentals, tablaroca (concrete brick) makers, and the contractors and labourers.   the bar that we pass daily is call "el sindicato' - the union - and i have never seen it open. this is not a union prepared to drop everything to shut down the oaxacan economy, although collectively or individually it's members may have participated in the barricades last summer. 

 

is in such a place as this, with the people who presumably congregate, where the heart of oaxacan political strength lies. the PRD will continue to scream electoral fraud until the next elections (during which campaign they will presumeably remind voters of the corruption), APPO will continue to poster the streets and hold occasional marches until it loses all remaining cohesion, seccion 22 and 59 will continue to squabble over rights to schools, missing money, unfufilled promises, and which section holds the moral authority, and the PRI will continue to blithely assume political dominancy.

 

none of this ultimately matters.  it is my community organization to which i must ultimately answer in most things and to which i must go if i want change.

snapshots 2

looking out of the window while travelling on the periferico a young man steps down the pedestrian overpass.  he carries a shovel but is not dressed in what normally passes for work clothes here.  he is clearly from the sierra: shorter than those in the valley, with dark skin - maybe the coast? his eyes are startled. he looks new to the city.  i can see his lips moving and i struggle to pick out words; if he is even speaking a language i understand.  he stands waiting for an urbano to take him somewhere.  he hesitates when a bus stops at the lights, talks a little more to himself and makes slight movements in the direction of the permenantly open door. just as the light changes he leaps aboard.

i am buying honey in the benito juarez market.  we stand near the fishmonger's section and a familiar song reaches my ears.  the man who serves up seafood cocteles is sitting without customers.  on the wall is a handwritten list of options: camarones, pescado, pulpo, vuelve a la vida.  i smile when he continues to sing, and as we pass, honey in my shopping basket, i can't help joining in.  "por que cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones."

i walk down the street towards the church in huayapam; it is there that one can grab a taxi or an urbano back into the centre. i see an old man walking towards me on the opposite side of the street. from behind one of the walls that line the street i can hear an unhappy cat making that special middle of the night cat unpleasant noise.  i wonder if he wants out, and then if it is a she and that she might be in heat.  the sound echoes off the concrete walls and i cannot fix on the particular house that contains the cat. i suddenly realize that the old man is carrying a feed sac, the kind that are made into cheap market bags here. the caterwauling is coming from the bag which i also realize is moving.  he turns to me as we pass, "buenas tardes, comadre," he politely says to me.

snapshots

1. a man on a blue moto is driving down my street. he doesn´t wear a helmet, half the men on motos here don´t. i get a curious glance - as usual, being the only extranjera in this colonia. he gets a curious glance from me. balanced in his hand is a kilo or more of unwrapped masa to make tortillas. he stops at one house, rings the bell and expects the door to open; no one comes. now what does he do with the masa? was he sent out to buy the dough by a wife? a mother? his lover? and why does she not answer? he sits on his moto, masa still in hand, waiting.

 

2. i sit in a patio in the centre of an old colonial house. it is night. i know that, unseen, wandering around in the stacked bricks, broken concrete and crumbling walls are cucarachas, ratones, and other night creatures. nonetheless it is beautiful. water streams off of one rooftop into the wating laundry sink. the over-flow falls into a ten gallon bucket. facing me, against the wall, are dozens of buckets already full of water. they will be used in february and march when the centre no longer has water of it´s own and pipes must be bought and trucked in from the mountains. against the opposite wall is a mountain of various things: old bicycles, a bedframe, typewriters, books, a pile of old quarry stone now dust, empty spools of wire. in each corner of the old house four seperate families have their homes. each with three rooms: a kitchen, a living/dining room, and a bedroom. one neighbour is a school teacher, one a small business owner (with a drunken husband), one a clown. this is the oaxacan middle class.

 

3. at night in front of santo domingo young people gather. i sit with chema near a pair of sisters who frequent santo domingo to sell candy, rebozos, and bracelets with their children. six year-old esperanza once sold me a bracelet for LJT. i hassel her about it, "niña, tus purselas no valen la pena. ¿por qué no vendes mescal?" she just laughs me off as another crazy extranjero. she and her cousin and LJT run around like coyotes terrorizing the kids hanging out. near the church is a young woman all dressed up in what, here in oaxaca, passes for televisa fashion. she looks rediculous. she is lit by a large light atop a television camera, another young woman tries to fix her hair and is shooed away. i am briefly secure in the knowledge that as a foreigner i will not be bothered by this canal 5 crew. except that i'm with oaxacans. she wants to know my opinion on multiculturalism. well she doesn't, someone higher up who makes the decisions based on recent opinion polls does. she doesn't even know what multiculturalism means. where to start? i've clearly been picked because of who i am and who i'm with. i'm not good at the 10 second sound bytes that canal 5 needs. there are many cultures here, i say, but not much multiculturalism. i get a blank stare.

 

4. there are cohetes going off. next door. usually they aren't so close. one explodes and i jump. finally after half an hour or so i get used to the noise and a series of 12 exploding doesn't even faze me. it is midday and today is the 25th of november. there is a march to commemorate the bloodiest day between the PFP and APPO, thousands are walking in pained enthusiasm demanding the return of the political prisoners, the fulfillment of government promises, and significant change in state politics. last year in the centre we closed our doors and windows to stop the tear gas from coming into our homes. they said that blood ran on the steps of santo domingo. this year i am drinking beer and eating strawberry shortcake with a friend. and flinching when, from behind me, gunpowder explodes in the air.

 

5. along the periferico the apartment buildings are reversed: the penthouses are on the first floor. first are the shops which are generally repair shops, concrete and building suppliers, camping equipment, and hotels. the first floors have concrete walls, balconies (for what i don't know given the air quality and noise along the periferico), and large windows. on the second and third floors the apartments are generally a little smaller but still with windows and maybe even a balcony. at the top the apartment has corregated steel walls and roof, is smaller still, has a balcony but no window. every balcony has pots and pots of geraniums.