LatinScribe

An old woman was contacted by a NYT reporter recently while she rocked in her chair on a patio where about 40 other earthquake victims lay without shoes, running water or possessions. She stared off into the sky, slowly recalling her old life in a leaky one room hut in the middle of abject poverty. "I had my own bed," she said "my own pots and pans... I had few things but I was myself. I was happy." Now she's miserable and her only comfort (if that's the word) is everybody else's misery.

In Polanco along Mazarik, I climbed into a taxi driven by a diminutive man resembling an Indian of the lowest caste with wide creases in his face and ragged clothes. If he wasn't driving the taxi I'd have mistaken him for a homeless person.

It was before 8 am on a Sunday morning, and as I settled into the back seat, he began talking with quiet urgency about how the rich suffered and how things flow in cycles. Imagine an impoverished man talking about the ebb and flow of wealth at 8 am in the morning!

I tried changing the conversation, but he always turned it back to the wealthy. At the corner of Reforma and Río Tiber, he pointed to the front entrance of the St. Regis, the newest (and perhaps most exclusive) residential development in the city.

"What will happen if they can't fill up this place?" he asked, almost to himself.

As he spoke I peered at his reflection in the rear view mirror. I asked him about his childhood.

"Oh yeah, my boss had it tough alright..., my dad left when I was 2," he said. "I remember how it felt when I had to leave my friends at school". His "boss" couldn't afford to eat without removing her kids from elementary school, so he and his siblings did hard labor each day for 12 hours. "I started when I was about 7," he said. "And I've been working all day ever since".

Although in his 50's, he appeared much older, with deep creases in his forehead and practically no teeth, a thinker without education, reflecting calmly on the trials and tribulations of the well-to-do.

I looked down at my clothing: worn denims, a Levi's shirt, faded sneakers.

We met in Polanco, the swanky part of town. He spoke to me with calm intensity, broken in body but lucid in mind.

As I left the taxi, I couldn't help but remember a Buddhist phrase about cycles of "conditioned existence"; about people who understand the noble truth that causes both suffering and the way leading to its end. 

Somehow this poor man - in his own fashion - had discovered the way out. 

"Happiness: a state of mind or feeling characterized by contentment, love, satisfaction, pleasure, or joy."

From Wikipedia

Yesterday an article appeared in the New York Times entitled "New York Ranks Last in Happiness Rating" about a study made by two economics professors, newly published in Science magazine, that compared American's sense of their own happiness.

Based on extensive research, the two professors — Andrew J. Oswald from the University of Warwick in Britain and Stephen Wu of Hamilton College — came up with a guide to happiness ranked by state, including Washington, DC.

On this scale, New York State reportedly ranked 51st - dead last.

Which is not to say the state didn't have (miserable) company: New Jersey and Connecticut residents, NY's two closest neighbors, apparently don't consider themselves any happier, coming in 49th and 50th places, respectively.

These scores were based upon a survey of 1.3 million Americans done over the course of 4 years by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which asked people "objective questions" about their health as well as quality-of-life issues regarding climate, taxes, living costs, commute times, crime rates and education.

As it turns out, the state-by-state rankings were not the primary focus of the study. However, that's what has inevitably drawn the most attention. 

Based on these findings the top 10 states on the happiness scale are, in descending order: Louisiana, Hawaii, Florida, Tennessee, Arizona, Mississippi, Montana, South Carolina, Alabama and Maine.

Say what? Aren't the states of Mississippi, Louisiana, South Carolina, Montana and Maine among the poorest in America? Mississippi, in fact, is the poorest.

To a New York Times reporter (or nearly any self-respecting New Yorker) this was a flabbergaster. How can people in relatively impoverished places be happier (at least according to their own reckoning) than the inhabitants of the greatest city on earth?

Which clearly explains why the writer's first reaction was to question the veracity of the interviewees' testimony. "Are these people truly happy?" he asked. "Or are they wearing  a 'What, me worry?'" smile?"

Which implies of course that the "happy residents" of Maine were either not telling the truth or just posturing for the interview (whereas the average New Yorker spoke his or her mind).

The reporter's second argument, that happiness was overrated, wasn't much more convincing. "Seriously, " he states, "isn’t restlessness, even outright discontent, often a catalyst for creativity?"

