Musings on the Social/Historical Context for 'Sustainable Development' in Mexico's Natural Areas

This post was originally written in May of 2015, but was not edited and made digital until today. :-)

On May 15th, Mexico Teacher's Day, in the capital city of Mexico, the "Distrito Federal," I took part in a training workshop for Environment volunteers with Peace Corps Mexico. Our Environment program's main agency partner is the SEMARNAT agency (Secretary of Environment and Natural Resources), which is an umbrella to several Environment agencies, such as CONANP (Protected Natural Areas Commission). Our workshop was hosted by CONANP, specifically to orient our volunteers in the types of programs offered by this incredibly important institution.

CONANP can be compared to the U.S. National Parks Service, but has distinct difference with its U.S. analog in that its jurisdiction (for lack of a better word)—let's say relationship with community members within natural protected areas—is distinctly different from the U.S. NPS.  Most Protected Areas—except for a select small few—are not separate from residential lands—they're regularly inhabited by thousands of people who maintain their normal activities inside the protect areas and reserves. Thus, this greatly changes the nature of the national and local Natural Areas Management strategies, as well as the day-to-day interaction with people residing within Natural Protected Area boundaries. There is relatively little enforcement of conservation laws, and the residents of Natural Areas are often marginalized economically and even culturall. This, as well as the history of the peoples of these lands, combined with the fact that CONANP is a sorely underfunded agency in general, poses unique challenges for staff working in the area of sustainable economic development within protected areas. 

We heard from many veterans in the conservation field in Mexico who met with us that day, and in particular, we heard a talk given by staff who directs a department for economic opportunities in sustainable development. His words inspired a lot of reflection and thought on my part, and the below musings are what subsequently tumbled out through my pen as a result:

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I remember a long time ago (nine years, to be exact), before I first came to Mexico, when I had a grand vision of the types of things I'd be able to do here. Ideas of things I'd be able to accomplish as a win for conservation and education. And then I arrived to reality. 

I observe a lot of initial vision and ideas held by other conservationists when they first come to Mexico (My job is working with Peace Corps volunteers). Many of these ideas find fertile ground and take fruit- one of the many potential virtues of a two-year service. 

But what happens to the grand seeds of idealism when the soil upon which they are planted is incapable of supporting life? The quality of the ground we're working with is essential in that it necessarily limits the extent of growth of ideas, plans, dreams—but as any grower knows, we can only imagine a field's potential until it is revealed unarguably before our eyes through trial and error. At least in my personal experience, no person or litmus test could really make me aware of that until I lived it myself.

Mexico's biological and cultural wealth are deep, and vast. But the history of subordination, submission, and outright conquest is nearly as formidable, and reaches—no, has pushed—multitudes to the brink into the literally remote heights of what are now considered the most "precious" lands in terms of ecological conservation [mountainous areas]. These said lands, which should hypothetically receive and give rise to the most flavorful fruits of idealism, in reality harbor the most marginalized among us—those whose ancestors had no where else to go to survive, the first peoples of Mexico, the last to confront the conquistadores. 

Forced out of the fertile lowlands into the hills, to the wilderness, likely clashing themselves with existing settlements, their legacy generations later exists precariously in an everlasting hybrid on the edge of modernization. Reminiscent of mountaintop island ecosystems whose backs are up against the wall of the sky, with little land left to stand on, they can't go much farther up, can't make do with less, are often pushed to physiological extremes—manifested by malnutrition, illiteracy, domestic violence, teen pregnancy—among other ills we're loathe to mention for fear of political incorrectness or being perceived as prejudiced. But the ills we ignore are even less certain to heal. 

