Because the workshop was mostly in Spanish, I didn't follow all of Mare's words - maybe most, even - but I followed enough to know I was in a room with a woman whose life force is galvanic.
Mare Advertencia Lirika, Cafe Mayapan, El Paso, Texas. March 2017.
Mare lives in the city of Oaxaca in Oaxaca state, Mexico. Her family is Zapotec, an indigenous Mexican ethnic group.
Below is a half-hour documentary about Mare, "When a Woman Comes Forward" (with English subtitles). Mare shares her philosophy about how hip hop gives a voice, not just to individuals, but to the community.
"We are the majority only when it comes to statistics."
"Our voice has been taken by other mouths."
Mare is a hip hop artist, a poet, a singer, a human rights activist.
In her work, she flashes an unblinking, brilliant light on inconsistencies between the so-called "respect" for women and oppressing them. One graphic illustration is how she notes the societal furtiveness with which girls and women experience menstruation and menstrual blood, but the cavalier display of the blood of murdered women.
Below is a video in which Mare shares the evolution of her creative and social activist evolution in Oaxaca:
Mare is a woman of power. I feel so lucky to have been able to attend her workshop.
Easter afternoon at a winery in (near) El Paso, Texas. April 2017.
For those who believe wine is holy water, then it makes sense to spend Easter afternoon at a local winery, yes?
Easter afternoon at a winery in (near) El Paso, Texas. April 2017. Musicians Yadira and Edgar, of April Ticket.
Which is what I did this year, accompanied by my literary cultural interpreter, Benjamin Alire Saenz, in the form of one of his books, Names on a Map.
Easter afternoon at a winery in (near) El Paso, Texas. April 2017.
I did it not for the wine, but to support the hostess of one of my El Paso meetup groups: Live Music. The hostess is Yadira, a lover of live music and a musician herself.
Yadira and her singing partner, Edgar, comprise the versatile, bi-lingual duo April Ticket.
Technically, I spent Easter in New Mexico and not El Paso, at Sombra Antigua Winery, but it was almost El Paso, so close enough.
Speaking of Easters, I think my most memorable was in Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia:
Sunset Heights, Prospect Street, El Paso, Texas. March 2017.
On a soul-warming sunny day in March, I walked to downtown El Paso by way of Prospect Street in Sunset Heights.
On my left I heard the burbling water sounds of a fountain or waterfall, accompanied by the melody of one of my favorite birds, a mockingbird. Oh, what a small oasis tended by the owner of the sweet cottage! A minute of Spring below:
Creeping succulents shot pink and yellow flares to catch the attention of tiny, flying pollinators.
Sunset Heights, Prospect Street, El Paso, Texas. March 2017.
Another cottage's reflective window captured the image of its neighbor across the street.
Sunset Heights, Prospect Street, El Paso, Texas. March 2017.
Gosh, El Paso is so pretty.
Sunset Heights, Prospect Street, El Paso, Texas. March 2017.
Flor de Luna, Duranguito, El Paso, Texas. January 2017.
Not long after the Duranguito posada, I went to a party.
I mentioned to one of my fellow party-goers that I'd been learning about the situation in Duranguito, and how long-time residents were being evicted to make room for the razing of the neighborhood and subsequent construction of a "multi-purpose performing arts and entertainment center."
Her instantaneous reaction: "They're renters!"
Which I interpreted to mean: "Why are renters concerned about relocating? Why be so concerned about renters?"
If I interpreted the woman's reaction correctly, I get it. I do.
I'm going to assume the woman doesn't look down on renters. I don't think that's what she meant.
My take, instead, is that the woman comes from a middle-class or higher socio-economic cohort. As such, she likely holds some pragmatic assumptions:
A house you own is, at the end of the day, a commodity. You may love your house, but you're willing to sell it for something that suits you better.
If you happen to rent, you've got options. You've got a sustainable income, a decent credit rating, the means to move your household from the old place to the new place. You've likely chosen to rent instead of buying because you've crunched the numbers and it makes sense for you in your current location and time of life and the current real estate market, interest rates, etc.
If you know your neighbors, you may like them well enough, but there's a good chance you're not best buds. They won't keep you in the old neighborhood.
You don't need your neighbors to help with child care, take you to the doctor or the market, or socialize with outside your front doors or in the back gardens, lend you a few bucks til your next influx of money comes in, or share a utility or appliance with.
Once you become elderly, there'll be a support system available to you that you can pay for - a personal aide, perhaps, a weekly house cleaner, good health insurance.
If I'm correct about this woman's point of view, then I don't blame her - that's her experience in life thus far. I certainly didn't know how often renters were treated as second-class citizens until after I sold my house and became a renter.
I've observed a few things about being a renter.
Most landlords, property managers, and property owners do not view renters as customers. Instead, we seem to be children who are sure to cause problems. Not long ago, I heard a property manager in a Midwest state boast about how he deals with tenants who irritate him: "I harass them. I harass the SHIT out of them until they [leave or shut up.]"
There are a myriad rules for renters to follow, with very few rules for the landlords.
Renters
must submit all kinds of income and identification data to landlords,
but landlords don't have to give prospective renters squat for
references or identification.
It's prohibitively expensive for a
low-income renter to move a household. Consequently, when a landlord is deficient in
maintenance, the renter just sucks it up.