He cited the case of Italy versus Switzerland. “In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias there was warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance" whereas Switzerland - despite 500 years of democracy and peace - only came up with the "cuckoo clock".

In this view, creativity becomes the endgame and (as a face-saving consequence) New Yorkers outshine their out-of-state counterparts.

Or is it the weather? Warm rays of sunshine equal happiness, no? The only problem is that Montana, Maine, Alabama and South Carolina are not particularly warm in winter.

Weather and creativity notwithstanding, why (asks the reporter) would so many people decide to live in New York if it were so devoid of happiness? This seemed to be his last fledgling attempt at reconciliation, miffed absolutely by the idea of people living happier lives in Lousianna.

Which of course belies the real question. There's such a complex relation between New York and the world -  hundreds of years of immigration, to begin with - such an enormous tapestry of family ties, nationalities, ethnicities and cultural links (not to mention opportunities) that the mere fact that New York is more crowded than ever bears almost no relation to its inhabitants' happiness.

In a sense, this piece goes to the root of New York arrogance: a complete misinterpretation of basic data based on outright prejudice. In fact, the reporter doesn't even consider the possibility (so remote from his liberal East Coast sensibility) that people in poor places may actually be happier; nor does he seriously contemplate the idea that access to opportunities, career development, material wealth, glamor and culture doesn't necessarily translate into greater fulfillment.

As a case in point, several months ago (Aug 14, 2009) an article appeared in the NYT about Dresden, Germany entitled "In Dresden, High Culture and Ugly Reality Clash" which describes the stabbing murder of a pregnant Egyptian pharmacist in a Dresden courtroom in front of her 3-year-old son, reportedly by a German man appealing a fine for having insulted her in a park.

Dresden is portrayed in the article as "one of the great cultural capitals of Europe" yet chock full of xenophobia, skin heads and right-wing extremism. "One wonders how to reconcile the heights of the city’s culture with the gutter of these events," comments the reporter.

The reporter's conclusion was just the opposite of yesterday's article; namely, that what one normally expects based on material evidence is not always what you get.

Which means that creative types may require a certain amount of "unhappiness" to nurture their restless spirits, but it's also true that conditions under which happiness thrives (freedom, friendship, independence) may not be enabled - at least not adequately - in New York, New Jersey or Connecticut.

Let's take freedom, or rather its many manifestations: freedom from want, freedom from nagging bosses, freedom from traffic, stressful hours, crime, neurotic co-workers...

If freedom could be represented as a bundle (with each freedom being a single strand) why is being happy in Montana or Maine so unimaginable, despite the population's relative poverty?

My hunch is that most New Yorkers would characterize freedom as a fuzzy, non-definable concept that: (a) is immeasurable, as opposed to net worth or average income; and (b) is incomparable to the treasures of the Met or the NY Public Library; Wall Street salaries or dazzling Fifth Avenue merchandise.

According to this materialist view of the world, freedom could not possibly tip the balance in favor of poverty.

Or could it? Isn't love intangible? Wouldn't the same New Yorkers admit that love plays an important - at times crucial - role in happiness?

What if Louisiana folks (by virtue of their relative poverty) had more friends, closer family, better neighbors (in a word, more "love") while at the same time, much less to worry about? Does greater material wealth, business aspiration and opulence necessarily mean greater happiness?

Or would it be safer to assume that Louisianans don't really know (or just aren't forthcoming) simply because poor people ipso facto can't be happier than wealthy, educated achievers?

Again, I refer to the conclusion of the Dresden piece: great material wealth + cultural treasures don't necessarily translate into great human values.

"The truth is, we can stare as long as we want at that Raphael Madonna; or at Antonello da Messina’s 'St. Sebastian'... or at the shiny coffee sets, clocks and cups made of coral and mother-of-pearl and coconuts and diamonds culled from the four corners of the earth... But it won’t make sense of a senseless murder or help change the mind of a violent bigot." (italics mine)

Perhaps the jaded New Yorkers (and others) who simply assume that wealth equals happiness should think about what happiness actually means.