Enter the ideal of education, wearing the hat of environmental conservation. A goal that can be argued worthy a million times over, as I have done so since the tender age of 15. But how do you explain to a victim of the aforementioned fate, the dispossessed, to relinquish [any of the following, for "environmental benefit"]: Land. Economic aspirations. Material goods. How can we, from an inherently comparative position of privilege, as U.S. Americans, rightly proceed (or even justify?) our position of righteousness and/or the expectation that said audience member would or could even care about anything else besides the pressing need to feed themselves, their children, cover their backs, and simply live without fear of possible judgment, or worse, retribution, from individuals who barely know them and who still have so much to learn about them?

Answers and justifications are many and diverse. People must know how much their livelihoods depend on the land they spring from. The seventh generation vision [still holds true]. But, just as we would not expect a fine wine to have aged instantaneously—that it takes time for enthusiastic sugars to meld into complex undertones—conservationists working with the most marginalized communities must carry in every breath the patience and understanding necessary for the process of, essentially, addressing the effects of 500+ years of the disempowering subjugation of a once autonomous people [and the denigration of any original 'conservation' ethic].

Every drop of insight, empathy, solidarity, and patience that foot soldiers of conservation working in low income communities can have with the neighbors with whom they're working shoulder to shoulder with to sow, cultivate, and harvest the seeds of hope and dreams for a healthier life for every denizen of this lovely planet we call home, is worth its weight in gold.

Valle Verde, Municipio de Jalpan, Reserva de la Biosfera de Sierra Gorda

Winds of Change | On the Current CIR Debate | Amor and Exile

**Note: This is probably more subject matter than should have gone in one blog post. Time is more precious than ever, and I've been more exhausted in the last 3 weeks than I can remember being since college over 15 years ago. There's so much to say, too little time, and some trains are fast departing from the stations of my life that I can't afford to miss. But I wanted to simultaneously speak to recent accomplishments with Amor and Exile and going to D.C., the perspective of many years having observed and been a victim of immigration politics, and also acknowledge that my intense involvement in this issue, to the exclusion of other, more earthy parts of my life, has taken a toll, and I'm in the process of achieving a new equilibrium.**

Cycles are being completed and new chapters are opening in my life, and for this I am grateful. But in many ways, some things are as they always were.

I recently traveled to Washington, D.C. to deliver a copy of the book I co-wrote with Nathaniel Hoffman, Amor and Exile: True Stories of Love Across America's Borders. The trip, which in essence launched the publication of our book, was many things to me at once: a dream come true to tell my story to our nation, a collaborative vision seen through to completion, an eye-opening experience about the way politics are done in my country, and a reminder that I must continue to find grounding in my daily life back home.

Nearly 12 years ago, I began dating my husband and discovered what we were up against in terms of immigration laws that effectively shut out a large number of North Americans from access to legal immigration to the United States, even when married to American citizens.

Almost 6 years ago, despite the successful protest of the passage of even harsher immigration laws (HR 4437), which would have made it a felony to merely be in association with my husband, we came to the conclusion that the only way for my husband to obtain legal status was to move abroad to his home country of Mexico. We packed our belongings and moved south, where we've been ever since.

A few years after we moved here, I began seriously contemplating the possibility of writing about my story. Everytime I told our story about why we'd moved here to someone, they'd respond, "But you're married!?" as if it was a no-brainer that my husband should have U.S. papers. It drove me crazy that nobody understood why things just weren't that simple. On one hand, part of me wanted to wash my hands of the issue entirely, just focus on my field (ecology) and pursue my dreams of a green business or non-profit in a country that sorely needs environmental conservation work. I did restore a good part of our land with greywater and organic vegetable production. I did publish a short collection of regional recipes using Mexican native food plants (The Bajio's Bounty). And I remained tangentially involved in the environmental movement here in Querétaro. But the pull of fate in the direction of writing a memoir and adding my voice to the millions of disenfranchised by U.S. immigration law was too strong. I kept adding to my many notebooks of visions I was having about "telling a story about migration."

