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

Where I've Been for the Last 5 Months

It's been a long time since I've posted here, but not without good reason. I finally had my first full-time job since living in Mexico. For those of you who don't know that was seven years ago.  I was lucky enough to make it on savings for the first couple years here. But since then, it's been a long string of short-term part-time jobs, mostly teaching English, writing and editing, and the occasional environmental workshops and consulting gigs.

But this most recent professional experience was something else. It was the kind of job I've been wanting to have for years, a unique position that combined my background as a non-formal environmental education expert with a solid, successful, long-term, U.S. government program to provide American volunteers for environmental projects across Mexico. I'm talking about the Peace Corps Mexico Environment Program.

I can't say enough good things about this program. I got to work with volunteers who dedicate 2 years of their lives to advancing positive social change, who contribute their backgrounds in the environmental sciences, their other related skills, cultural curiosity and general goodwill, in a foreign nation that embraces their arrival and seeks to learn and collaborate. As if that weren't enough, the program also boasts a talented staff of trainers and administrative support, many of whom are experts in their fields, who are dedicated to the program's growth and development over the years. This fall, I was able to call these fabulous folks my coworkers. 

I was lucky enough to become a part of this stellar team 5 years after I first learned of the program in 2008, through friends. I'll never forget that night—I was invited to the election night celebration when Obama gave his victory speech, which was at the home of a former volunteer. I met the director at the time, and then during the summer of 2009, I volunteered in their library. From there I made the acquaintance of the Environment program manager, who learned of my professional background as an environmental educator in the U.S. and Mexico. In the years that followed, in my daughter's infant years, I returned to give workshops during their pre-service and mid-service trainings. I made more contacts with volunteers and learned more about what their service entails. This past summer, right around the time we were delivering Amor and Exile to Congress, I learned of a one-of-a-kind opportunity to serve as the interim Environmental Education Training Specialist from July to December of this year. Unlike the permanent position, this position did not require travel, as it would essentially be limited to 2 trainings in Queretaro. It didn't take me long to make up my mind. I applied, and I got the job. Like any new job, it had its special learning curve—and in this particular one with the U.S. government, I had a new acronym-based language and the "Peace Corps Approach" to learn. But beyond that, I was in my element. 

I could go on and on about how great a fit this position was with my skills, passion, and background. I was able to draw on many elements of my experience with sustainable development and as a curriculum developer, and my time as a teacher. I was finally able to take everything that I'd learned during my whole Mexico culture-shock experience and apply it as something helpful toward new arrivals' adjustment to the Mexican culture process. I could draw on my experience as a non-formal educator in order to prepare a team of non-formal educators. And best of all, even though I am bilingual, I got to polish my Spanish thanks to my coworkers. 

Running an environmental education training was A LOT of work but also a lot of FUN. We took field trips to local natural areas, botanical gardens, and sustainable learning centers. We met with local teachers, schools, and students, and the trainees devised environmental education activities and an EcoFair in Mexico state. We reached over 200 schoolkids in our 3 visits to schools. We laughed, we danced, we built a wood-efficient stove, a garden, a compost, a solar dehydrator, a solar oven, and a greywater filter. The volunteers I worked with were experienced, positive, and motivated. Everyone shared, learned, and grew. I could go on and on.

With PCM volunteers and staff at the top of Parque Nacional el Cimatario

But sadly, this incredible experience had to come to an end, this past week. It was to be expected, in fact, it was planned—to coincide with the week after the last training of 2013. As I mentioned before, the reason I could pursue this position was that it was based almost entirely in Querétaro. Almost as soon as I entered, a hiring process was underway to select a permanent training specialist, which I was invited to apply for, but the downside is that it requires a significant amount of travel (estimated at nearly 40%)—in order to visit volunteers at sites and develop new sites.

At first glance, this seems ideal—see dozens of natural areas in Mexico as part of your job. And the truth is, if I didn't have a child, it would be. In fact, I did apply for the position once before, in the Fall of 2012. But when I found out about the travel requirement, and that policy does not allow minor family members to accompany staff during travel, I had to pull out of the running. I simply couldn't make the commitment to being away from home for that amount of time with such a small child. 

So while the interim, Querétaro-based position was near-perfect, the permanent, travel-required position was not a realistic possibility for me and my family. I chose not to apply this summer, since the policies had not changed, and made up my mind to give these 5 months my all while I had the chance. I am happy to say that it was worth it. I feel a strong pull to be as present as possible in my daughter's life, and we all feel happy to be together more. As for the job, beyond all the wonderful environmental education and resource conservation work that volunteers do, the best thing about Peace Corps Mexico (PCM) are the people themselves. The relationships I formed with both staff and volunteers, and the experiences we shared are irreplaceable. 

I feel very grateful to have had this professional opportunity where I both learned and contributed a great deal. I'm obviously looking forward to the possibility of going back someday. In the meantime, I will be rededicating myself to past projects, so hopefully you will be seeing more of me here, and hear about new developments as well. And if any volunteers or former coworkers happen to read this, good luck, and thanks for all you do. You're doing amazing things!

On our way to a local school with Environmental Education volunteers

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.