An Expat’s View Of The Struggle In Oaxaca

The government has (since the 1968 slaughter of students in Mexico City) hired “students” who sign up for university but don’t go to school to infiltrate and instigate trouble in order to turn the populace against theteachers. They are called “porros” and they do most of the damage like molotov cocktails, slingshots, burning of cars and buses and graffiti. That’s not to say that some more radical teachers don’t participate in that stuff but I don’t think most of the teachers do.

I know the union is really corrupt and they coerce the teachers and their relatives and friends to march aided by the more radical teachers. Parents are suppose to get a pkg of goods (forgot what it’s called in Spanish) regularly as long as they participate in anti govt activities.  The teachers have to sign off on it. But if the parent isn’t participating the teacher won’t sign off.

That’s not to say of course that most of the teachers and parents don’t support the strikes. Also when the Union was handling the salaries teachers wouldn’t get paid if they didn’t participate in strike activities.  Now the Govt has taken over the administration of Section 22 of the Union and is handing out salaries.

The governor here in Oaxaca has tried to clean out the union. Months ago they confiscated computers, and several brand new pickups belonging to the Section 22 Union. Recently they arrested 2 of the leaders…one for embezzlement and the other for stealing textbooks.  The textbooks were taken by Sec 22 because they were supposed to go a rival union section, section 59.  Section 59 was started by a couple hundred teachers who objected to Sec 22. But that wasn’t reported.  I think I read that that guy was released on bail.

Then there are practices that people object to. Like teachers can sell their certificates to someone else or hand them down to family members. Sometimes these people aren’t even educated beyond the 3rd grade.

On the Expats in Oaxaca FB group an American woman who is married to a Mexican, and who lives in a small village in the mountains (didn’t say which village) and has 3 children in a school there posted this:
“The Reforma Educativa, has various issues, essentially, it is an ADMINISTRATIVE reform, in regarding job conditions for school teachers and fails to talk about curriculum or anything at all that happens in the classrooms.. Public primary school teachers are not well paid, but have always had a very generous benefits package to make up for it, which includes many things most foreigners, myself included, would find ridiculous, like the right to leave your position to one of your children or sell it when you retire. (That was based on the idea that if you were a business owner you’d do the same, so to make teaching an attractive career in earlier times they included some sort of building up capital for your children into it) So this reform basically makes teachers like temp contract workers, who can be fired at anytime are no longer building up seniority and yes, one of the conditions is all the teachers will be forced to pass an exam in order to keep their positions. There is a ton of mis information flying around on either side. There is a ton of corruption in the teachers union leadership, so neither side is innocent. But the vast majority of public primary school in the state would make you cry when you walk in, I know they make me cry, even some that are considered among the best.”

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An Expat Joke

One night, David Ben Gurion dreams that he is dead. God says “you’re David Ben Gurion! What can I do for you?”

And Ben Gurion says “Show me heaven” and it’s very dull. People standing on clouds, meditating, nothing going on. So then he says “OK, show me hell”. And it’s great! Interesting conversations, great food, music, everything!.

So, a few years later he actually does die and, just like in the dream, God asks what he can do for Ben Gurion.

“I’ll take hell.”

“You’re sure?”
“Yes”

It’s horrible! Horrendously hot, endless work, no water, no food…. awful. So he goes to complain

“I saw this in a dream and it was wonderful! What’s going on?”
and God says

“Then you were a tourist. Now, you live here”.

Salem Coffee House Easter

Three weeks has turned into three months in Oregon. Rain alternating with sun and hail. That’s the NW.

The CT scan, what I came up here for, showed esophageal varicies but the endoscopy didn’t. Hmmm. So more medical follow up.

Old renter moving out April 11 and I get to move into my house! Being in that little trailer at the farm with my son is getting crowded. New renter moves in May 14. Will sort and sell and give away most of my shit. Got a storage unit for stuff I can’t part with…yet. In the meantime I am coordinating contractors for yard work, roof repair, painting of the house etc. etc. before it falls down. I might need it someday.

So I’m in my little funky but cozy coffee shop with wifi where I go to every morning. Same people, sitting in the same seats…a group of about 8 retired guys sitting together for half the day and sometimes longer. They peruse the newspapers and comment. Seems like we live here. They ignore me. Curious and unusual. I wonder where the wives are. I think they think they are in a man cave. I think they are!

Starbucks?

Outside on the sidewalk is a reader board says “Because You Can Never Find A Starbucks When You Need One.” There are two Starbucks around the corner in the same block where the shop lets the homeless hang out to keep warm…occasionally coffee in hand. Having lived here for 35 years and having been the manager of a homeless program at a two- county nonprofit, I’ve never seen so many panhandlers on downtown streets. But I only give cigarettes to the mentally ill ones who are obviously off their meds…hoping it will be soothing to them.