In winter of 2011, only a few months after my daughter was born, I began writing my part for Amor and Exile. Ever since then, my life as been drawn inexorably deeper into the path of advocacy on behalf of families like mine. Starting with the story that is now part of Chapter 9 of Amor and Exile, entitled "Alienation," in which I tell of our passage south to Mexico, I began the laborious task of encapsulating my most painful struggles and my lofty ideals (of the ones that still remain) into prose, exposing them to my coauthor's critiquing and making them universally understandable, as opposed to making sense only to me. The first years were an internal struggle—overcoming the fears and anxieties with making our story. I first received great support from family, friends, my coauthor Nathaniel, and then from a therapist who helped me creatively work through my trauma and heal many hurt parts of having to leave my country to keep my family together, essentially against my will.

Our manuscript was finally done in December 2012. It represented two and a half years of writing and collaborative editing. In the first few months that we began "shopping around" our manuscript with our agent, was when all the Comprehensive Immigration Reform debate hit Congress. I'd written my story without any specific political language, mainly because it was telling a past story, also because it was anyone's guess as to when actual reform could happen. Moreover, as I tell in the book, part of my personal peacemaking has had to do with separating my political hopes from my own personal goals and motivations—in other words, I can't pin my personal happiness on political outcomes.

That being said, I'm well aware of what the current debate represents and I would be amiss to not be a part of it. It's been satisfying to be able to make contact with many individuals who are advocating on behalf of families like ours. Coming in contact with dozens of families like mine has renewed my resolve to continue speaking out on this subject—even though the "best" reforms available (waiver reform) really would only allow my family to apply for a waiver a couple years earlier. It's too little too late for us—but it could be a lot for some families.

Being in D.C.—getting the community support to go there as a result of our Indiegogo campaign to "Send Amor and Exile to Washington"—was an incredibly uplifting experience. Going from totally disempowered, silenced for so many years due to my family's lack of legal recourse—to dialoguing with Capitol staffers and representatives themselves was to come full circle in terms of where I was and where I now am. We have no guarantee that our efforts will actually make any difference in the long run in terms of policy, but I am convinced that at least in terms of personal views, dozens of individuals have been affected as a result of our work. And I can only pray that it will continue to have an impact in the long term.

Because ultimately, as things are currently being played out in the Senate, it is truly a political game in which our lives hang in the balance. A game whose players have no problem sacrificing billions of taxpayer dollars for even higher and more electrified fences in the name of immigration reform—always with the risk that every compromise will never be enough to satisfy the most extreme negotiators. I'm personally more skeptical about the long-term positive impact of the most recent version of SB 744 (if the Corker-Hoeven amendment to spend $30 billion in additional "border security" is included) compared to the original version. It's the product of compromise that might get some of us home a little sooner, that might prevent some of us from having to go into exile, but my question is, how will it affect generations of migrants, citizens of both countries even, to come?

It's really easy to fall in the trap of thinking about only our own families' problems, I did this for many years as I pitied myself and couldn't imagine how I was going to make my life work in a foreign country. I saw myself as somewhat different than the rest, when in reality, we're all in the same boat. I am so thankful to my fellow friends in exile for opening my eyes about that. What I dread happening is that we, the exiled or separated, forget to think of those who will come after us, as we are thrown a bone, while draconian regulations continue to be passed.

What concerns me about the passage of an SB 744 with extreme border militarization clauses is because of the reasons these regulations are being written in. Does this version of immigration policy engender cross-cultural understanding and reduce the likelihood of attempted illegal immigration to the U.S? Probably not. Would using that money instead on international programs that improve the standard of living in foreign countries, create programs for individuals to more easily access legal immigration channels to the U.S. have more positive effect in the long run? Most likely. But those type of answers aren't as politically sexy as more choppers and barbed wire, when catering to the xenophobic crowd in the U.S.

Much of our populace is still stuck, lamentably, in a culturally insensitive rut that is costing us the ability to move forward as a nation, embrace our immigrant roots, our immigrant present, and our immigrant future. We welcome those who have the financial resources (or luck in the lotteries) to make it across the border "legitimately," but we reject many who are the salt of the earth. Those of us who have acknowledged the migratory and highly adaptable nature of our continent will keep working toward true change, at great personal sacrifice, sorrow, and even joy sometimes, no matter what the outcome on Capitol Hill.

