May 31, 2000
Tepic, Nayarit, Mexico

9:50pm. "Propaganda-- es mi Trabajo," says Francisca Garcia, 28, employed by PAN for a year, delivering the party’s politics to the people of Nayarit. PRI was her employer the previous six years. She has a large stack of flashy stickers in her hand, headed for a small village of poor indigenous people. She rather be giving them food, but stickers and large plastic posters is PAN´s preference.

Yesterday afternoon, while snooping around the PAN campaign HQ, I saw that the party was affiliated with the "Partido Verde Ecologista," so I asked directions to their office. I spent 45 minutes walking around looking for the place and now find no body there. So, I’m on my way to the Palico de Gobierno to arrange a meeting with the governor.

10:18am. "His mind and his heart is different," said Ezequiel Rivera, 31, when I told him that the Mexican people should know better than to vote for another PRI Presidential candidate-- Francisco Labastida. Ezequiel has been employed by PRI for the past 13 years—organizing campaigns to spread the PRI gospel. It pisses me off to think about the energy that this one man has wasted on politics. Eight full-time employees currently man this PRI office.

Ney, a friend Ezequiel, is also a candidate under the PRI banner, but he has chosen not to litter the city with propaganda. I plan to visit him today.

11:16pm. I am on the second floor of the "Palicio de Gobierno" waiting to speak with a secretary.

11:42pm. "I speaking him-- the governor" said the attractive professional woman, before she left me a second ago.

11:48pm. "He´ll be back in a half hour," she said upon returning. I can speak with him then. I’m going to the market for something to eat.

12:45pm. The Dali Lama´s words, "Only a fool does not judge a person by their clothing," caused me to walk a kilometer to find a Laundromat to wash my dirty paints and stinking shirt. These are the only clothes I got, so I asked the lady if I could use her shower while she washed my clothes. She said, "No," because she would have to ask her husband first, and he was not home. The next laundry I visited didn’t have anyplace I could shower, so I asked a man across the street if I could use his. He said "no."

A sample of Drakar Noir cologne from a department has me smelling good, but my paints are still very dirty. I’m a naturalist-- a guy who doesn’t mind getting dirty. I’m hoping the governor will respect that and not just think I’m a bum.

1:20pm. The secretary led me into an office, but man behind the desk was not the governor. He suggested a write down my project and send it to him, and he would "pass it on to the right people."
"I’m not here to ask for anything. I want to know if the governor has any ideas to add to mine. I want to know how the man thinks. All I want is five minutes with him."
"He has much work. When we speak to him, he doesn’t have much time," the suit insisted.

I tried to get directions to the offices of the secretaries of tourism, education, and the environment, but the man wouldn’t help. I was pissed. I stood up and said "All you do is shuffle paper! Bureaucracy is why people in this country are still in the dark-ages." I moved papers on his desk just to be an ass, then I left.

I’m still upset. I saw a woman in a business suit drop a baggy she was drinking juice from with a straw. I called to her, pointed to it and said "Es su problemo!" She was embarrassed and picked it up.

Cities aren’t good for me. I get irritated easily-- especially by unnecessary noise pollution-- like people beeping car horns, and bus drivers turning on loud sirens that screech. What’s the hurry? The buses drive in circles and don’t have a schedule. What is so important that they the feel the need to disrespect my air space-- disturbing my conscious. Cars swerve all over the road switching lanes, trying to get ahead- risking lives to save ten seconds. Why is everyone going so fast?

1:47pm. "Mucho Miestros no accepto es. PRI quieres estudientes ignorantes," tells Migel Angel, 29, who has worked with the "Parido Verde Ecologista" three years, helping deliver "Mi Primer Libro de Ecologia" to every elementary school in Mexico, though many school masters refuse to share this knowledge with their students.

Migel says the "Parido verde Ecologista" is active in many countries around the world. Their main objective is to enact legislation to protect the environment, but they also organize projects such as a movement in Baja to stop the destruction of a bay in which whales bleed, where a sea salt manufacturing plant is in the works. The Green Ecologists are on the PAN ticket, so there is a chance they could have some powerful influence after the July election.

3pm. PRI supporters are herding around me to put some lov´n their favorite candidate with hugs and hand shakes. The conference room is packed.

Using the directions I was give to Ney´s office, I arrive at the office for indigenous affairs-- where natives go to get help with their political problems. A half dozen folks where waiting their turn. They didn’t know where to find Ney.

Another government office on the opposite corner gave me his phone number and called it, but it was busy. Someone overheard, and informed me Ney was just a block away, at a hotel in front of the Palico de Govierno, attending a PRI candidate rally.

When I walked in, a woman was speaking like a female Hitler-- banging her first on the podium-- and ending her rant, shouting, with the crowd repeating: " Vive Labastida!!!... Vive PRI!!!!... Vive Mexico!!! ".

Ney was sitting with the other candidates at a long table on stage facing the crowd. People are wearing "Vote for Ney" t-shirts and handing out his stickers. Person after person is shaking his hand and patting him on the back.

I told Nay I wanted to speak with him, but not here-- "Es loco!" I said. He asked his handler to take me to his car.

2:25pm. Ney´s home is a mansion. We are sitting in his living room. I’ve described my project, but he showed little interest, and quickly switched topics, asking: "What do you think of Tepic?"