In the meantime reverse culture shock is hitting me in the face again. You would think I would be beyond this by now.

I keep running into first world rules and regs! Got a $20 ticket for parking less than a foot over the white line. But that’s nothing compared to the hijacking of my car in a hospital parking structure because by law you can’t drive for 12 hours after anesthesia and I had to get a hotel room just because my 12 hours were up at 7:30pm but couldn’t get the parking ticket validated because the office closed at 5! F+++++g police state! Slap me silly if I complain about Mexico again!

And last year I got a $200 ticket for turning right when a pedestrian still had 2 steps to get out of the cross walk on the other side!

A traveling friend describes it as an “invisible barrier that sometimes leads to invisible, but sometimes even open conflict.” Yep! Coming or going. Culture shock is always worst for me coming back…not going. It’s just that I really notice these things more when I return because they feel so personally restrictive. I always breathe a sigh of relief when I get off the plane in Mexico or SE Asia. I thought by now I’d be beyond all this! NOT!

And another thing! I’m done with hearing “how was your day” and “have a great day” 50 times a day! Does NOT put me in a good mood! And I’m done with cold and rain. Think it’s time to go home.

I do love the NW and of course that’s the thing about culture shock. You are in one place and want to be in the other too.

Travel Is A Drug

The traveler’s high. You’ve no doubt felt it, upon disembarking in a realm where all is unfamiliar. Travel is a drug. It reboots reality, tweaks the senses, and becomes addictive.

I crave total autonomy, and shy away from responsibility and attachment. Every morning I arise I still breath a sigh of relief that I don’t have to be anywhere…no meetings, no phone calls…except catching that bus or train or plane. I still hate the phone. And my hand goes to sleep.

Since retirement, I like to be alone…to travel alone…free to serendipitously connect on the deepest levels in the moment. No assumptions made. No mindless chatter. No history of each other to color the here and now. No one trying to grease my purchase of a donut with “how is your day going!”

Being an expat is a luxury. No one expects you to adhere to local customs and expectations. You are released from and are free of the social expectations of the country you came from. This is as free as anyone could ever expect to be and still live in the world.

But expatriate urges aren’t just about yearning to be unencumbered, or a distaste for any particular culture, or even the lure of a particular place’s attractions.

What we expats crave, at heart, is the exhilarating thrill of foreignness. We take delight in molding ourselves as a square peg in a round country. In forever being the outsider with the ability to constantly transcend and recreate the self…indeed to come to know the self.

Thinking of becoming an expat?

I have been living in Oaxaca for the last 14 years. I now have a permanent resident card.

I still have a home in Oregon that is rented out to excellent renters for just enough money to cover the mortgage and taxes. I wanted to give it to them cheaply so they couldn’t afford to move! 🙂

Keeping a permanent address there (although other people have used relatives etc.) is very helpful because, one, the Dept of Motor Vehicles requires it and whenever I return for visiting friends and family or business I keep a car there. It would be nearly impossible to get around without it. I have car insurance on both my car here and my car there. I keep comprehensive on the car there yearly and just call the company to put collision back on it when I arrive back in the states. If you keep a car in your home country you will need to find a place to keep it.

Two, all my banking and business interests are linked to this permanent address. I pay federal and some state taxes in Oregon linked to this address. My Social Security and pension is linked to this address. And my Health Plan. Not having a permanent address in the home country can be a nightmare.

But most important I need to be fairly close to Oregon since Medicare health insurance will only pay for medical care that is accessed in the States. I have my annual check-ups there and my 90 day drug subscriptions are sent to my address there. I pick them up whenever I return there…couple times a year. If I run out before I get there I can get them here inexpensively. I don’t have them sent here by post or FedEx/DHL because customs often confiscates them.

However, we are thinking now to sell the house. If I develop a chronic health problem I can still return to the U.S. and rent.
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All is Transformed

Frank And Kids In The Zocalo

For nearly 15 years Frank sat at the same table every day in front of a coffee shop in the zocalo…often making friends with passersby, vendors…and especially the children. He had a Ph.d in French Lit but lived the life he wanted…poorly and close to the people.

At 5pm he played chess in front of the cathedral. The players loved him and looked up to him. Ivan, his friend and competitor, organized a chess tournament in Frank’s memory in the Zocalo last night with about 30 players receiving a medal and photo. Thank you Ivan! His ashes will be scattered on Sunday the 26. He was an irascible old goat sometimes but had a big big heart that not everyone saw and I miss him terribly.

As an old Marxist, Frank was a non-believer. The last book he was reading when he died was a book about Einstein. Underneath a framed photo that Ivan gave me of Frank, Ivan had this inscribed:

NADA SE CREA NADA SE DESTRUYE TODO SE TRANSFORMA

NOTHING IS CREATED NOTHING IS DESTROYED ALL IS TRANSFORMED

HASTA SIEMPRE FRANK

Frank Died Last Night

He was “just” a friend…an eccentric friend…but a good friend with heart. For years he spent $70 a month living here. He sat at the same table in the same coffee shop in the Zocalo every single day with one cup of coffee…then moving in front of the cathedral to play chess with the best players around. If I was ever lonely or wanted company I knew he would be there.

