Lo que traigo es la esperanza

As the month of May closed, the tranquility and peace of Monterrey symbolically came to an end. The heavily armed Mexican federal police, the equivalent of the United States’ National Guard, began patrolling the downtown and the suburbs of this metropolis, once considered the safest in the nation. The corrupt guards, passing through narrow streets in humvees with fingers pressed against triggers, only added to the fears.

President Calderon has taken these measures after local and state police suffered great losses in the battle between the drug cartels that seem to have more authority than the politicians and officials. Since the beginning of the year, nearly 30 police officers in the city’s department have been fatally wounded.

The drug lords are not only going after the police and politicians, but they are attacking and gunning down the journalists that report the crimes. Newspapers no longer print bylines, the names of the writers, and journalists that once upon a time raced each other to crime scenes travel together with hopes of safety in numbers.

A short time ago, it was “their” problem, but now that the crime has shifted into this region, it is an inescapable fact of daily life.

The residents of Monterrey, known as Regiomontanos, have long been immune to the problems that have plagued the rest of the country. The poor economy, extreme poverty, and high levels of drug trafficking were just as foreign to Monterrey as to New York City. Now that such concerns are lurking at the borders of Monterrey, Regiomontanos have to work extra hard to ensure that their high standard of living does not spiral downward. Meanwhile, this metropolis can still rival, if not surpass, rankings for the quality of life in many American cities.

These ideas and concerns prompted me to prepare a speech for four classrooms of eighth-graders, with a theme of crime and hope for change, titled Las Esperanzas y Orgullo de los Mexicanos (The Hopes and Pride of Mexicans). I delivered an interactive presentation and the speech became more of a conversation. They expressed their concerns and we elicited solutions. However, we concluded by them promising to be proud of who they are. In spite of being bombarded with American media images of Mexicans being inferior, they were challenged to have hope and always remember their potential.

Upon telling them that I will leave Mexico by mid-summer, they begged me to remain and teach at the school. When I told them that I must return to my family, friends, and community. They requested that I bring the family here. When I said that my family does not speak Spanish, they replied, “teach them Spanish.” For every time that I denied them and gave negative responses, they countered me with what they considered simple solutions. It once again reminded me that as I return to one family, I will be abandoning another.

They are my cousins and siblings. Our appearance, native languages, traditions, and customs are different, but we are united by a powerful force. It is an abundant energy that flows from all sides. It is a force called love, and it is found in some of the least expected places. As I walked through one of the shopping districts, I bumped into it. Spontaneously, a group of teenagers offering “abrazos gratis,” or free hugs, rushed and encircled me. Where else can you receive free hugs from random strangers? And live to talk about it?

No matter how many bullets or drugs invade this community, it will never overtake the love that these people harbor in their hearts. Hope and love are forces that will endure.

Lo que traigo es la esperanza, y me voy con el amor. (I bring hope, and I leave with love.)