Low-income renters
are sometimes late with their rent. Consequently, they are at the mercy
of a landlord who is deficient in maintenance because they - again -
don't want to rock the boat.
Low-income renters often have marginal credit ratings, which reduces their options in the rental market.
Some years back, I did some work related to the elderly, Medicare, and nursing homes. I learned something startling:
Most elderly people resist moving from a terrible nursing home - one jammed with a list of abuses, neglect, generally poor practices - to a better place, because the prospect of moving to the unknown is more stressful than staying with the known. Even when the unknown promises better care.
Many elderly are loath to complain about their care, no matter how bad it is, because they fear retaliation or they don't want things to get worse or they believe there is no solution to their predicament.
Many of the renters in Duranguito have low incomes.
I've noticed a few things about folks who live in poverty or on the edge of poverty.
You need your friends, family, and neighbors more than folks who have reliable, sustainable income.
You create a grassroots mutual support network in your neighborhood, with which you can help each other out.
Relationships are important.
So what does all this stuff have to do with Duranguito?
If I live in Duranguito, there's a good chance I'm a renter. There's a good chance I don't have much income. There's a good chance I'm elderly. There's a good chance I know - and rely on - my neighbors to help meet a number of my quality-of-life needs.
So it's a big deal if I've got to move.
Where am I going to move? Who will my new neighbors be? Can I afford to move my stuff? Who will help me move? Will I find a place I can afford? Will it be close to a market?
Father Rafael Garcia speaks at San Jacinto Plaza, El Paso, Texas. December 2016.
December 2016
It was near Christmas and therefore time for posadas.
A posada is a Christmas tradition in which Catholic parishioners re-enact Mary and Joseph's attempts to find a room at the inn before Jesus is born. Details vary among local, regional, and national cultures. In the United States, posadas are most strongly connected to the Mexican-American community. More detailed story here.
Duranguito posada, El Paso, Texas. December 2016.
There are a number of posadas in El Paso before Christmas. I chose one. It happened to be the Duranguito posada.
Which is how I first learned of a struggle between Duranguito
residents and business property owners, business developers, and the city of El
Paso. The city intended to tear down much of the Duranguito neighborhood to build an arena. Many residents of Duranguito are elderly renters who had lived in Duranguito for many, many years. Some had already received eviction notices. A movement had begun to fight back against the destruction of Duranguito.
.... and toward the Duranguito neighborhood, sometimes called Union Plaza area. Its first stop was at long-time shopping mart, which was now - or would soon be - closed, because of the impending arena construction.
The posada culminated at The Rock House, a mixed-art venue that showcased visual and musical arts, and whose owners were among the opposition to demolish the neighborhood.
Fire-breathing dragon, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
El Paso is definitely a family city, and San Jacinto Plaza, which is just outside of sight of the dragon, draws moms and dads, kiddos, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends.
San Jacinto Plaza, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
A kiosk cafe in the plaza keeps busy most days and evenings. (But if you want coffee, walk a little further and get your fix at the Coffee Box.)
Ocotillo in April, Chihuahuan Desert Gardens, UTEP, El Paso, Texas.
The stalky ocotillo may be my favorite desert plant. Seeing these April ocotillos at UTEP's Chihuahuan Desert Gardens was like seeing a cherished friend.
When dormant, the ocotillo is just a spiny, angular, unattractive reedy collection of gray stalks. But when it blooms and when it leafs out, oh, I admire how it preens so prettily against the sky.
Ocotillo in April, Chihuahuan Desert Gardens, UTEP, El Paso, Texas.
Full moon eve, Sunset Heights, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
Sister cities, El Paso and Juarez, are favorite children of the moon, I think.
Full moon eve, Sunset Heights, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
The moon likes to rise up, I think, and just look quietly upon the millions who've made their homes in the middle of a desert, ringed by folded mountains.
Full moon eve, Sunset Heights, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
One October evening, the eve of a full moon, I walked downtown from my apartment in Sunset Heights.
Full moon eve, Sunset Heights, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
Often, I choose to walk downtown via Prospect. But on this evening, I chose Yandell.
Full moon eve, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
Did I talk to the moon as I made my way down? Probably not. But I was pleased she was there.
I stopped on an overpass to watch the traffic on Interstate 10.
Full moon eve, Interstate 10, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
The many-lighted bridge across the way is Prospect Street, my usual route downtown.
Full moon eve, Interstate 10, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
The union of many voices or instruments to create a collaboration of sound is always so uplifting.
The El Paso Chorale and the El Paso Orchestra, showcasing four singers, performed Mozart Requiem in April on the Saturday before Palm Sunday.
Below is an excerpt, highlighting soprano Heather Dials, who begins singing at approximately 2:12:
El Paso has an impressive classical-music presence. There is, of course, the long-running, annual Chopin Festival. El Paso Pro-Musica promotes chamber music. UTEP has a music program with breadth and depth.
Lagarto sculpture, San Jacinto Plaza, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
I'm afraid I'm not fond of the alligators in downtown El Paso. They lurk in the middle of the downtown plaza that some call the Plaza de los Lagartos (alligators) and some call San Jacinto Plaza. I prefer the latter name.
Lagarto sculpture, San Jacinto Plaza, El Paso, Texas. October 2016.
They remind me of the godawful "art" at the entrance to an amusement park in Tbilisi, atop Mtatsminda. I took some shit for decrying the grotesqueness of the "art," but I stand by my verdict.
