Mythbusting...

Hello dear reader(s). I should preface this by saying that I wrote an entire blog entry with this theme already… and then the powers that be, namely Mother Nature, decided to lash out with a vengeance and ruin my computer in the process. Even indoors and protected, my poor laptop could not evade the elements, which, in all certainty, are much harsher here. So… while I try to find some meager solution to my situation (I’m actually quite stressed, I’m in the midst of applying to law school), I a rewriting this entry from memory. Perhaps it will turn out better edited… but I have a feeling that it will just come off the more annoyed and cynical. Sorry folks, but fair warning.

Okay, here goes, take two…

A friend here recently told me about some personality test he took to see if he was overall a pessimist or an optimist. He scored pretty low, coming out as a morbid depressive. And while I think this particular person can be a bit gloomy, I still thought his final grade was a bit severe. So it made me wonder, if I were to take a similar test, where would I fall?

I don’t think I come off as a Debbie Downer (at least I hope I don’t). But neither do I think that people see me as a Miss Peppy who always looks on the bright side. I can retain hope, for sure. But just as quickly I unleash a sarcastic quip reeking with disdain. Optimist or Pessimist? Most people fall somewhere in between, and I make no exception.

When I first came here, I held some glossy fantasy that I could inspire, that I could motivate people to be better, that I could open eyes. What an arrogant fool I was. While, I guess I had my good intentions, I was also incredibly insensitive in this presumption. Yes, in some cases, I have felt that I actually have gotten through to someone… but I have just as often assumed that they cared, and shoved my opinion regardless.

So what’s been interesting is that where I feel I have actually been able to shed some light, has been in a rather dark (pun intended) way. I feel that my experience of life in the US is actually something people here take to heart. And I’ve used it, time and time again, to bust the myths that they hold here. In a kind light, this could be called: ¨giving a reality check.¨ But on the same token, it could easily be called: ¨raining on their parade, ¨ or ¨breaking their spirit.¨ You tell me.

One third of Salvadorans live in the United States, a third. Some stay for just a while, but others stay for years, and many never come back. Sometimes, whole families can eventually make it across the border. But more often than not, only one member (usually the father) stays and works and sends money back home to his dependent family.

Households that receive remittances from abroad are called remesa homes, and you can tell in a minute here if a home is remesa or not. My host family has a remesa home, it´s made of adobe (not sticks and mud), has a refrigerator, a television, and recently added, a floor (most homes have dirt floors). I understand why non-remesa families salivate with envy, there’s no way they could afford these luxuries. Remesa homes do indeed become materially richer, thus sparking the desire of all non-remesa homes to become remesa homes. But there’s such a terrible dark side to the remesa system, one that I feel obligated to enlighten.

First of all, it creates a structure of complete and utter dependence. Families become entirely reliant on their monthly remesa, so much so that it impedes progress here. Sometimes, remesa kids will drop out of school early, they figure: what’s the point, I’ve got the monthly check coming in. In Mari’s case… she has two girls old enough to tend to themselves, and the domestic work she does doesn’t keep her inside all day. Although she has no education, she could do some basic work to earn extra cash. She could learn a simple trade, like hammock weaving, and sell those. With her remesa money she bought a large table-top stove on which she could easily make papusas (those sell like crazy). I don’t want to imply that people live particularly well from such methods of work… but it´s also true that it doesn’t take a lot to get by here. People who earn their money doing trade-work can live pretty comfortably by comparison. And, it´s organic: created within their means, here. But, what I see often, is that the desire to better one’s life here with what’s available, the wish to pick-up one’s own bootstraps, become eclipsed and defected. Instead, people bide their time as their more-or-less constant remesa comes in.

Another practice that continues this dependence between remesa givers and receivers, is how instantaneously and irresponsibly they spend that money. Salvadorans have very little economic savvy, they don’t trust or understand banks, nor do they grasp the concept of saving. Granted, I wouldn’t expect them to play the stock market, but most don’t even have bank accounts. And while I’ll say that some purchases (like a fridge, for example) indeed hold value… others come across as extremely frivolous and unnecessary… things like cheap jewelry and perfume, chips and soda, backtones for a cell phone, and a ton of pan dulce. Okay… I understand, when you’re living on a month to month basis, splurging on candy or whatever can be pleasing, it´s an extravagance. But those extravagances are short-lived. I cringe as I watch people do this, who are evidently unaware that this is actually perpetuating their dependence in the long run.

Again, I’ll use Mari as an example. She spends her monthly remesa (about 200-300$) like there’s no tomorrow. Her husband Carlos lives in New York and works as a cook in a restaurant. He’s been there six years, and has expressed interest in coming home (actually, this is why I moved out to begin with, he had planned to come back in March, but that never happened). He’s in a predicament. Because if he does come back, everything that he left here in the first place will be the same, save for a few new gadgets his home has. He and his wife have saved nothing, and all of the problems he left behind are still here. I tell Mari, if she could save enough money to make a significant investment, buy a pick-up truck per se, that would do the trick.

