I once read the quote, “Living together is an art.” Coming from the vast terrain and sparse population of Toronto, Canada, I never got it. But, the more time I spend in Mexico City, the more I am forced to see how this art is personified in many aspects of Mexican life. It seems nearly impossible for community to be true, in one of the world’s largest, most densely populated cities. Carlos Slim, the richest man on the planet, lives within the same city limits as millions who need to sell lollipops, mix CD’s and socks in order to eat that day. And yet, despite these infinite divides between rich and poor, Native and light-skinned, there exists a togetherness.
Murals are an integral part of Mexican culture. The three renowned Mexican muralists - David Alfaro Siqueiros, Diego Rivera, and Jose Clemente Orozco - are heralded as national trophies, heroes and activists. Their legacies can be seen on building walls, at subway stops and throughout the countless barrios. My first reaction to the many murals was confusion. Being Canadian, I am far more comfortable in front of a Coca-Cola or Calvin Klein billboard than I am in front of a political piece of public art. And yet, as I have begun to understand more here and to comprehend how different my world is from the one I am in, I have come to see how the sense of community is inherent, even in their artwork. In Toronto, I pay upwards of twenty dollars to enter the museum or art gallery and rub shoulders with the educated, the elite and the exclusive. But in Mexico, I pay no fee to stand amongst the masses in front of pieces of art that portray the torment of slavery, the perils of technology and the hypocrisy of government. The art is not hidden behind expensive tickets, self-proclaimed crystals or airs of elitism. The murals are free for anyone and everyone to witness and interpret.
And when the fears of tarnation and the dangers of earthquakes force the public art within the marbled halls of Mexico City’s Palacio de Belles Artes, entrance is free for anyone interested.
Many of the murals are mosaics, made up of thousands of tiny glass tiles of different colours. This style too seems to hint at a sense of unity. Though there may be thousands of tiles and millions of citizens, they amass to make a work of art and a unified community.
The same is true of eating out in Mexico City. Of course there is the omnipresence of American corporations McDonald’s and KFC. But they are far fewer and less frequented than in The America’s northern countries. Many Mexicans choose to eat at small stands called taquerias, found on street corners, at subway stops or even on the back of bicycles. Sometimes the venders have homemade signs advertising their fares; more often than not there is no name, no menu, no registered trademark. Hungry customers order their tacos, quesadillas and tortas from the sole chef/waitress/cashier behind the makeshift counter.
I am always reminded of my childhood trips to downtown Chinese restaurants. We would hungrily clutch to our scrap of paper on which our number in line was written. But no matter how famished and anxious we were to eat, we refused to share a table with another family. None of the families wanted to; xenophobia reared its ugly head at Canadian dinner time.
In Mexico, there is no choice. Each taqueria only has one table; if they have a table at all. It is a communal experience in which plastic stools are placed so close together, personal space is obliterated. Customers greet one another, “Buenos Dias” as a new diner take their seat amongst two strangers. Moments after the order is taken, the diner is served a warm, homemade tortilla with the meat of their choice inside. The one bowl of hot sauce, one dispenser of napkins and one salt shaker is passed along the table. The diner is wished “buen provecho” (the Spanish version of “bon appetit”) by the others and he begins to eat his traditional Mexican meal. The Mexican appetite is filled by Mexican-grown food, prepared by a Mexican-born cook. That chain is not so easily connected in my country.
To ride the subway is also a communal experience. I have heard of megalopolises in which the millions of riders ram the doors at every station. There is no order and no courtesy. And so, when I arrived in Mexico City, I paid my fare, expecting the worst. And yet, I was pleasantly surprised. The riders at the station awaiting entrance on the train patiently line up on either side of the door until all those exiting have stepped onto the platform. There are no elderly or pregnant passengers left standing in the aisles by the time the train has left the station. At the mere sight of a grey hair or four-month bump, both men and women rush to offer their seat.
To sneeze on the subway at rush hour is a surreal experience. Those seated near and those standing far all join in unison to wish the congested, “Salud.” In Toronto, subway passengers’ ears are too stuffed with white earphones or attention too focused on Grand Theft Auto to even notice a passenger sitting beside them.
To ride the subway - 2 pesos or 20 Canadian cents - is the same price as a year’s tuition at UNAM, Mexico’s national university. Mexicans’ short and long-term destinations cost far less that a small cup of coffee. To walk the grounds of UNAM is to truly get a sense of their community. Thousands of students pour out of the hundreds of buildings dedicated to the studies of law, medicine, philosophy and architecture. The faculties’ populations are not divided amongst trust funds, social classes or connections. Students who have an interest in medicine get the grades to study medicine. They need not worry about tuition fees, government loans or incurring interest.
Of course, their twenty cent tuition costs do not cover the costs of educating UNAM’s 250,000 students, but that is where the unity again shows itself. Every taxpaying Mexican takes a part in insuring that the Mexico of tomorrow will be populated with educated and ambitious citizens. They invest in their future by contributing to the present.
But, to me, the most poignant display of unity is the Mexican observance of Día de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead). This ancient Aztec tradition claims that relatives rise from the dead on November 1st and 2nd to visit their loved ones. In preparation for this supernatural visit, living relatives prepare “ofrendas” (offerings) for the spirits of their favourite foods, alcohols, memorabilia and cigarettes, in an effort to encourage their lost ones to visit. The graveyards are alit at all hours of these nights with relatives remembering and rejoicing in the lives of those buried under the gravestones. Family becomes inevitably linked when year after year they share in the celebration as their loved ones are buried side by side.
It is a very different experience than that which we feel in the North. Grieving involves darkened bedrooms, prescription tablets and bottles to ease the pain. It is done in privacy so no one has to see the anguish and the pain.
That is not to say that Mexicans do not feel the painful loss of their loved ones or that Canadians and Americans cannot rejoice in the lives of their deceased relatives. Pain and joy are universal, timeless emotions. The difference lies in the Mexican sentiments towards community. Every year in the beginning of November, the entire country of 100 million people comes together to rejoice, reminisce and celebrate their losses.
At times it seems hard to see this Mexican sense of brotherhood. A ride on the bus at eight-thirty in the morning, a walk down the street at eleven at night reminds one of this dog-eat-dog dynamic, inescapable in a metropolis like Mexico City. There are full days when I brood along the crowded sidewalks and weave in between the gridlocked avenues and I long for the familiarity of calm, collected and cautious Canada. But then I happen upon a colourful mural or sit to eat at a bustling taqueria, and I remember the smokey, smoggy, sultry beauty of Mexico City.
Adina Siperman is a Toronto-based freelance writer who writes what she must for pay, but write what she feels for free. Her work can be found in various literary publications, including Inscribed, The Writer’s Block, The Lemon Life, Toronto Life Magazine, The Southernmost Review, The Write Place at the Write Time and Scene and Heard.