La Mordida

“La Mordida” is a cultural reality that has existed in Mexico since at least the revolution of 1910. Literally, it means “the bite”, but in actuality it is just a euphemism for extortion. It is a payment to get someone to look the other way.

Growing up on the border of El Paso, Texas and Cuidad Juarez, Chihuahua with a foot in each culture, I took this sort of everyday corruption with a grain of salt. It was so common that it seemed no more immoral than jaywalking. It was looked at as a sort of tax to the official who everyone knew was not making a living wage.

It was not until I grew older that I realized that it was much more than paying off a cop to make your ticket go away, it permeates every aspect of society.

Since President Calderon declared a “War on Drugs” in 2006, Mexico and especially its border regions has seen an exorbitant increase in violence. The numbers are astonishing, and the official body count is around 40,000, but I would not be surprised if the number was substantially higher.  The stakes have been raised which means looking away has become much more lucrative, and not looking away carries higher consequences.

source: http://www.westernesa.com

Mexico, though still considered to be a developing country, is by all accounts wealthy so it is puzzling to me that they do not pay the people hired to look after the well-being of its citizens a living wage.

In Cuidad Juarez, which is now considered one of the most dangerous cities in the world, the impunity of the drug cartels and desperation of its people have reached levels unseen before. I have heard personal accounts of hungry police officers breaking into homes and stealing food from innocent families.

In some regions of Mexico la mordida has transformed from euphemism to reality.

Often the situation seems hopeless, but as neighbors to this troubled region we can not support the suffering of innocent men, women and children. There has to be a way to save Mexico. The drug business is too lucrative, and other jobs are scarce and poorly paid. I personally believe that some sort of agricultural reform has to be a part of the national rhetoric, and that through this people can reconnect to their roots, restore their health, and live with dignity. Obviously this is not a panacea, but it is a sprout.

On Killing Chickens

After a 26-hour cross-country road trip from Texas to Virginia, my two friends and I arrived at our buddy’s farm in the early afternoon. He greeted us with a smile and asked if we were ready to slaughter some chickens. Over the next 2 hours we learned the entire process: catching the chickens, slitting their throats, plucking and dressing. I have to admit that it was difficult for me to make my first fatal cut (as they say, the first one really is the hardest), but, by chicken number 30, the killing wasn’t much different than any other job. We ate the birds two days later at my friends wedding reception (the reason for our road trip). It was the first time I had eaten an animal that I’d killed.

When I got back from my trip, I told several friends and family members about my chicken killing experience. I wasn’t surprised that many of them were uncomfortable with the idea of killing an animal, but what surprised me was their apparent disgust of my having eaten the very animals I had dispatched. The most resonating of these comments came from a friend of mine who said “I prefer not to think about the fact the the food I eat was killed.”

This experience caused me to think about how we view food in industrialized countries like America. Walking through the open markets SE Asia, I became acutely aware that many people in the world are much more familiar and comfortable with the knowledge that the seasoned chunks of protein on their plate came a living, breathing creature. Dead chickens and fish hung proudly in racks on the food stands, live animals paced about anxiously in their cages, turtles were being killed and de-shelled and there were even dogs for sale (although no one buying them was looking for a new pet). All of this was in stark contrast to the nice, neat meat display at my local grocery store where chicken breasts sit proudly in their Styrofoam containers alongside lean ground beef and trimmed steaks.

What does this separation from the source do to our society’s approach to food? Would you eat less beef if you knew the cow it came from? What if you had to kill that cow? How much of that leftover chicken would go to waste if you understood the work it took to catch, kill, pluck and dress? Perhaps a greater understanding of where our food comes from and how it got on our plate would help to cure some of our current food ills, or at least give us a new appreciation for the fact the we don’t have to kill our dinner. After all, the chicken may or may not have come before the egg, but it definitely beat the Styrofoam.