Through the Looking Glass

Signs, Signs

Walking uptown to the main market street here in San Pedro, pedestrians must cross an intersection or two where one's life lies in the hands of the bus drivers, barreling ahead in their transportational rumble. Private cars often take liberties with right-of-way, too, so crossing the street can leave a person in a brief and hesitating limbo of decision about when to step out toward the other side. Those who stop to let us go first, whether we find ourselves on foot or also behind the wheel, can easily give rise to gratitude, if not a little surprise as well.

And fortunately, gratitude amidst the hustle of the street need not be reduced to a mouthed-out "gracias," the sound drowned to nothing in the omnipresent din. Sign language comes to the communicative rescue, furnishing the grateful with a fail-safe way of saying thank you for allowing safe steps across the street. Thanks comes in the form of a raised forearm, the back of the hand facing the one being thanked. I raised my arm in silent, spoken appreciation more than once this afternoon, glad for the men's patience in their Volkswagen cars.

The "gracias" sign can be so much like the spoken word, taking on various inflections, so to speak. Depending on the place or the situation, it can range from a hearty and magnanimous gesture, the arm raised high to recognize the kindness of a crowd, to a slight turn of the wrist accompanied by a sideways nod of the head, a subtle "thank you, but no" to a street vendor's invitation to buy.

And one can say "no" in a more emphatic way, too, similar to wagging an index-fingered hand in the United States. The finger-wagging here, though, requires less of the wrist and more of the finger, moving it back and forth with the hand as stock-still as one's negative will.

The finger-wag is funny, especially, for some reason, when used by children under the age of three. But my favorite hand signal, next to that of thanks, is what some refer to as the "ahorita" hand. Also often seen in busy street locations, its slight space between outstretched thumb and forefinger signaling another to wait just a little bit, either for backed-up traffic to wait for a driver's return, or for someone nearby to wait for a question about directions to a place nearby. The ahorita signal is often used at home, too, when it's easier for one to say "wait" without having to say it out loud.

With all the noise we make in a day, it's nice to have options of meaningful silence. I'll raise my hand in thanks to it, too.

little responses

it had been awhile since patricio and i had seen aunt sara. since the day she donated to the cause of our insurmountable gym aversion an old exercise bike and the space-age contraption that lets us ski through the air, i haven't had to pull myself out of bed at seven-thirty for her gym session burn. neither did the serastone volunteer work with her last very long; transportation became a complicated beast, which is what tía sara and i tell ourselves to explain away the short-lived career--though the real, unspoken reason was the internal conflict that rose up and took arms when trying to recommend a massage treatment that always left my own hips feeling like a woodpecker had mistaken them for a good place to start a new home.

since our time together has waned, we've missed her. and i decided to give her a call last night. immediately, she invited us over for la comida this afternoon, the closest equivalent to lunch in the u.s., but usually served around three o'clock, and almost always the day's most sizable meal. but talking about la comida and muscle-working and poking devices isn't what got me thinking last night. it was the phone call that did.

there are so many formal spoken courtesies here that come naturally to most people who grow up in mexico. i dare say that they are considered more common than formal--things one hardly thinks twice about saying. like addressing many elders as usted, asking about and sending greetings to a friend's family when ending a conversation with her, asking a guest into one's home, even if he already knows he's invited, and then offering your house as his home.

plenty of courtesies are shared between both countries, like pleases and thank-yous and offering a visitor a glass of something to drink. perhaps it's still the conscious way i employ my new repertoire of niceties, but sometimes i would wonder if i come from a country less polite.

i picked up the phone and dialed. sara answered, "¿bueno?" and i replied, "hola tía, habla alisa" (hi auntie, it's alisa).

that response of mine when sara answered the phone also became a response to my wonderings about civility in the united states, giving rise to the idea that there might not necessarily be any fewer details of thoughtfulness--of making another person feel at ease--but simply different ways of manifesting it, based on commonly perceived needs for it in social situations. the custom of writing thank-you notes in the is one of them, and punctuality another. but last night, when sara answered the phone, i found my illuminating example.

with the exception of our most intimate family and friends, or with many business-related calls in the u.s., when the answering party is expected to ask "who is speaking?", i had taken for granted that a caller will say hello, followed by "this is [insert name]." it's completely routine, and completely courteous in an american context; it saves the person on the other end from the uncomfortable and often embarrassing position of scrambling to figure out who the caller is--or worse yet, asking who they are.

here, patricio explained to me, almost none of that applies--from the name stating, to the discomfort on the other end. it's not a source of embarrassment to ask who the caller is, and so most callers never say who they are unless they're asked. it isn't a lack of courtesy, because there's no apparent need for it in the first place.

hmm. like losing weight with exercise bike workouts, especially after big comidas, these realizations happen slowly for me. but i'm glad they're happening.

new signals: s.o.s.

two short weeks after singing the wonders of mexican radio and sticking my tongue out at a big u.s. communications monopoly, i took in the morning headlines like a punch in the stomach. the senate voted for the "televisa law" yesterday.