I think I've explained my ridiculous transportation situation before, but I’ll mention it again. For all the thousand people or so of Los Cimientos, there are only six pick-up trucks. If you want to get off the mountain, you leave at the will of others. There is no constant truck that leaves everyday, so I often find myself hiking pre-dawn the hour or so it takes to get to the next community, where there are more trucks. Hitch-hiking is customary here, the modus operandi being: hop in the back, go as far as the driver will take you, and then pay them for their services. Pick-up owners make bank here. Not only can they earn money transporting people, but there’s always some job or another needed here bringing materials etcetera. And so I tell Mari, if she could save her money, little by little, and buy a truck, everything would change. Carlos could come home, they could earn good money here, they could leave whenever they wanted. She smiles politely at this idea. But as soon as the next remesa comes, it´s gone in a few days.

A further negative aspect of the remesa game is how it destroys families. I meet women here who tell me they haven´t seen their husband in ten or fifteen years. And I think: that´s not a marriage, oh and by the way, your husband´s cheating on you. Not that I really blame the men who have been away from their wives for years at a time to sleep around. But it´s also true that some have double lives; they have multiple families, and keep one a secret from the other. Also, I find it unfair that the men can cheat openly and unabashedly there, while their lonely wives wait celibately at home. Indeed, some women do cheat here (could you blame them?), but not without extreme public stigmata. Their every move is watched scrupulously; gossip is the favorite pastime here. And so, more often, remesa wives sleep alone, knowing that their husbands´ beds are full.

Mari, the unsentimental and pragmatic Salvadoran that she is, takes this in stride. She says: ¨Carlos tells me that he loves me, but we'll see.¨ This impresses me. She's aware as well as I that he probably has a mistress abroad, if not two (in fact, she told me that once he called her the wrong name on the phone). But she accepts this as par for the course, if she’s to receive her couple of hundred each month. So I think: if it doesn’t bother her, why should I mind.

And yet-

It pains me to see how willingly people accept this. How readily couples give up sharing a life together here, making the best of what’s available (little as that may be) here. How easily they fork over their marriages, their families as they know them, all for the sake of a few hundred bucks a month.

But finally, what upsets me the most about remesas, more-so than the inescapable dependence it creates, or the destruction of families it causes, is how it constructs wild ideas of what life is like in America, making it seem easy, fantasy-like. So when I here people raving about their American daydreams, I feel obliged to put on my mythbusting cap and let loose.

To start with, the journey to actually make it to the US is frankly, treacherous. I’ve spoken to some Salvadorans who have gone and come, and you couldn’t imagine the horrors they endure. When families send off a loved one for the States, it could very well be the last time they’ll ever see them, with prison, starvation, and death as likely outcomes. I don’t think most Salvadorans realize how dangerous the trek is. Nor do I believe that all homes that strive to be a remesa home do so out of mere desperation. I think there’s more: oh, look at that lovely TV the remesa home has, I want one!

If the trekker can successfully make it to the US, again, I don’t think most families realize the challenge that still lies ahead. I mean, starting from scratch in America, with no money, little if no education, and no English! People here don’t know the kind of menial labor, and living situations their family members abroad endure to be able to send those 200-300$ dollars a month. One man I know, Arnoldo, who’s been there and back, told me that he worked two jobs, as a migrant farmer and a busboy, and shared a two-bedroom apartment with 5 men. Can you imagine? Grown men, in their thirties and forties, who left behind their own homes with their own families, sharing a tiny apartment, even bedrooms, with other men! That´s what’s so infuriating here when they get their remesa and spend it on crap. I recoil at the thought that they don’t appreciate, they have no concept of how difficult it must be to have sent that money in the first place.

Indeed, there are more opportunities in the States than there are here. But that doesn’t mean that there is no hope here. Nor does it mean that taking advantage of those opportunities still isn’t incredibly difficult.

MARI: Oh, sometimes I wish Carlos would just take me away to live with him there.

ME: Really? Well… it´s pretty expensive over there, and competitive. There aren’t as many jobs available as you might think, especially if you have no education and don’t speak English. (Mari’s never gone to school, is illiterate, and doesn’t speak a lick of English) You’d have to work, what would you do there?

MARI: I could clean houses.

ME: Right. Well, even then you’d probably still have to learn some English. And that doesn’t pay very well. You might have to work 10-12 hours a day just to make any kind of a profit.

MARI: That long?

ME: Probably. How many hours a day do you spend doing housework here?

MARI: Maybe two or three. More if I have to wash clothes.

ME: Uh-huh… and how many (hour-long) telenovelas do you watch a day?

MARI: Three regularly, sometimes five or six.

ME: Hmmmmmmmmmm.

BUSTED!!!!!!!

Okay… almost through (for the second time). Hang in their folks; I know this is a long one…

I don’t exactly relish busting myths (okay, that´s not entirely true). I understand that having a dream can be motivating, can give meaning to the daily routine, can give hope for a better tomorrow. However, there’s a danger in dreaming too. When the lines between reverie and reality become clouded, life isn’t lived presently or actively. The hope is enticing isn’t it? But, like so many things we yearn for in life, it is a bit uncertain, and a little fantastic, and always just out of reach.

I hope you don’t think I’m judging too harshly. What would Atticus Finch say: Laura, you don’t understand their situation, their desperation? That´s true, as much as I try, I really haven´t walked in their shoes. But I also think that beyond their desperation, they are a little deluded, motivated by a misapprehension; and if they were more aware, they would think twice about coming to America.

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