If not, they seem doomed to forget a hard-earned lesson: happiness (like culture) is by nature impractical, fragile and - at its core - non-material.

 

 

 

Among Mexico City's socioeconomic elite, there's something you learn quickly: saying what you mean and meaning what you say are not that important.

This may ring true for most politicians everywhere, but in Mexico it's not just the political class: it's a commonly understood way among most people to avoid taking a stance. Sure, most Mexicans would claim (as they do everywhere) that "telling the truth" is important, but in reality - especially Mexico City and the southeast part of the country - they place higher priority on other values.

Although dodging the truth when it doesn't suit you is a universal phenomena, Mexicans have raised truth-avoidance to an art form. In business chambers, courtrooms, conference halls and back rooms throughout the nation, people lie to an extent little known elsewhere. In fact, public discourse is measured by how much one can say without saying anything. According to one prominent Mexican investigator, "lying has always been and still is - today more than ever - the principal technique used by Mexican officials to govern."

Why are Mexican politicians and the ruling elite permitted to lie so much? There are many answers to this question, many gray shades that vary according to one's point of view, factors like lack of accountability, poor education, poverty, impunity, repression...

Everyone has a different answer. But the consequence of so many lies - and the reliance on deception by nearly every politician to effectively govern - has produced a feeling among most Mexicans that nobody can be trusted, and that the rule of law and institutions themselves are ineffective.

"Why?" asks Sara Sefchovich "have Mexicans permitted their leaders to lie to such an extent?" The answer -- based on her extensive investigation -- is that Mexicans themselves depend on lies to an extraordinary degree in their daily interactions. Put differently, Mexicans are conditioned to "give people the airplane", a strategy (perhaps "state of mind" is more accurate) to avoid saying things as they are.

"Lying is embedded in Mexican public discourse in such a deliberate, profound, conscious and systematic way that aside from its inevitability it often seems absolutely necessary".

Which is what it has become in the lives of most chilangos: an artifice necessary (or so it seems) to survive.

Every nation has hoards of full-on soccer fans. Germany, Italy, Poland, Korea all worship their sports stars.

In Mexico City, if the Mexican national team or even the a local team wins a big game, thousands of revelers celebrate around the Angel of Independence with such fervor that people are often stamped to death.

After a Pumas-Ámerica match, fanatics hurl flags and beep horns until after 5 a.m. in nearly every central neighborhood.

But not just in sports. When it comes to anything involving spectacles and crowds - e.g., music, theater, fiestas, parades - Mexicans seem to behave in a strangely intense way.

Who would have guessed that in a conservative, Catholic nation, over 18,000 people would remove their clothes in a photo-shoot in the capital's main square? Spencer Tunick, the photographer, said he was shocked.

It was the largest nude spectacle ever recorded - not because Mexicans are avid nudists (on the contrary) but because they have a knack for transforming spectator-ness to spectacle.

So I took notice when posters went up several weeks ago soliciting "dance volunteers" to show up at Revolution Plaza to honor Michael Jackson. The organizer's goal was to break the world record.

That’s when I started thinking about why being a spectator seemed so important to Mexicans.

When I slept that night, I dreamed of warriors preparing for battle while crowds of admiring, frightened people watched.

Suddenly I found myself seated at a stone amphitheater in front of young men running barefoot with shocking intensity. I sensed their ferocity and could nearly smell their fear but  - strangely - what I remember most was how privileged I felt to be watching a win-or-die ball game.

That was when I thought about the Aztecs, about their beliefs and the thousands of people chosen to climb atop pyramids to be slain in the name of their gods.

As they marched to their deaths, the common people peered up toward the bloody altars.

All of them were spectators.

In fact, this seemed to be perhaps the Aztec's greatest weapon: control people’s minds in a way that fixed them with their own vision.

Through spectacle more than war, they conquered.*

On Saturday, Aug 29, the gathering at Revolution monument took place to honor the so-called king of pop.

The Guinness Book of World Records later reported that 50,000 people had gathered, and nearly 12,000 had danced to Thriller.

This handily broke the record for the World's biggest ever Michael Jackson dance.

As a Mexican friend of mine said the next day: "What a show!"

 

* Until they themselves were conquered by the spectacle of a Spaniard posing as a feathered God.