for months, radio stations have broadcast their dissent and respected artists and intellectuals have published their concern over the passage of communications reform that sneers in the face of democracy and gives a firm handshake to the exclusionary forces of money and power. the gist of it is this: in a supposed attempt to keep in stride with the world of digital media, the bill would allow for branching into digital services simply by notifying the government. that sounds good, but the catch lies in that only television and radio stations that have already been assigned a frequency can develop those digital services through government notification, while potential new competitors would have to participate in a public bidding process. since nine out of ten mexican television viewers watch channels owned by only two companies, you can imagine the immediate shutout of many small community and educational radio and television broadcasters. media expert, nestor cortés, clearly defines the situation when saying, "money will define the right to communicate...everything about the new law shows clearly what power the television companies have and use...and how politicians and members of the business community are made to serve their purposes." it is absolutely disgusting to think about.

the vote will again be debated tomorrow, providing another opportunity for the bill's proponents to share the reasons for their affirmative decision. while dissenters presented clear arguments against the bill, the supporters remained virtually mute. as one senator said, "this vote of silence is an embarrassment." i can't imagine a truer and doubly-layered statement. not only is a vote in favor of such a "telecratic" bill shameful, it seems that a number of the supporters' votes were nothing less than surrender to pressure and threats received by affiliates of the major broadcasting companies. if i'm feeling outraged, i can only imagine how difficult it must be for the senators opposing the bill to maintain any measure of composure in front of those who voted "yes."

but i know a little san pedro secret, helping me keep a semblance of a smile while i fume about the disappointing news. i like to call it "radio el charco." i'm sure hundreds of towns have something like it: speakers tied to telephone poles around a central spot in town, delivering music and local news that cost no frequency fees (click on the photos to see the speakers more clearly). it isn't a broadcast, but it's still a small and independent way to share sounds and information with the public. el charco, "the puddle," is a low-lying area of san pedro where various roads converge and a park provides public space for students, vendors and passers-by. patricio surmises that it acquired its name from the pool of water that must have formed there during the rainy season, before the drainage was put into place. now the things that flow freely in and around the area are people of all ages, the volkswagen buses that shuttle us around, and the all-day stream of "radio el charco," free from any legal constraints that the senate might enact. as i passed through yesterday on the way to pay the bills, cafe tacuba's classic cover of "como te extraño" was hovering in the air. that title, translated as "oh, how i miss you," unfolds a lyric of both desperation and doomed hope, going crazy without her and hoping she'll come back. i'll bet café tacuba wouldn't mind if i took it as a metaphor for broadcasting freedom. i also hope she comes back, even if she's gone for good.

signals

love-hate relationships. i think we all have at least one. in my case, the word "radio" comes to mind. i've drifted between loving and hating radio for at least fifteen years, beginning with love and my little blue tape deck stereo, dutifully helping me record casey kasem's sunday broadcast of american top 40. the parade of pop songs, played and rewound and played again and again, and again, showcased the voices along the spectrum of divas to darker thinkers; mary j. blige, janet jackson, michael stipe and kurt cobain were a few of those vocal companions whose dependable company i counted on. i hadn't yet succumbed to snobby attitudes shadowed with guilty pleasures--radio-listening was all about equal opportunity for the mainstream. a few years later, growing another inch and growing tired of mariah carey, classical radio arrived on the scene, somehow managing to win my loyalty, leaving poor casey to lose another listener. it was the beginning of my descent down the slippery slope into aforesaid snootiness.

not long after, leaving home to accrue college credits, the wider selection of stations was a wonder to me for the first year. but as semesters started settling into the past, resignation settled into my radio-directed attitude. the little blossom of interesting internet radio was the only thing casting color in the midst of gray, blah, local college radio and the monopolized city stations. classic rock was still okay for the car, but clearchannel's clinch on play lists was downright depressing.

living in new york served only to solidify the then-nascent opinion. college stations with freedom, neighborhood broadcasts and npr aside, big apple radio is in a bad way--the most diverse city in the world has the most homogeneous radio scene in the universe. i take a lot of pleasure in being petty and slathering blame on the clearchannel company. it's not a very classy way to complain, but i don't feel too much remorse about it, either.

this isn't a simple hate story, though, so let's get back to the love. in mexico, i've found it comes easily. i'm smitten with IMER. the instituto mexicano de la radio is both clever and correct when playing with its initials, transforming them into inteligente manera de escuchar radio, or "intelligent way of listening to radio." with a number of stations in the capital and satellites in the states, the group has developed niches for different listening tastes, incorporating news, music and conversations into their daily offerings. each station is guaranteed play list independence. they also sponsor a slough of great concerts. the programs of horizonte, reactor and opus didn't have a hard time consoling me over the loss of my ipod library. its not npr, but it makes up for it with a lot more music. and free books.

patricio and had the radio tuned to horizonte last week, deciding to email the station in an attempt to win a story collection, the subject of the show's discussion. the stars were aligned just for us. we went to coyoacán to pick up our prize yesterday afternoon. a slim volume of comical stories, fact mixed with fiction, playfully illustrated, and taking place in the state of chiapas, i finished reading it by the time we got home. short and sweet. i guess i'll have to dig around the shelves for something more to read on the plane tomorrow.

we're flying together for the first time, leaving mexico city behind for ten days of a self-determined spring break with stateside family. time in front of a computer occupies very little of the agenda; i'll have to beg your pardon for the dead airtime here.

interim suggestion: david byrne radio