This is a poem he gave to another friend a year ago around his birthday on September 23rd. He knew.

so wonderful the decline
how sweet the lowering
crumbling asundering

ebbing delightfull
sliding toward stilness
unrevelling simply
secretly tumbling
fading along down
reaching under
slipping ever

Expats Take Care

Well, my friend Jayson Heckler who drove down to Oaxaca from the States to Oaxaca with me in 2010 was the next one. Fell and injured his leg and hip. Doc said to go home and stay down. He did. And died.

Barely over the fatigue of traveling…Earl, my friend and escort (he says I am his “chick”) says to me one thursday night walking away from a progressive jazz jam in a small cafe…no rhythm…no beat! I laugh. He seemed tight all night. Then half a block away he says he’s got to get into a taxi and go home. The driver drops me off at my apartment and takes off with Earl.

The next morning he emails me: “I’m scared. My leg went to sleep.” By that afternoon his hospital room was full of his friends.

Long story short he had some blood clots in his leg. Two days later, after a failed angioplasty at another hospital he has his leg amputated above the knee. His daughter who had flown down from Minneapolis, and a friend who was the translator, spent the night with me in case we got a call from the hospital. Desperate for sleep…three times they called. The third time was to find out if we wanted the leg…

Please, jesus and allah, I never want to be in a Mexican public hospital. But I was encouraged by the way everyone pulled together…each contributing help and coordination. I don’t want to be the next one.

Mr. CANNOT and Mrs. NOHAVE

OMG, it’s almost been a year since my last RTW! I am planning my next trip back to Thailand to get some teeth in November and to see my sons in Thailand and Hong Kong. I am beginning to anticipate…and remember…

An expat took his laptop battery to the computer shop opposite Makro in Samui to see if they had one or could order one from Bangkok. He approached the guy at the counter with his carrier bag. (There was no one else in the shop, and the guy was not busy doing anything)

“Sawasdee Krap”

(Silence)

“can you help me?”

(Silence)

“I have a laptop battery” (reaching into carrier bag)

“NO HAVE!”
(At this point the battery was still concealed in the bag)

“Can you….?.”

“CANNOT!”

“cannot what?”

“CANNOT!”

“Do you have……?” (producing said battery. He didn’t even look at it)

“CANNOT”

” I see…..Can you order from Bangkok?”

“CANNOT ORDER!”

“Are you saying that there is no shop in the whole of Bangkok where you can get a laptop battery?”

“CANNOT ORDER!”

Another expat:
“In Banphai there is a pharmacy, each time I go in, without looking up the man says NO HAVE. Hello I can see what I want on that shelf… NO HAVE…I go outside and get the [Thai] wife and she asks for the same item. He goes to the shelf and passes item to my wife 80 baht please. WTF.”

You may also encounter Mr. NONO and Mrs. SHOO-SHOO

I think there may be several things going on here.

Mrs. NOHAVE may not understand the request and don’t want to admit it to save face. Also may apply to MR. CANNOT, MR. NONO and MRS SHOO-SHOO.
Mr. CANNOT can not speak English in order to answer the request.
This may be followed up by Mrs. SHOO-SHOO
Mr. CANNOT and Mrs. NO HAVE, Mr. NONO and Mrs. SHOO-SHOO may be tired.
Thais are sick of dealing with farangs who don’t speak Thai
Thais are sick of dealing with farangs

Of course it may be true that they really CANNOT or NO HAVE.

When Is An Expat Not An Expat

When I refer to myself as an expat in Mexico, I often get asked “what is an expat.” Now I am having to change my Mexican visa from a temporary one to a permanent one. Do I want to be a Residente Permanente? At least I will not have to renew my visa every year.

Today Garrison Keillor posted a poem by Paul Zimmer on his Writer’s Almanac web site entitled “Amongst The French.”

I do not have their words,
do not have their years or customs.
Passing them on the road,
shy as fog passing down
slopes into the valley,
I always give first utterance
or make an uncertain gesture.

My neighbors are kind,
knowing I am like rain,
that if they wait long enough,
in time I will go away.

It is the same for me in
all directions—under stars
swarming out of foothills,
on the gravel I churn
with my shoes—east, west,
north, or south—the same.
If I remained in
this friendly place forever,
I would always be a stranger.

This got me to thinking. It’s not just true in France of course. It’s true of anyone leaving their birth country and moving to another one. It’s true for me in Mexico and it’s especially true for Thailand. Apparently another “expat” has been thinking about this too and the following has been lifted from his blog Life In Prana

When is an expat not an expat?

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