"There are many houses a meter from the river," Ney shares his thoughts about restricting the dumping of raw sewage and creating a treatment plant. "The river cross all the city. Many can use it for transportation. No motors-- only paddle—like kayaks."

"And plant fruit trees--" he continued, "more green, more beautiful city. And when families don’t have money-- they can eat. Many fruit trees for all the streets."

"In the economy of this city, the principal income is from sugar refinery-- many jobs. It is 4 or 5 blocks from down town. Don’t close, but take it to an industrial park."

"Tepic is beautiful city. Mountains all around. Few people pre kilometer square. No big city. The Mexican people have saying: What is happiness? --Health, money and love."

"What is money?" I asked.
"It is employment--good pay--security," Ney answered.

He rapped up in shining political style, smiled and said, "If the family is good-- the society is good."

"Mi casa es su casa," he said, as I put on my hat preparing to leave. "So, are you inviting me to stay here tonight?"
"Sure..." he answered, though it seemed he was unsure. He said 9pm would be a good time for me to return.

I am on the way to fill my belly. A package of whole wheat tortillas on the counter of a tortillaria caused me to stop to ask "Cuanto por tres?" A lady took half the tortillas out of a 10 pack-- and gave me the package "gratis."

4:08pm. What a day!!! One never knows what tomorrow will bring.

The owner of this restaurant took my tortillas to the ladies in the kitchen to make me tacos.

4:44pm. "Via bien!" I said to Juan, the eleven year old street I let sleep in my hotel room last night. "Thank yous," he returned, looking over his shoulder walking out of the deli.

Last night, after arriving at the bus station and discovering the next bus wasn’t leaving until 5am, I decided to walk to Hotel Alexandra, where a cab driver said I could get a room for $40 pecos.

Teenage boys juggling at stop lights for donations captured my attention. I sat with them in conversation for a couple hours. The most skillful of the group wore a clown suit and a painted face. For a nights work, he regularly receives $300 pesos-- ten times minimum wage. Alejandro, 14, made 50 pecos that evening. He has his own apartment, but doesn’t go to school. He said he can't afford to buy books. He had a hamburger and offered me a bite before he had some himself. All the kids were pleasant to be with. They were patent with my Spanish(which must sound similar to that of a smart toddler) and they did their best to speak English.

Juan, with mismatched sandals, was especially curious-- taking my pen and paper to show off his writing and drawing skills--coping the PRD sun logo on a propaganda poster and the words "Votas!!! 2 DE JULIO" and signing his name "Juan." Another kid, Jesus, spent five minutes drawing a flower with many intricate petals, and a cross with a cobweb and his name above it.

Juan asked for the beaded owl necklace around my neck. I purchased it and a dozen other pieces of bead work--bracelets, chokers, and hair clips, earlier in the day from a group Huichols, the indigenous of Nayarit, selling their art on the steps of the municipal building. My intention was to give them as presents, so I didn’t hesitate when he asked. I thought it was suiting for him-- as a totem of knowledge and wisdom, and something to remember me by. When the other kids saw him wearing it, they asked for me hat and other necklaces. I wasn’t into that.

Juan sleeps on the street. "Donde?" I asked.
"Alla… alla… alla…" he pointed in three different directions, then the side walk at our feet. "Aqui."

A few rain drops fell, and most of the other kids split, so I invited Juan to join me. He said he had not eaten in three days, but I was quite sure that was a lie. He changed the story to only one meal a day. We ate two tortas each.

An extra bed was only $10 pesos more. The shower didn’t have hot water, and the toilet, like most I’ve experienced in Mexico, was without a proper seat. While I was in the shower, I saw him laying out my jewelry for inspection. I told myself to chill, and trust him.

I remember telling myself to mention to Juan not to sell the owl necklace, but today I found it was no longer around his neck, and I don’t remember if I told him or not. It was like pulling teeth to get him tell me what he did with it. He said he sold it for $120 pesos, but I only paid $30. He lowered the sale price to $90.

A half hour ago, while we where talking, he took my pen and spent the time coloring in the pictures of Mi Pimer Libro de Ecologia. I encouraged him to enroll in school, but he is not interested. Money for food is first priority.

6:35pm. "It is sad-- but its really true. Its part of the culture Mexican" said Gizeh, 21, an archeology student, volunteering here at the "Museo Regional de Nayarit", telling of its lack of visitors-- due to Mexicans lack of interest in art and history, choosing to watch television soap operas and "fotbol" games, and get drunk. Gizeh is named after the area of Egypt where the pyramids are located. She speaks good English, but has never been out of Mexico.

"All people have the fear-- or "prejuicios," Gizeh explains why she thinks people aren't more radical. "Its easier to destroy the atom-- than it is to remove "Prejuicios."
"I’m trying to show the monster under the bed." I return. "Fear is an illusion created by lack of understanding."

7:10pm. "The teachers want more pay. The government says its not possible," Gizeh tells of university teachers on strike in Mexico City. "The teachers are not interested in the students. Interested in the money. That is the problem in Mexico. The best education is in your house. The values. I learned from my father many things. In Mexico, the family is very young. I learned my respect for others from my family. I want to be like my grand mother when I an old woman. The food-- tamales-- tacos. The food Mexican. The men are hard. Not hard, but hard. My father and grand father-- very strong. Always help me. Okay, I got to go. Its nice to meet you. Its nice-- doing things for you and others. These days-- people forget the others."