Wasp stings and Seguro Popular | Mexico vs. U.S. 1-0

Some family of mine visited for the first time this past week. As is apt to happen, when comparing the U.S. and Mexico, we got off on a spirited detour about the direction in which the U.S. government is headed.
I had remarked how ironic it was that the direction of the effect of current U.S. policies (slashing essential public programs, failing to support universal education, lining the pockets of the wealthy, etc.) are sending our country down a similar path as Mexico, where growth is occurring in some sectors, but because of the monopolies and corrupt bureacracies, a lot of the "progress" truly benefits only the rich, leaving the majority of the country stuck about 40 years in the past, maybe more.
My motivation in saying something like that was probably stemming from a sense of helplessness at only being able to watch what goes down in the U.S. from afar, also a fear that things I most cherished about my home country, like great free education, are at risk. 

But then something hit me—part of my imaginary equation was off, and not in the direction I'd anticipated. Just the day prior, I'd visited the Queretaro General Hospital ER for a large wasp sting that had gotten worse and infected. I was seen immediately, administered a shot to reduce the reaction, and sent home with medicine—all in under 1 hour's time, and all free, under the Seguro Popular federal medical care program.

I first enrolled in 2010, before my daughter was born. I'd been able to pay for private doctor's office visits out of pocket up until then, but was worried about potential accidents, my inability to afford private medical insurance, and wanted a sort of catastrophic family medical insurance. So far we've only used it for severe insect bites—Margo also got treated for one, last year, when he was stung by a scorpion. But it's a relief to think it's there when we need it.
Suddenly, on my imaginary scoreboard between the U.S. and Mexico federal benefits to my family, I was left staring at a big fat 1-0, with Mexico on the unexpected left hand side.
Inside, I felt outraged, shocked, even a little dismayed. How could it be that the glorious U.S. of A could be down on the count, and of all rivals, with Mexico? There had to be something I was missing.
I racked my brains for things the U.S. federal government had done for me (a direct benefit, not some sort of trickle-down benefit) and my inner conscience immediately felt lame doing so, especially after hearing the words of JFK, "ask not what your country can do for you," first inside my own head, and then from my uncle sitting next to me as he invoked the time of the Kennedys.
It was as if I had an inner anti-governmental critic meter and some alarm was getting sounded. Over the years my morality meter had driven me to do well in school, honor my family, work, pay taxes, volunteer, sit on boards of directors. It had allowed me to practice freedom of speech by being critical of government policies, an environmental activist, and even challenge the morality of current U.S. immigration policies. But somehow wondering what direct personal benefit I'd gotten with my U.S. membership card felt sacrilegious. What felt especially weird was having spent the last 7 years up in arms about not being able to go back home to the U.S. with my husband and daughter, as a complete family unit. It was a very weird feeling indeed.
But what was worse was not finding any answer to counter my suspicion, that the score was still 1-0. All I could think of was having to pay taxes since I started getting W-2s when I was 16 years old. The next thing I thought of was my $20,000 college scholarship through the National Science Scholars Program that had gotten revoked as a result of Newt Gingrich's contract with America the summer of 1995, leaving me with just under that amount of debt 3.5 years later after graduating.
The response to my question I posed to my family was disturbingly spare. After asking in earnest for the third time if I was being rash, if I was missing something, my uncle said, "Let it go already...you may just have to accept that things aren't really what you thought."
That seems to go without saying—this isn't the first time that the dual allegiance I've been obliged to forge in the throes of forced expatriation has caused me to question everything I've known to be true.
That part of me that still wants to see that scoreboard blowing up on the right hand side is not just juvenile fantasy, but self-preservation, in that restoring something from ruins is usually a lot harder than preventing something from falling apart in the first place. On the other hand, maybe a middle ground would be to allow something to grow and evolve. That's been my wish ever since it became clear to me at 12 years old that our country's oil-dependent economy would need to sprout new wings and let the dinosaurs go the way of oblivion. What saddens me as an adult is that the country I thought the most innovative and capable of progress—my own—still really has so far to go.

