On the road with the librotraficantes #2

In the second installment of the book smuggler's travel diaries, we cross the Chihuahua Desert into El Paso, Mesilla and Albuquerque, spreading the chicana culture throughout a post-nuclear western scenario.

This is the second report in a three-part series. Read the first part here.

El Paso/Juarez is an urban area with three million inhabitants surrounded by the Chihuahua Desert. Far, far, away in the nothingness something happened, read a novel set in these lands. Lady Nothingness, the inescapable emptiness between one comunitas and another, the influencer of human relationships, cultural production, literature.

When, on our third day of travel, we caravanners stopped at the Mercado Mayapan — a huge warehouse transformed into a cultural center by the Mujer Obrera association, which for thirty years has defended the rights of Mexican workers in El Paso — we were surprised by the incredible liveliness of the place, despite its relative isolation; the Mercado overflowing with families, students and cultural workers who came from every corner of the county to welcome the librotraficantes and their cause.

Tony Diaz rouses the audience: "When Tucson legislators decided to eliminate Chicano history in schools, we decided to write a new one." And he launches the idea of presenting independent lists of Latinos in the upcoming school election in the Southwest, in which secondary school organization will be decided. "Ours is an informal network that is being created from city to city, uniting regions and associations."

Zelene Suchilt, a 22-year-old New York City activist and poet who has organized several demonstrations against racist immigration laws in El Paso, is among the caravanners that take the stage to read some of the authors censored in Arizona: Gloria E. Anzaldua, Rudolfo Anaya, Dagoberto Gilb, and most renowned of all, Sandra Cisneros.
Rudolfo Anaya, a grand old man of Chicano culture who lives on a quiet hillside on the outskirts of Albuquerque
Rudolfo Anaya, a grand old man of Chicano culture who lives on a quiet hillside on the outskirts of Albuquerque
Diaz, the leader of the entire group, spends hours in phone interviews with reporters who are unable to be there. But on the bus there are also a couple of freelance journalists from Houston and a reporter for The Texas Observer that send daily dispatches via Twitter and Facebook. The librotraficantes project is, then, an "itinerant demonstration;" a movable fiesta in which participants discuss, joke, confer and meet without asking what "church" anyone belongs to. Union sympathizers come from Ohio to meet pacifists from Chicago, while teachers from Houston and San Antonio visit the most westerly corner of Texas with the amazement of travelers to a foreign country.
Inside the home of Rudolfo Anaya, where we are greeted by amazing Mexican food
Inside the home of Rudolfo Anaya, where we are greeted by amazing Mexican food
Many of my companions are descendants of Mexican laborers who immigrated to the U.S. during the Bracero Program (1942-1965). This was probably the most extensive human rights violation ever conducted during peacetime. These slaves — hundreds of thousands of seasonal workers every year — lived in such humiliating and desperate conditions that it was not until the beginning of the 1960s that their children were able to free themselves from their shame to organize an independent political entity. The pride of the librotraficantes was also born here.
Crossing the Chihuahan desert
Crossing the Chihuahan desert
On day four, we cross the New Mexico border and arrive in Mesilla for a short break; the company of book smugglers is welcomed into the home and bookshop of Denise Chavez, another important name in local literature. Mesilla is a dusty and ordered town, with its checkerboard plan and typical low-lying adobe homes in shades of almost blinding white. Adobe is a common construction material in villages plagued by the sun, from Mexico to Iran, and in Mesilla, the population was inspired to build homes suitable for young progressive families, who spend winters there with their offspring. The houses have no sharp corners or reinforced concrete columns. Showy chili garlands adorn the doors and giant cactus, yucca and mesquite trees grow in the decorative gardens. During the "Wild West" era, Mesilla was famous for its cantinas and festivals; Pancho Villa and Billy the Kid stopped there. Now the people that live here seem to find themselves happily outside History.
Zelene Suchilt, a 22-year-old New York City activist and poet who has organized several demonstrations against racist immigration laws in El Paso, is among the caravanners that take the stage to read some of the authors censored in Arizona
Zelene Suchilt, a 22-year-old New York City activist and poet who has organized several demonstrations against racist immigration laws in El Paso, is among the caravanners that take the stage to read some of the authors censored in Arizona
In Albuquerque, the state's second largest city, we are welcomed into the home of Rudolfo Anaya, a grand old man of Chicano culture who lives on a quiet hillside on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Since the cost of land here is "almost" zero and taxes are ridiculously low, everyone is trying to build far away from the center. Here, just like everywhere else, we are greeted by amazing Mexican food; between tortillas, guacamole and a sip of tequila, we chat with the author of Bless Me, Ultima — a novel about the political situation in the Southwest — while we watch the Sandia Mountains and the most profound America in the valley through the plate glass windows.
Inside a hotel in Albuquerque
Inside a hotel in Albuquerque
New Mexico seems to be a perfect theater for the end-of-times. There are large Navajo and Hopi reservations, as always afflicted by alcoholism and prostitution, communities of whites with their rifles isolated amidst the forests, and tons of Atari video game cartridges buried at Alamogordo in 1983. This is a post-nuclear western scenario that Jodorowski would have enjoyed. Soil smeared with the blood of the oppressed, and desert/refuge for those "temporary autonomous zones" that Hakim Bey wrote about. Around these parts, where micro-tribes of intellectuals and artists seek their escape, you can often hear people say things as "you can tell how fascist a country is by looking at how people are scared of the police." A rule that applies especially to those who cannot escape, like the unemployed hypnotized by the slot machines disseminated almost everywhere by a penniless state.

To be continued in part 3 of this series
When arriving in Mesilla, New Mexico, the company of book smugglers is welcomed into the home and bookshop of Denise Chavez, another important name in local literature
When arriving in Mesilla, New Mexico, the company of book smugglers is welcomed into the home and bookshop of Denise Chavez, another important name in local literature

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