2012 Highlights | Mi Mejor de 2012

Every year has its ups and downs, and with all the challenges we face it's easy to lose perspective. I'm usually good at affirming and reminding myself of all the good things. But all the world tragedies, and seemingly impossible goals can put me in a funk. Yoga is something I do to clear my mind and regain strength. The end of my practice today was my last meditation of 2012. In my mind's eye, as the debris of frustrations and negativity fell away, I saw life as a diamond—precious, illuminated with the light of love. At its heart, through all the rough, the past year has indeed had many diamonds.

Family
My husband and I made a renewed commitment to each other and embarked on a regular effort to strengthen our relationship by improving our communication and seeking more ways to enjoy our time together. Our daughter has been an endless source of joy and growth amidst all of her smiles, precious innocence, discovery of the world, fast-developing personality, love for us, tantrums and toddler opposition. My grandmother turned 90 and my brother was married, both opportunities for the extended family to come together and spend time celebrating timeless rite of passages. I got to know my sister-in-law and her sisters a little better in that special way that only bachelorette parties and the crush of preparing for a wedding can do. On a weekly basis, I marvel at technology's ability to keep our family in touch across great distances in ways that would never be possible otherwise.

Friends
I had the wonderful opportunity, after a 3 year absence, to return to California and participate in my good friend's wedding, spending 4 days in the Sierras. As if that wasn't lucky enough, I also got to see many other friends in a mini-tour of San Francisco and the Bay Area and Coastside, proving that, with the exception of changing poopy diapers at the beach, traveling alone with my daughter can still be fun—especially with the help of my friends. I also feel incredibly lucky to have friends from all walks of life back home in Queretaro, living here by choice, as well as a circle of friends I feel happy to have my daughter growing up among.

Creative expression
2012 didn't produce much artwork on my behalf, but I found an outlet with photography, crafts, and most importantly, the written word. We finished our coauthored book Amor and Exile in November, and despite the regular challenges collaborative editing sometimes presented us, it's been an incredibly satisfying endeavor that I have no doubt will produce meaningful fruit in 2013, no matter where its seeds end up being planted (that's my botanical metaphor to say that we shall soon find out whether a publisher is visionary enough to take us on, or whether we will have the liberty to publish ourselves independently). TBA.

Self care
For the first time probably since high school, I spent a full-year in a regular sport: swimming. It's been over two years since I had done yoga regularly (since my daughter was born) but it was something that I've been trying to commit to ever since. I finally began to reestablish my regular practice toward the end of the year. Staying active is difficult to fit in with a child, but it's been perhaps one of the most rewarding things I've done this year. I began to see a naturopathic doctor in neighboring San Miguel de Allende, taking a more natural approach to address some ongoing health issues. I began to cut out sugar and white flour in favor of more whole foods and whole wheat foods. I'm pretty happy with the change as it's inspired me to try out new recipes, and new foods are always welcome in this home.

Nature
As a conservation biologist, all the poaching, pollution, and development in our city is very troubling. But nature's capacity to sustain our lives still inspires me greatly. The simple act of planting seeds (and teaching others to do so) continues to be a source of satisfaction for me. For the first time my daughter was born, I gave a local horticultural workshop. We also restored some of the our garden spaces. Seeing our greywater irrigated fruit trees bear fruit renews my resolve that small acts can indeed have big effects.

When it comes to setting aside the letdowns in order to embrace the victories, I don't think the metaphor really matters—if it results in a deeper appreciation the very powerful experience of being alive, then it would be a blessing to have the chance to do this over and over again, in the year to come.